Bikes outnumber people in Amsterdam. The iconic bicycles are an important facet of the city’s infrastructure. The city is tightly interwoven and easy to walk through with accessible tourist attractions and activities for locals and travelers alike. The bikes are instantly appealing; they litter the streets, all bunched up along the walkways and storefronts.
The number of bikers traveling alongside my group as we wheeled our suitcase into our hostel was overwhelming. On the morning of our first full day, the bike rental shop was our first stop. The man behind the desk was rude and mocked us for our plans to go to the Van Gogh museum, writing us off as dumb tourists. I thought this was a cultural quirk and ignored his innocuous comments.
The bikes we rented were sleek and black. They came with attached locks that snapped together with an easy key mechanism. We marched down in a line and paid 15 euros for six hours of bike time. Luckily, we got a discount from our hostel. Our bikelord rolled his eyes and scoffed at us for being cheap.
The complex system of bike lanes make cycling the easiest and often fastest form of transportation in Amsterdam. We joined the swarm of cyclists who, grouped together in tandem, own the roads. Our group got separated instantly. We struggled to stick together due to traffic lights and varying skill levels. We had a vague plan to go to a market we found online but we, severed, couldn’t coagulate into a steady group.
The rush of traffic was frightening and the experienced cyclists came at us from all directions. They yelled and argued when we turned the wrong way or went too early. Everything was rushing like a nonstop stream of energy. Forgiveness was not an option. I was terrified. I was scared I would be hit and launched off my bike and into the canals that ran a couple feet beside us. The dark dirty water sloshed, its motion threatening.
I’m an experienced biker, and I could’ve taken care of myself. But the intensity of the Dutch streets did throw me off. The traffic surged and bikers tore through my path, ringing their bells incessantly and destroying my confidence.
I doubted myself. I questioned my skill. Could I even survive on these streets? I looked up at the sky, a large cathedral silhouetting my view. I was wondering if God was looking down on me, could he help me? Could anyone help me?
The trolley divots lining the streets added intricacies to our path. They waited for us to get distracted so they could strike. My friend’s bike tire got caught in a surprise attack from the trolley track. Fellow traveler Breezin Brick delivered her account of her fall. “I felt embarrassed but I also felt like… what else was supposed to happen when you’re bike riding,” she said. “I didn’t fall that bad… I tripped over my bike and my shoe fell off.”
After whizzing past clock towers and churches through West Amsterdam, I steadied on my bike. I grasped the handles and adjusted in my seat. With a deep breath I suddenly felt a euphoric sense of peace and joy. The sun was shining and the beauty of the new city was refreshing. I felt a sense of unbridled wonder and adventure. The bike was a tool for me to use.
We all arrived at the market tents in one piece. Luckily, no one was hurt or too traumatized. The experience was worthwhile and though the initial fear was intense, the joy of riding through the city trumped the intimidation factor. The breeze of the fresh autumn day counteracted the adrenaline and paved the way for a wonderful day.
“I would [recommend biking]; just pay attention if you’re clumsy and be extra cautious like me,” Brick said.