How to Ride a Bike in Amsterdam
While I like to think I've always been a glass half full kind of gal, I'll admit that the last four years has given me a run for my smile, at times. If I had to think of one particular love, hate relationship in Amsterdam, I'd have to say bikes.
I love biking. I bike everywhere. While it's is usually our main means of transport, Cas' motorcycle accident temporarily confined us to the hospital and home for a few months, resulting in multiple, unusable bikes with very flat tires. The last man standing was our foldable, commuter bike. In desperation, I grabbed it to run some errands one day. I hopped on, completely consumed and distracted with thoughts of Cas, and went on my way. I didn't stop to worry that, yeah, it might not have felt exactly right.
About 20 minutes later, I arrive to Praxis (the Dutch Home Depot) and park my bike. I'm locking it when a nice gentleman says to me in Dutch, "Is your bike supposed to look like that?" I look at him in pure confusion. I look at the bike. I say, "Yeah!" He laughs, walks over, puts his hands on the handlebars, and spins the whole front part of the bike around.
I had cycled the entire way with my front wheel and handlebars backwards.
Last year, we lived on an island suburb of Amsterdam called Ijburg. It was just far enough away from the center to have a beachy, hippy vibe but close enough to still be apart of the historic city. It was a 7 mile bike ride to work and a 7 mile bike ride home from work, each day. It totalled about 45 minutes, door to door, with one, giant bridge right before our house.
Let's just say, I got in excellent shape.
The cycle from our little island to the Amsterdam city centre was quiet. For the first 20 minutes, I was almost always alone, cycling along the river and through unoccupied areas of the parks with my podcasts. On most occasions, I quite enjoyed this part of my day.
Then, one cold, winter morning my chain came loose. This would have been fine on any other part of my journey, but it just so happened to happen in the most remote area.
It was pouring down rain and Amsterdam windy. For those of you that don't know, Amsterdam has a way of having strong winds, year round. You tend to get used to it...that is, until you need to fix a bike in it.
I saw no other solution but to channel my inner Dutchie, flip over my bike, and try to fix the chain, myself. I had seen my dad and Cas do it, numerous times, after all. It couldn't be that hard. So, there I was, bike wheels up, on my knees, hands in the chains.
I had to have worked on it for at least 30 minutes before some one finally cycled by. My hands were covered in grease and I must have looked like I had no idea what I was doing, hovering sopping wet over my crappy bike. A very attractive, well dressed Dutch man in his twenties, stopped. He asked if I needed help.
He couldn't seem to get the chain on either. After about another 15 minutes, he gave up. Just before he left to let me fend for myself, once again, he smiled and handed me a tissue from his pocket. He said, "you may need this."
As soon as I'm out of his range of sight, I yank out my phone to see what in the world he was talking about.
I was literally covered in grease. Like, my whole face.
And so, I used his tissue.....and walked 30 minutes to take the bus that day.
Cas and I decided to take a little stroll through De Pijp one day, a popular area of restaurants and shops, in Amsterdam. I was brand new to Amsterdam at this point, unaware of my surroundings and totally intimidated by all that was happening around me as I trucked along on my little bike. This had surprised me. I had predicted to be fantastic on the bike, seeing as how we grew up biking through trails and neighbourhoods on vacation and around our hometown. This was totally different. My short little legs struggled to even get my butt up on the Dutchie's high seats.
As we waited for the light to change so we could cross the street, I stepped down from that high seat. This was my least favourite part of cycling- getting back up on the bike. The light turned green. Cas went. I did my best to hoist myself up and get the bike moving, but I was nervous, surrounded my at least 20 other skilled cyclers, trying to get around me. I knew they hated tourists and slow starters. I was still a slow starter. In my nervousness, I stumbled and faulted to the right.
From Cas' perspective, he says he looked back just in time to see me, slowly fall with the bike to the right. He then heard "crash!".
There I was in the middle of an intersection, one of the biggest intersection (just outside of Heineken Experience for those of you who know the area), laying under my bike. The real biking enthusiasts jetted by me, not even giving me a second look. I had failed to appear as a local.
I crossed the remaining part of the street on my feet.
The seat was lowered that afternoon.
As my confidence grew on the bike, so did the skill. Thank god. The more comfortable I became, the less wobbly I was and the less difficult it was to get myself started. I had to learn to trust myself, biking in the city. However, I still didn't know my way around.
When Cas and I would go on different adventures, I would often follow behind him. He was the expert. However, this is the first no-no you learn in Dutch Biking 101. It's every man for himself, out there. Never just follow.
One morning, we were crossing the street towards the Westerkerk and Anne Frank museum in the Jordaan, attempting to get to the train station. We were running late. Cas is a mad man on the bike, squeezing between cars and people, without a single hesitation. I'm attempting to follow, completely terrified but giving myself internal pep talks, "you can do this." He crossed a major road, weaving between cars, trucks, and trams. I sped up to do the same.
My life flashes before my eyes. A large truck slams on his horn and breaks. My heart stops, as I hesitate what to do next.
Cas turns around and looks at me like, "what are you doing?!"
And so, I learned that day, never trust anyone but yourself on the Dutch roads, even the person you trust more than anything in this world.
Rain and snow do not stop cyclists in this city. In fact, it just makes you all the more authentically local. So, one rainy night I put on my rain suit and headed out to meet some friends on a popular street for bars and restaurants. We wined and dined at a fancy Italian restaurant, giggled and shared stories of our travels. By the time, it was time to leave I had had enough wine to have an underlying warmth in my skin to last the cold bike ride home and to apparently, become a Dutchie in the upcoming events.
As I was cycling home, I had to pass through a popular street for tourists. As I attempted to weave around them, it got to a certain part in the street where they extended across the whole roadway. In sassy frustration, I whizzed passed them, cycling up a small ramp onto the sidewalk, to pass them.
Rain. It's just not a good combination for any type of moving vehicle.
Like slow motion, I felt my tires slowly slip to the right as I went up the ramp, right next to the very tourists, I had been cursing in my mind. Yup. I fell.
They ran over to help me, offering me their gloves and hands in genuine kindness. When they asked if they could do anything for me? I, in all my new Dutchness, sneered, "Yeah! Get out of the street!" Darn tourists.
I walked away feeling horrible. I never spoke to people that way. Where did it come from?
To this day, I'll never know what drove such frustration. Was it the wine or was I simply initiated into a true, tourist-hating Dutchie?
So, how do you ride a bike in Amsterdam?
Make sure the wheels and handlebars are facing the right direction
Just lower the seat to, no matter how much you get made fun of (and you will!)
Don't be a follower
Most importantly, blame everything on the tourists ;)