The Riders Who Feed Us: Why Abu Dhabi's New Rules Matter to Every Biker

The Riders Who Feed Us: Why Abu Dhabi's New Rules Matter to Every Biker

A confession from a man who used to overtake delivery bikes without a second thought.

These days I am not on the road very much. Office in the morning, home in the evening, and maybe one extra trip if the day demands it. That is all. And yet, almost every single day, I see an accident. And almost every time, there is a bike somewhere in the middle of it.

I hope they were all small ones. A bent mirror, some broken plastic, angry words, insurance papers. I hope. But you cannot see this every day and feel nothing.

So let me make three confessions, and then let me tell you what I think we can actually do.

Confession One: I Could Not See Motorcycles

Before I started riding, I was — in my own expert opinion — an excellent driver. I had a licence, I had mirrors, and I had complete confidence. What I did not have was the ability to see motorcycles.

Especially at night. A car behind you announces itself with two headlights, and your brain immediately says "car". A bike has one light. And somewhere between my mirror and my brain, that single light became nothing. A reflection. A far-away lamp post. Somebody else's problem.

At least twice, I moved into a lane and only understood afterwards that a motorcycle had been there — and that the only reason nothing happened was that the rider was more alert than me.

I did not even feel guilty at the time. That is the frightening part. You cannot feel guilty about something you never noticed.

Confession Two: The Little Hop

I also had a habit. If there was a bike in front of me and I decided it was slow, I would simply hop over it. Quick, smooth, no thinking involved.

It was not aggression. It was something worse than aggression — I did not really count the bike as a proper vehicle with a proper human being on it.

Then I bought my own bike. And within a few weeks, the same hop was being performed on me, by cars, several times a day. Karma, I discovered, has excellent traffic flow in this country.

There is a strange gift hidden in that: becoming a rider made me a much better driver. Today, when I am in my car, I look twice, and then a third time. Because now I know exactly what it feels like to be the single headlight that nobody sees.

Confession Three: The One I Am Least Proud Of

This one is uncomfortable, so let me just say it plainly.

I used to treat delivery bikes differently from big bikes.

If a big touring machine appeared in my mirror, I gave space, and probably admired it a little on the way past. If a delivery bike appeared, my brain filed it somewhere else — small bike, box on the back, not important. Maybe some of it was innocent curiosity about the big machines. But I cannot pretend the difference was not there, because it was.

It was wrong. There is no version of the road where one man's life is worth more than another man's life because of engine size. The delivery rider has the same bones as the superbike rider, the same family waiting for him at home, and far less time to be careful.

The Numbers Are Not Gentle

Abu Dhabi looked at those numbers and did something. Since 15 May, delivery motorcycles are no longer allowed on roads with a speed limit of 120 km/h or more, and on 100 km/h roads they must stay in the right-hand lanes.

Why such a strict rule? Because between 2023 and 2025 there were 72 serious accidents involving delivery motorcycles in Abu Dhabi. And those fast highways — which make up less than five per cent of the distance these riders cover every day — accounted for 22 per cent of the riders who died.

Please read that once more. Five per cent of the riding. Twenty-two per cent of the dying.

Dubai Police recorded 962 accidents involving riders in 2025, up from 854 the year before. The number is moving, but in the wrong direction.

But Why Do They Ride Like That?

I will not defend dangerous riding. I have already written a whole blog post shouting at a gentleman who did 290 km/h on a public road in a t-shirt.

Delivery riders, though, are a different case, and fairness requires me to explain why.

Most of them are paid by the trip. More trips, more money, more money going home at the end of the month. So the system itself is whispering in their ear all day long: faster, one more, faster, one more. Road Safety UAE has been asking delivery companies to move away from this commission model towards fixed salaries, and honestly, that request makes complete sense to me. If you pay a man per delivery, you are paying him to hurry.

And remember what he is hurrying through. August. Black asphalt. A helmet. Many of them are working at exactly the hours when you and I have decided it is too hot even to walk to the car.

Now be honest with yourself, as I have been honest with you: when you are late to office, sitting in an air-conditioned car with soft music playing — do you drive like a saint? I certainly do not. And I am only late for a meeting. He is late for his living.

There is good news too, and it is running right now: from 15 June to 15 September there is a midday break for these riders between 12:30 and 3:00, and more than twelve thousand air-conditioned rest stations across the country where they can sit and cool down. A country that builds rest stations for delivery riders is a country that is paying attention.

So What Can We Actually Do?

Rules are the government's job. But four things are sitting in our own hands.

Look twice for the single headlight. Especially at night, especially before changing lanes. Assume a bike is there, and be pleasantly surprised when it is not.

Let them pass. If a delivery rider wants to overtake you, let him go. He gains minutes that turn into money. You gain nothing by holding your lane except the feeling of winning, which is a very small prize.

Tip properly. I almost wrote "make it worth the risk he takes" — and then I stopped myself, because nothing is worth risking a life. Nothing. So let me say it correctly: we cannot make the risk worth it, but we can make his day better. Tip him. It costs you one karak.

And do not punish the heat. If your food arrives ten minutes late in August, that is not laziness, that is 45 degrees. Give the man five stars, and a cold glass of water if he is standing at your door.

We enjoy something quite wonderful in this country. You press a button, and half an hour later dinner arrives at your door. That convenience does not come from an app. It comes from a human being on a small bike in impossible weather.

"There is no version of the road where one man's life is worth more than another's because of engine size."

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