I was a stubborn kid. Really—I feel bad for my parents, because you couldn’t get me to do anything. Want me to eat that pasta? I threw it on the floor. Learn how to ride a bike? Didn’t want to—so, I didn’t.
I continued this well into my teens, pretty much accepting that biking was something I would never learn. I wouldn’t need to, right? I had made it this far. There were a couple of moments, like in grade three when we went on a class trip to a mock town that we were supposed to bike around. I just kept two feet on the ground, pushing myself forward.
When I was 14, I sort of learned, practicing a couple of times, but I never went back to it.
At the age of 23, I went on exchange to the Netherlands, the biking capital of the world.
Before I left, I saw Facebook groups for my school flooded with advertisements of people selling their bikes. I chose to ignore them. When I arrived, I saw bikes on bikes on bikes. There were separate bike lanes, separate lights for bikes, and more parking for bikes than for cars. Not to mention that walking anywhere meant always looking over your shoulder to make sure a cyclist wasn’t going to run you over.
Within a couple of weeks, all my friends had bikes and my excuse of not having one because I wasn’t a very good cyclist got old. Not to mention I was annoyed with myself and not having a bike was becoming inconvenient. Within a day of me deciding that the time was now, an ad for a bike came up on my newsfeed.
Some of my friends had to jump through hoops to get a bike. Demand was high, so often the bike they were looking at was already sold when they contacted the seller. But me, I got lucky on the first try. The stars lined up and I was able to buy the bike within a couple of days.
I went to pick up the bike, money in hand and confident in my decision. That was until I tried to ride it. After a couple of failed attempts, I parked it, red with embarrassment and regretting my purchase. I spent the rest of the day in class, tormented by the prospect of getting the bike home. I half wished someone would steal it so I didn’t have to worry about it. But after class, my bike was still there, daring me to ride it.
I figured I had two options: walk with it home, or conquer my fear and ride it. At first, I chose the former, and I worked up some courage and tried. Then, I stopped and walked a bit, then tried again and again.
Finally, I actually got it and rode my new bike all the way home. I didn’t want anyone to steal my bike anymore. We had just had a moment.
I was elated when I got home. I did it. The following month, my bike and I got quite close. I would miss it when I hadn’t rode in a couple of days. I would even pat the seat in adoration and say sweet nothings.
Now I can say that I actually know how to ride a bike and not just sort of. There. It took moving to the Netherlands, but I finally did it. Now I can ride off into the sunset—literally.
