(DIS)COMFORT INVENTORY : Urban Biking
The first step in changing personal narratives is embracing our discomfort with them.
I call this self-awareness
Getting myself a bike was an idea inspired by a friend who tried to convince me last year to bike to and from work instead of taking the 40-minute train. I was like… is he kidding? Bike over 18 miles (30 km) to work and leave two hours before class? Spend four hours out of my day biking? While this sounds like an astonishing feat to achieve each day, it’s a challenge wayyyy outside my availability and physician condition. I remembered this friends’ genuine love for physical challenge, and took his ‘advice’ with a grain of salt. On the other hand, the extremity and casualness of his suggestion forced my mind to meet in the middle somewhere. Biking would be a new way to experience a place in the long-term, for less than the cost of a flight.
The value and potential of biking sunk in even further after visiting my cousin in the Netherlands. He specifically told me that instead of watching out for cars, it’s important to watch out for bikers… like… all the time. The flesh on metal on wheels flew past me when I paid the least amount of attention, and I definitely would’ve gotten rammed into if my cousin wouldn’t have been quick enough to always pull me back. I’d never seen anything like it before, particularly the parking lots. Imagine a regular car parking garage… well, there’s some of that and more. Full to the brim with bikes. There’s so many that I don’t understand how it’s possible to even FIND one’s bike within the piles of metal rods and tires.
If you don’t get what I’m talking about, let me give you an idea:
Contemplations…
In the Netherlands, there are more bikes than people, and supposedly 99 percent of the population are cyclists. A good point this article makes is that perhaps there’s so many cyclists because the Netherlands’ infrastructure invests in proper bike paths that prioritize the biker’s safety. What comes first… the biker or the accessibility of safe and efficient biking practices?
What would the United States look like if it invested in bike-centered infrastructure? (And perhaps an affordable national public train system… imagine… the jobs… the accessible travel opportunities… *sigh* I digress.) In the US, driving our cars everywhere is normalized, even if our destination is less than a mile away. So much so, that whenever I, a 23-year-old with a license, would be walking at a leisurely pace down a road without a dog on a leash, I’d get weird looks galore from the drivers zooming past me. Our infrastructure is built to support cars, and lots of them. Witnessing such a hefty cultural difference (and distance) when getting from Point A to Point B brought me to the conclusion — if a whole country in Europe is doing it, why can’t I?
I thought that maybe there’d be something that would justify me not pursuing this wild idea of investing in a bike for 9 months. Then, I got to Málaga, new city, new job, and a wayyy shorter commute. The abundance of urban bike trails and brave souls doing the thing motivated me. This summer, my sister and I wanted to bike the whole 18-mile Chicago lakefront trail. Frankly, just biking halfway got me exhausted and discouraged, and we didn’t finish it. The ride made me realize how unconditioned I really was (which isn’t ideal when one of your biggest goals within the next few years is to do a pole dancing competition). So for the sake of stepping outside my comfort zone and physical health, getting a bike when I moved to Malaga slammed itself on my long list of to-do’s.
Fate and free-will as friends
WhatsApp is a great place to be. I’m in a “Secondhand Málaga” group chat where I successfully found and went to inspect two bikes people were selling in my price range. One was way too small, and the other one, well, let me tell ya. The owner’s front tire got stolen and she was lucky enough to find a replacement from a rando that sold secondhand bike parts. Needless to say, her bike was quite old. Being uninformed on bike-robbing culture and it’s preventative measures, I didn’t want to stress about finding another piece of antique bicycle if something got stolen. I felt bad, mentioned the handlebar being too low for my comfort (which it was) and that I’d let her know in a few hours. I turned it down. I’m glad I listened to my intuition instead of feeling pressured in the moment by another innocent human just trying her best to sell her bike before going back home (to the Netherlands, may I add). The bike I choose is going to be my baby for at least the next nine months, and since it’s an investment, I need to feel confident and comfortable in my choice.
Shortly after that visit, a student had canceled an English class with me, so I decided to use my newfound time to go to Decathlon. This overstimulating sports store has everything, from surfboards to hiking shoes to camping grills to ballet leotards. I absolutely love Decathlon; it’s funness-equivalent beats walking around Target when you’re a bored and broke teenager in the suburbs of Chicago. Because of its organization and prices, it’s a lot more appealing than the US’s Dick’s Sporting Goods equivalent. This safe haven for sports also sold secondhand bikes.
I felt really in tune with the universe the afternoon I went to Decathlon. On my way, I was getting a bit hungry. Roasted chestnuts grazed my mind walking to the athlete’s playground, along with the anxiety I’d get if I found the right bike, of course. I told myself — if I see someone roasting chestnuts on the way, they’ll have my two euros per ten chestnuts STAT. Not kidding, 5 seconds later as I rounded the corner to cross the street, there were chestnuts roasting on an open fire, and it wasn’t even November yet! Through the gray blur of smoke hovering between the saleswomen and I, we trade. Coin for cone of brain-looking deliciousnesses. Later, when I had finished my snack, with my charcoal-stained fingers to prove it, another craving started to seep in. A McDonalds revealed itself seconds after (I kid you not) craving McDonald’s fries for dinner. The McD’s was right next to my destination. In that moment… I knew… I’d be going home with a bike.
Silliness (but actually seriousness?!) aside, my vintage-vibes black beauty bicycle was waiting for someone to take good care of her. I don’t know how well I’m going to do considering my basil plant is doing pretty bad right now, but at least metal doesn’t require watering and limited hours of sun. I just have to make sure my new vehicle doesn’t get stolen, which I guess is up to luck? Or an expensive lock (*sigh*). I didn’t take into consideration all the other things I’d need when urban biking — a quality chain, front and back lights, a helmet, and is a cute little basket too much to ask? I’ll pay what it takes for the flights and adventures abroad, but it’s very hard for me to buy expensive things. Looking at the prices of those necessities alone could’ve been enough to convince me to stop my bike search, or to continue finding faults in the bikes I see in group chats and stores. Oh, those poor good people who’s time I’d waste!
Part of my local Decathlon’s variety is it’s super convenient bike repair workshop. I got a lot of help there from a woman with a high brown ponytail braid and silver septum piercing. She helped me pick out the right chain and informed me on the lights-at-night rules. Red light in the back, white in the front. Duh! I went in so ignorant to some of these tiny details, and am still learning while experiencing the process of owning a bike in Spain. The mechanic walks the bike to the front while my hands are full with all my new toys, including a super cute shiny white helmet. Did I forget to mention that when I saw the bike I knew it was the one? And when I saw a two-digit number written on the price tag, my intuition was confirmed?
Nevertheless, when I got to the cash register and saw a three digit # on the screen, I melted a little inside, and humbly tapped my travel rewards credit card on the reader.
I bought a bike. Next obstacle — I had no idea how to get home from where I was. Later obstacle — My elderly phone was at 19%, which meant it’d have died within about 15 minutes of using it. So what did I do? Tested out my new chain on a fence outside, charged my phone, and ate a delicious McDonald’s fry and Oreo white chocolate McFlurry to treat myself and my big move. After savoring the seductive sweet and salty combo, I studied the map enough to make it home safe and sound. Obstacles hurdled. Cravings checked. Not only was my appetite satisfied, but my intrinsic craving for new experiences.
Post-bike life
Consistency is the goal, and a vital key to success. Every time I take my bike out, I’m overcoming levels of discomfort. Riding my bike to work requires a commute of about two and a half miles (4 km), with a total incline of about 330 feet (100 m). This is easy for many, but I proudly leave earlier to give myself time to walk that hill; I want to be there for myself if I need to make the already physically tiring encounter a bit more enjoyable. And the ride home? Absolutely amazing. I barely pedal because of the downhill trail, and the sun hits my skin with a perfect mix of wind brushing through my hair. With consistency, biking to work, to the center, to the beach, to wherever, will only get easier and easier. Slowly but surely I’m turning what used to be a long-shot decision into a new and comforting healthy habit.
