It was my first week living back in Amsterdam after nearly six years. Early one morning I dropped my kids off at school. A guy opened his front door and tripped over a bicycle parked there by a parent in a hurry. The guy kicked the bike and shouted some swear words unsuitable for kids.
One of the biggest moments in a Dutch child’s life is getting a ‘real’ bike. My first bike was purple with training wheels. It was a gift from my grandparents, who brought it all the way from Germany. When I turned four the training wheels where taken off by my father. Apparently he thought it was time to do it on my own. I did not know how to break, so I stopped by throwing myself on the ground. I still have scarred knees.
My second bike I got it when I turned six. One condition was I had to clean it every Saturday. Wash it with soap and water, make sure all the rusty bits on the rims where gone. I did that maybe twice a year. Too late to get most of the rust off.
The last bike my parents gave me had three gears. I needed those on my daily 10-kilometer trip to school, through rain and snow. I always had headwind: on the way to school and on the way back. For some mysterious, unscientific reason the wind always turned while I was in class.
My second bike I got it when I turned six. One condition was I had to clean it every Saturday. Wash it with soap and water, make sure all the rusty bits on the rims where gone. I did that maybe twice a year. Too late to get most of the rust off.
The last bike my parents gave me had three gears. I needed those on my daily 10-kilometer trip to school, through rain and snow. I always had headwind: on the way to school and on the way back. For some mysterious, unscientific reason the wind always turned while I was in class.
I refused to wear a rain suit. We had to bike in groups because kids cycling in the opposite direction tried to kick our schoolbags off our bike racks. Very unpopular kids - the ones wearing rain suits - biked alone.
Having a bike got a whole new meaning when I moved to Amsterdam. Most bicycles have a lock that is more expensive then the bike itself. At the age of 30 I had fifteen bikes stolen, by junkies or people who had their bikes stolen.
Having a bike got a whole new meaning when I moved to Amsterdam. Most bicycles have a lock that is more expensive then the bike itself. At the age of 30 I had fifteen bikes stolen, by junkies or people who had their bikes stolen.
Locking your bike is the art of outsmarting a thief. Another art is avoiding the tram rails embedded in slippery, cobble-stoned streets. Always drive askew if you want to avoid getting your tires stuck. One of my biggest bike fears is being hurled over the handlebars in a crowded intersection.
It almost happened with my heavy new bike. I felt it slither as the rubber lost traction on the metal rail, but managed to avoid getting stuck.
My bike is called a ‘bakfiets’ in Dutch. It is black with a huge brown wooden box in front. It is more expensive than an ipad, seats two kids and four big bags of groceries. It has 7 gears and a 100 dollar lock.
It’s the Mercedes Benz Janis Joplin sang about. I will respond accordingly when someone tries to steal it. Or tries to kick it.
