James May doesn’t rock, long hair and leather jackets notwithstanding, but he does roll. He rolls on special occasions in a Ferrari and on airport runs in a Rolls-Royce Phantom Drophead. For longer urban errands he uses a small new BMW, and for shorter ones a folding Brompton bicycle.

Mr May’s admitted use of a bike is not the only thing that sets him apart from Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Hammond, his fellow Top Gear presenters, who call him Captain Slow. He is also, from today, the first of them to endorse The Times’ campaign for safer cycling.

This counts as progress — for the campaign, which emphatically shares the May view that “the roads belong to everybody”, and perhaps for Mr May himself. For it was barely five months ago that he took part in the presentation of four Top Gear cycle safety videos to Westminster Council. One suggested: “Work harder. Buy a car.”

Not everyone got the joke. In Oregon, where green radicals mingle uneasily with monster truck racers, there was earnest debate over whether the three British petrolheads might actually be serious. Back in Britain, one two-wheeled hill-climbing evangelist said he was “so angry I could put my fist through the TV”. The truth is Mr May is much more than a car guy. He is a former choirboy, a competent flautist and a well-read oenophile. It is hardly surprising that he sees the health benefits and the sheer common sense of cycling , which include the fact that more people on bicycles means more space left for driving.

In the manner of Rodney “can’t we all get along” King after the Los Angeles riots, he asks for an end to “road sectarianism”. He even backs our call for 4 per cent of the transport budget to be spent on better bike paths, which some believe should include “pootling” paths for slower riders. Captain Slow, meet Mr Pootler.