On Adjusting To Cycling

Let's start at the beginning. You know I can't go very long without slapping a nickname on most people or objects. Thus Lupe was born (she's mah bike!) We'll have a photoshoot soon so everyone can see.

Lupe and I took our first major spin out to the Melkweg the other night for a dance party called Poptrash. Here three hours of my life disappeared to dance enthusiasm, ultimately resulting in a bad case of whiplash which has kept me humble and unable to dance so hard since. Woe. I also lost the key to my back wheel lock, which meant that Lupe wasn't going anywhere.

I was disheartened and concerned at the prospect of the (hour long) walk home at 4:30 am, but my compatriots decided we shouldn't give up just yet. So I hopped (sidesaddle!) onto the back of Tim's bike, very much afraid for my life but too much yearning for my bed for that to be a serious obstacle, and off we zipped down the Sarphatistraat. We were successful! Props to Tim for being such a gracious and unconcerned bike host, and for pullin' my weight all the way back from Leidseplein. Victory number one in the realm of emulating the Dutch in our cycling habits. When we can ride through traffic while talking at length on a cell phone, that's when we'll really know we've made it.

I spent the night doing more worrying about how I was ever going to free Lupe if the Melkweg didn't find the key than sleeping. My roommate's boyfriend suggested that I call in the aid of his Eastern European Bike Thief Friends if it came down to it. But wonder of wonders,victory number two was the next day, when I called the Melkweg and they had the key. This says something, I think, about the primacy of the bicycle in this culture. No one throws away a bike key. Unfortunately the place where I had parked Lupe is part of a construction zone by day, so I had to contend with angry construction workers in order to retrieve her. A situation which mere months ago would have left me shaky and in tears, but I'm used to being a blissful idiot in Nederland, so a few scoldings and glares from angry strangers ain't gonna phase me. Content that my carelessness had not ended in catastrophe, I pedaled my butt back home (by myself! in traffic! without incident!).

Some key observations: I was especially worried about intersections, because I tend to have trouble getting going again quickly. It turns out that that's only an issue if one doesn't go through intersections. This was a quick and easy and immediately noticeable adjustment, and makes me very proud every time I think about it. The relative ease with which I can navigate those, though, is made up for in spades by the fact that I am such a weakling that the 10 minute ride home from the ISHSS leaves me sweating and panting and my thighs screaming at me. Yikes. The "hill" I blame for this would more accurately be described as a "mild incline." When I'm with other people, my general chagrin makes me soldier through. But when I'm alone, I don't make it very far before I get off and start walking. We'll see how the saga continues.