Bike culture

In Philadelphia, I had a bicycle that I was really excited about and then rarely used. A few rides in Fairmount Park, and much fewer into the city. When it got down to it, I was often concerned that I would have to carry things home (I had no basket on my bike), or make numerous stops (and who wants to lug a bike around to 10 different stores), or the weather was bad (I just couldn't ride in the winter. Just couldn't do it.), or the city traffic seemed to whiz by at just the right amount of intimidating for an amateur rider like myself.

Okay. So it was often quite often the last reason there.

When I first put foot to petal in Philly, it was the first time I had ridden since I was about 10 years old. And even as a kid, trips around my tiny hometown block seemed like excitement enough for one ride.

Here in Belgium, the bike culture stands tall and firm as reality. Everyone bikes here - the kid going to school to the mother buying fresh bread to the retired. Bikes are just as frequent as cars, and it makes sense - cities are too small and streets are too narrow to worry with a car for a simple errand.

H and his family found the bike that was destined to by mine in a bush at his grandparents' house. At least I think that's the story. When nobody came to claim it after 3 months, they figured it was fair game, and I got a free bike. I'm glad to have it - it really does make some trips so much quicker. But, mind you, I'm not quite up to Belgian riding standards. You see expert riding here - people literally carrying a bag of groceries and biking, or biking with someone perched on the back, or just pedaling away with their hands at their sides instead of on the handlebars. (This always makes me narrow my eyes. Stop showing off, you Belgian cycling nut.) It's like they were born attached to a bicycle.

It's the carrying things that's the problem for me. And the few times I've tried it, it just hasn't gone well. Last week, I got groceries with my bike and was smart enough to bring a messenger bag I could wear on my back. Until it fell forward, tipping me over into the side of a truck. I literally fell into a truck. I've biked to my new gym a couple of times balancing my gym bag carefully on my right shoulder. For any Belgian, a quick flick of the bag when it seemed to be teetering towards the precarious place where shoulder meets arm would be an effortless and casual readjustment while pedaling perfectly straight uphill. For an unpracticed American amateur biker, it's me chanting in my head 'please don't fall to my arm', raising my right shoulder awkwardly while I try to find a good place to stop pedaling and coast a bit on a quiet stretch of street. This, so that I can reach my hand up as quickly as possible while letting the bike swerve out of control for a second to secure the bag. And I don't always make it. The bag has fallen before and thrown me off balance. Today, I literally just fell off my bike in the middle of a busy intersection. I also couldn't turn quite sharply enough and ran into a pole.

So much for fitting in, I guess. But of course, I'll keep trying. Until then, I hope the Belgians know to get the hell out of my way.

P.S. - We finally have internet in our apartment! Finally...