Ann Pelo of Seattle captured top honors – and the judges’ unanimous votes – with her magical story on riding home one dark night in December. Pelo won a Norco VFR V-Brake 3 commuter bike for her efforts.
Second place was Allison Burson and third place was Marina Martin-Tretton, both of Seattle. Both riders received Columbia Sportswear schwag.
Thank you to all who entered – and especially to our friends at Norco for their generous donation and sponsorship of our inaugural contest, Columbia Sportswear and our judges: Jennifer Donahue, Sherry May and Amy Poffenbarger.
We have posted all 21 submissions to the contest below. Watch for this contest in Outdoors NW again next May!
FIRST PLACE
Ann Pelo, Seattle
Late December, nearly Solstice. The ride home from work is in the dark, mostly along the Burke Gilman trail. The night’s velvet is an embrace. I ride across the Montlake Bridge, and nearly crash my bike when I catch sight of the full moon rising huge and gold over the lake. I pull over to watch the moon and its reflection on the lake, until the cool night air urges me to keep biking. I ride under the 520 bridge, past the little wetlands next to the Montlake playfield, the trees a canopy overhead. Then, back into the open, cloudless sky. I look up, hoping for a glimpse of the full moon, and see, instead, a shooting star, slow and bright, crossing the dark sky. I brake, pull over, marveling at the miracle, the magic of this ride. Grateful to be on my bike, in the cold air, under the sky, with the moon and stars as companions on my commute home.
SECOND PLACE:
By Allison Burson
Seattle
 I’ve always thought my dad was pretty cool. It never occurred to me to be embarrassed when he rolled up to coach soccer practice in full body spandex, swapping his helmet and shoes for a floppy-hat, shin guards and cleats.
My dad biked to work, so I wanted to bike to work, too. Never mind the time he ended up on the hood of a car when the driver made a left turn on red. He got a new bike; he kept riding.
When I got my first job as a camp counselor, it was a no-brainer that I’d load up my purple bike and pedal to the bus stop. Sadly, after a month of lovely rides, a construction truck snuck up behind me, squeezed me off the road and sent me flying head over heels off my bicycle.
I sat up. I called my mom. I told her that a mean truck got me, and I tried to untangle myself from the bike. Before I could stand up, another cyclist had pulled over, and a nurse had hopped out of her car. The cyclist fixed up my bike while the nurse checked my vital signs. Within minutes, my mom drove up, and the nurse sent us to the ER. I missed the bus that day, I cracked my helmet, and I had scrapes on the entire right side of my body, but it never occurred to me to stop biking. Despite the egg sized bump on my head, I insisted on going helmet shopping the next day.
And I keep riding. Now I arrive at business meetings in pink spandex, hauling panniers. And maybe someday, if I have children, they will also think it’s cool to arrive at preschool in a bike trailer and go shopping in spandex.
THIRD PLACE:
By Marina Martin-Tretton
Seattle
Shuffle Moments
 I must confess, with the years I’ve become increasingly a fair-weather rider. In the NW, that translates to the months of April through November, more or less. These days, when I see a dedicated soul pedaling through the snow in a January storm, I can’t help but admire such bravery.
I love to ride my bike, the action of pedaling and its moments of inertia. I can’t pinpoint if it is the speed, the challenge, the freedom, the adventure… or simply the air in my face, but I am definitely hooked.
Recently, 21st century gadgetry infiltrated my bike commute, a little iPod loaded with an eclectic library, delivering its musical gems in shuffle mode. I don’t crank it up too loud, traffic awareness shouldn’t be underestimated, is more like the soundtrack to a moment in life, setting the pace of the ride.
During a recent morning commute, life was good and full of possibility, the sky was blue and … wait, are those rain droplets in my forehead? Yes, and it didn’t take long before it turned into a Seattle downpour. As the rain came down, Toots & the Maytals came on the headphones with “Take me home, country roads” and I was transported to a Jamaican summer storm… Soon, I realized that I was as wet as I could possibly get and it didn’t bother me at all, if anything, I was relishing it! There was a sense of exposure, of being an active participant with nature that made me feel alive. The people inside vehicles looked at me puzzled at the big smile, and I looked back, feeling they were missing out on a fantastic experience, a journey through a different perspective, my very own Shuffle Moment.
By Joel Goldberg
Seattle
How do I love bicycle commuting? Let me count the ways: Our family got rid of one car and we barely drive the other. I lost two pants sizes and I’m in the best shape of my life. No more waiting at bus stops. I get to the office feeling invigorated, my brain is alert and ready to work. I’m doing my part to save the environment. I get the feeling of accomplishment from conquering hills and routes that were previously too challenging. I never need to find a parking spot. Depending on where I’m going, it’s quicker by bike than in a car or bus. A bike ride is cheaper than a bus pass and a gym membership. Chatting with other friendly bikers along the ride has replaced road rage, horn honking, and rude gestures from inside the car. All this from a used bike I picked up on craigslist one day.
By Kirsten Homeniuk
Whistler, B.C.
My story isn’t about commuting to work… rather commuting to play! For the past three summers, my boyfriend and I have attended a marvelous wine tasting event that takes place on Galiano Island (part of the Gulf Islands of BC). It is a really special event the Galiano community puts on including a number of participating wineries, a lovely food spread, plus local music and crafts.
Last summer, we decided to ride our bikes onto the ferry, tour around the island, which also ensured we did not need to drive a vehicle back to the ferry terminal after the festival. Between the sunshine, the friendly people and of course the wine, we were feeling very lucky to be alive. Sunset drew near and the time came to head back to the ferry so we hopped on our bikes and started the commute back to the terminal. As we rode along, we noticed car after car passing at varying speeds and with varying degrees of attention paid to the lines on the road. The cars seemed to be whizzing by like kites in a storm. Many event revelers of course also needed to head back to the ferry but unfortunately had not considered the bike commute. We stopped and thought to ourselves, “Hmm, who are the silly ones here?” I’m sure my 5-speed cruiser would not stand up against one of these front bumpers. We continued on, enjoying the scenic coastal road. At last we arrived at the dock and had a renewed sense of how lucky we felt to be alive. We decided to do a few 20 foot cliff jumps off the end of the pier to celebrate!
By Chris McGraw
Portland, Ore.
It’s approaching midnight (in Austin, Texas) and it’s nasty out, nasty like we don’t have in Oregon: tornado-wannabe gusts and sheets of rain from thunderstorm turning hail festival. My study partner asks what I do about hail on the bike. “No helmet, no brains, duh!” So I strip down to my shorts, shoes and helmet.
The city power is out from 26th up til about 34th including stoplights: the streets are darker than I’ve ever seen them. It’s damn dark going over the little bridge between 27th and 30th! And my ankles are attacked by all manner of gnarled freshly snapped treebranch claws extending up from the pavement, and a steady zesting of hailstones keeps me continually helmet-thankful. But fortunately, all of my gear holds up admirably in the wet obstacle course.
Sure-footed steed dodges much, smushes the rest. All of my blinkies and a waterproof pannier packed with dry clothes and laptop ride it out with more grace than myself. What doesn’t kill us provides opportunities for bike fun, right?
Also, I beat the #5 bus. It passed me on Speedway at 30th; I passed it back on 45th. Public transportation eat my (sopping wet) shorts!
By Julie Archangeli
Bellingham, Wash.
My bicycle commuting story may be a little different, as my 9-year-old son is the commuter, forced to cycle rain or shine, without much choice! I run twice a week with a group of six other women. We schedule our runs (4-13 miles) every Wednesday evening and Saturday morning. We have been running consistently for 5 years, in all weather conditions. My son has been attending the runs via his bicycle, often carrying water, aka the Water Boy. I know that the exposure my son is receiving will serve as a long-term healthy attitude about staying physically fit and enjoying the outdoors. He will sometimes complain about having to attend our runs, for which he not given much sympathy, since most kids’ bikes sit in a garage year around, unused. Recently, I borrowed a bike to attend the “ride to school or work” day at my son’s request. My son thought this was the most exciting bike ride ever! It was fun to see him energized after complaining about the regular “boring” rides through Bellingham’s beautiful trails and along the coastline! Again, not much sympathy…
In an effort to continue with mentoring a healthy lifestyle for my son, I would love to be able to participate in cycling with him, as he is gets older, and take him on bike rides that are more challenging, as well as fun and interesting.
By Karen Hanson, Seattle
2009: The Year of the Bike
I’m more of a runner than a biker, a bus commuter than a bike commuter. My typical 3-½ mile (one way) commute to work would usually be by bus. However, two years ago in May, I participated in my first Bike to Work day in Seattle. I was motivated by the spring weather, the organized event and my preference for being outside, instead of on an overcrowded bus, winding its way through rush hour traffic.
So, I dusted off my bike, found my helmet and participated in the event. It was great to see so many bikers on the streets and, even better was that my commute to work was along the Burke-Gilman Trail, a protected path away from cars. That year, I rode occasionally, but not nearly as often as I should have, and primarily warmer and drier months. In 2008, I again participated in the annual Bike to Work day, but again did not ride as much as I wanted.
This year is different. 2009 is the Year of the Bike for me. My goal is to ride year-round during the wet, cold and dreary winter days (ok, the snow days are a definite exception) and the beautiful spring and summer days. Since moving, my commute has increased to 10-½ miles each way, but for some reason the increase in distance doesn’t bother me much.
Though I miss the Burke-Gilman trail, I still get to enjoy the relatively traffic-free roads along another city bike trail, the Lake Washington Loop Trail. I love that biking allows me to be outside, get exercise, smell the fresh air, see the seasonal changes taking place, explore different streets in Seattle, and on a really great day view the beautiful and striking Mt. Rainier.
By Todd Cowles
Woodinville, Wash.
Of all my commutes and trips around Seattle and the surrounding areas, my stand-out adventure happened about five years ago. Not too far into my trip from Bellevue to West Seattle, I hit some blackberry bush branches in the trail and popped both my tires. “One of those days,” I said to myself. I patched them up and was soon back on my way across the I-90 bridge.
Once through the tunnel, I made my way towards the international district. As I sped down a hill, a homeless fellow fell right in front of me from between two parked cars. With nowhere to go, I half bunny-hopped him, but mostly squished him as I rolled right over his midsection.
After coming to a stop and successfully convincing a few bystanders that I wasn’t the original reason for him being in the street, the medics showed up and took what was apparently a heart attack victim off to the hospital.
Back on the bike again, I headed for West Seattle. I was literally a few blocks from my destination, heading up Oregon Street, when a car pulled to a stop up ahead of me from the right. It was the crummiest of crummy cars – a rattling Ford Escort, I believe. The driver’s-side window had been knocked out and replaced with less-than-clear plastic sheeting. As I approached the car, thinking I’d ride by before it pulled out, I saw something against the plastic. It was his ear. He was listening (not looking) for approaching traffic. When he heard nothing, he went. I skidded into the side of his car and my upper torso went through the plastic, greeting him with a “duuuuuude!” (or maybe something more colorful – I forget). My sudden entry into the cockpit of the Escort just about made the guy pee his pants. The bike was fine, it was a near-miss for a second heart attack in the last 20 minutes, and I went on my merry way.
By Evan MacKenzie
Pendleton, Ore.
I’m 40 years old, and I’ve been a bike commuter since elementary school. When they put in bike racks and made us get permission from our parents to ride to school, I was one of the first kids to sign up.
I’ve ridden a bicycle to almost every job I’ve ever had. At 16 I got a job at McDonald’s, and rode my Bianchi every day. I got my first cruiser in college, a 1964 Schwinn Corvette, for riding to class (I still have it). After college when I had to drive for work, I still rode, but only twice (it snowed and I couldn’t drive).
I lived in Tacoma, Wash. for a few years and rode to work at Redline Bicycles, 27 miles away, up to four days a week. I’ll never forget flatting on a cold and rainy night on an unlit highway, and then stopping in a hotel lobby for 20 minutes to warm up.
In grad school, I bought a new townie so I wouldn’t thrash my old ones. That bike now has more than 8,000 miles on it.
I’ve been a Planner for five years now. I’ve worked for several municipalities, and have yet to live more than two miles from work. I ride a little less now, because sometimes I walk. My co-workers look at me a little suspiciously, even the ones who drive to work from less than a mile away. I’ve ridden to work in the snow at 12 below, up and down hills too steep to drive on. On days we have fresh snow, I leave early so I can ride longer. When it rains, I put on my rain gear. On the most miserable days, people question my sanity. My response?
“Every day is a good day to ride.”
By Kevin Kennedy
Portland, Ore.
I have a serious spinal condition called severe osteogenic bilateral foriminal stenosis or spondylolisthesis. Very painful. I recently moved from Prescott Valley, Ariz. to Portland, Ore. in 2004. I came from what I thought was a red (neck) state to the beautiful green state of Oregon, just when the economy was going south. I had a revelation!
When I heard that some oil company made over 6 billion dollars in profit in their first quarter, I was finally convinced. Here is one person or family who will no longer buy a car or pay for gas again. I sold my gas guzzling SUV and bought two adult bikes and a small kids bike for my son, and bought a trailer for my son and a utility trailer for groceries, water, etc.
We should all do our part by helping ourselves and the environment by walking more and biking, taking mass transit whenever possible, and make inner cities car-free! I have never felt better, mentally and physically since the sale of my vehicle. I have lost 80 pounds in about two years and my diabetes Type 2 has disappeared.
By Deborah Thorgerson
Seattle
It’s never a bad day to ride.
The day stretched before me, catlike. And smirking. It already knew my fate.
I rolled over in bed, and erected my arm from the warmth. I allowed gravity to slam it back down onto the alarm clock. Those famous Northwest beers were stronger than the server said. No wonder I thought I was so charming last night.
Let my punishment begin.
I encouraged my morning rituals to ease me into the day slowly, as I was feeling something close to the “Minnesota,” about which that shirtless guy sang. I prodded and poked the USDA’s recommended daily allowance, until I had accomplished some semblance of wakefulness, and took a deep breath.
Then, I relaxed as I remembered: I’m riding my bike to work today.
I stretched into my spandex, and straddled my sensible, aluminum steed. I pointed my front wheel toward the “uphill route:” the northern section of the Interurban Trail. I turned the pedals in their first revolution, and started my climb. I crossed the ‘busy street’—you know, the kind by which your mother was always frightened when you were small—and turned past the hilltop cemetery. Strangely, the cars always avoid this corner.
The first hill descends into another climb. And now, I’m riding. Near another cemetery—peace be with you. Through the woods. Past a lake. Over the pedestrian bridge, over another busy street—and its tangential partner. Through a strip mall. Behind a casino. Next to the Jewish cemetery—Shalom, my friends. Up another eight-percent grade. Through a rain shower. And finally, to the long descent…
Good glory, this feels good. I’m not yet at the office, but this downhill has granted me the absolution I sought. It’s going to be a good day.
By Eric Barcus
Everett, Wash.
I had just graduated from high school, my graduation present luggage. I had my eyes set on a technical school in Spokane. So I packed my car and headed for the other side of the mountains. That car was good to me for some time, provided “living quarters” until school began and was thought a bargain at a mere thousand dollars. Then it died, taking with it what I had learned to be my freedom of exploration. A few weeks of bus riding went by and I had saved $500, enough for a car or a really nice bike. The trivial dance of the different transportation methods kept my already busy mind filled with imagination of both pleasures.
With summer of 2004 quickly approaching again with dreams of speeding down the south Spokane hill and the surrounding mountains, my thoughts steered me into heading to the local bike shop with a friend. After a few hours of test riding, and question probing we both ended up with all purpose, transportation, exploration, thrill seeking, freedom machines. During the week my Giant Yukon provided means to make life happen (school, work, food) and almost daily bike rides. During the weekend, male bonding, out in the mountains, one car to the top, the thrill down, and the hitchhike back up.
Perhaps the best use of the bike was the time it gave me to pause, in the repetitive pedal movement was freedom to breath. It didn’t matter if it was the struggle of climbing the south hill to return to my bed or the steady pace of venturing from the valley back to the hill. I had time to think, time to explore myself, time away from life’s demands. I had achieved freedom of exploration, much deeper than ever anticipated.
By John Collett
Albany, Ore.
I commute by Amtrak from Albany to Salem and I have a 20 inch 6-speed fold-up bike to ride from the Salem station to my workplace. A few times on nice days, instead of riding the Amtrak bus home, I have ridden my bike all the way to Albany. There are a few hills I have to walk up but all in all it is a nice ride if I have 2-1/2 hours to spare. By the time I get to the Santiam River I am pretty beat.
One time, I was coming down Morningstar Drive just north of Albany. There was a slight incline but at that point I figured I needed to shift all the way down to first gear. But I forgot, on this bike, shifting to first gear caused the chain to come off. Before I realized it the bike stopped and I fell straight over sideways into the ditch. I looked like Arte Johnson on Laugh-in for those who remember that. I was laughing at myself and glad no one had seen me along this quiet road. I got the chain back on and needless to say I haven’t shifted into first since...
By Steven Burns
Redmond, Wash.
My commute ride passes down a hill and turns under a bridge that crosses a creek. The creek is prone to spilling over its banks and flooding the adjacent bike path. Sometimes the floodwaters pool over the path. The county installs a warning barrier at the top of the hill when the path is flooded.
I had become complacent since the county often takes a long time to remove the barrier after the floods recede. I was in the smug habit of riding around it. A few inches of rainwater are no harm.
One night a couple of years ago, the area I live in suffered heavy rains. The creek flooded. The next morning was clear. As was my habit, I merrily rode past the barrier down the hill. I could not see the small lake that had formed under the bridge. At speed, I slammed into the cold water. A wave swooshed up over my head in a drenching torrent. I fought hard to remain upright as I pedaled through water hip-deep.
It’s really difficult to pedal under water.
I laughed at myself when I made it to the “shore” 40 feet away. Then I noticed that my panniers were missing. I turned to see my cheap bags floating down the creek, slowly sinking. The laughter ended.
I put down my bike and ran back into the water to retrieve the bags. Standing in the flood, I picked up the one containing my work clothes. Then I picked up the one containing my laptop. I watched water drain steadily out of both.
I finished the ride to work very soggy and glum, having painfully learned the value of good, waterproof panniers, heeding warning signs, and having an emergency change of clothing at my office.
By William Malatinsky
Seattle
I suppose this is a missive, a reverie, or a plea. Or perhaps it is nothing more than a simple observation, a recommendation: Ride your bike. Ride it more than you have been – for whatever reasons you can think of.
Because this is how it will go. I can tell you. I was just there.
At first, you’ll start somewhere simple. You’ll start in the summer, July probably, when you can actually count on the sun.
You will ride that one bike, the Antelope 820, that you got from your neighbors’ yard sale in the eighth grade. You’ll just ride it to work at first, once or twice a week. Why not? It’s only five miles from home. It’s a fairly flat ride. It seems reasonable enough.
But then, before you know it, July, August, September will pass. Something will happen. A clicking sound.
Almost without wanting to, you’ll hear yourself ask for commuting gear for your birthday.
I mean, you hate the tights, yes, but you hate the rain more. The half-chest reflective vest is awkward. But you also hate being dead.
And soon enough you’ll be riding not just to work, but everywhere: work, parties, neighborhood football games, weddings, bar mitzvahs.
And this is what you will notice. You feel better. All the time. Why? Who knows?
After all, it’s raining. It’s hilly. And sometimes it hurts your butt.
But riding your bike every day makes you feel better somehow.
You come home each evening and you take a hot shower and sit on your couch.
You eat dinner, have tea, maybe a beer.
And then the rest of your family comes home. They look a little sullen, a little downtrodden.
They’ve just had a long day, a long commute. They ask, “Why do you look so happy?” You smile. You shrug. You say, “I don’t know.” But only because it seems strange to say, “Because I ride my bike.”
By Andrew Fast
Woodinville, Wash.
Wagon Wheel
The sun is up. The low-hanging ceiling of fog is receding, revealing ridge lines puff-painted in green fauna. Yesterday I wrote off the walled up ridgelines as an endless uphill battle but today is different. Today has started with a new feeling – the last day on the bike of a human-powered journey across the southern tear of Asia.
I feel like a cowboy before heading back out on the range as I sit next to the Iguana, my bike. I note my feelings: free. Brightly colored H’mong and Black Thai hill tribe women are trading goods; the ebbs and flows of a Vietnamese market are a 3D screen-saver; uneventful and constantly entertaining.
One last sip of coffee.
I start pedaling.
Since riding away from the Thai/Burma border, the Iguana and I have witnessed drunk driving injustices, been bullied by camouflaged alpha-males in a region of northern Laos where the United States dropped more bombs than in all of WWII. We’ve drifted down the femoral artery of Southeast Asia, the Mekong River; gone night after night as the only guests in cement communist-built guest houses. It’s beautiful simplicity: point A to point B. Eight hours into the Tonkinese Alps is ‘B’, the ceiling of Vietnam and highest road in IndoChina: Tram Ton Pass.
It’s cold now. Arms gripping the bars disconnectedly, palms have turned to pines, blue skies to flat gray, and there’s a shiny silver line, pasted on the adjacent ridge. Looming a couple thousand meters above, I know damn well it’s a guard-rail but can’t seem to admit it; deep fatigue trumps ego every time. Looking over the edge, terraced rice fields fade into a deep gray void, the thought of a forced descent gives me the willies. Eventually we get psyched and the Iguana wobbles around the last hair-pin. Gripped and atrophied, we’re greeted by a bus full of Chinese tourists, a billboard I can’t read, and a big pile of dirt.
Whether your commute is 5 kilometers or 5,000, acknowledge the risk and enjoy the freedom. Relish in your aliveness.
By Alexandra Phillips
Salem, Ore.
My first lunch hour of my first day at my new job I rode my bike to the post office to rent a PO Box so I could claim an address. Having arrived into this town where I knew no one just the night before, I was still essentially living out of my car while I looked for a homier place to live. After riding back and forth on the maze of one-way streets I find the post office tucked underneath a concrete parking garage; the style of building is actually called Brutalist Architecture.
I attempt to return to work, except I can’t find the office! The soaking Salem, Oregon rain starts to pour down. My outfit that I bought for my first job in a cubicle is completely soaked through. I ride for over an hour before I find the office.
I am used to bike commuting, except, not in a town that was designed by an evil, bi-polar city planner on a bad acid trip. You think I am kidding, just try to figure out the nasty mess of twisted, turning bridges from West Salem to Salem.
The next day I brave the maze again. As I crest the top of the bike path above the Willamette River and see what might be a homeless person sitting on the bridge. Turns out it is a woman counting bicycle commuters. She tells me I am the third female to cross the bridge that morning. I tell her my bizarre commuting stories. She takes pity on me and becomes my personal GPS unit, my personal bike commute navigator.
By Peter Hutt
Mercer Island, Wash.
My E-Bike Purchase and Commute
I recently became obsessed with the idea of commuting on an electric bike. I searched the web for hours and took a number of test rides on electric bikes. I ended up spending about $2,000 on a high-end e-bike kit, and converted my mountain bike. My motivations were altruistic and health-oriented, but I also wanted a “boost” to take the sweat out of the hills and make the experience more exhilarating.
Choosing a System
I visited Electric Bikes Northwest located in Ballard. The proprietor is a gentleman and I tested a number of his bikes. I did not end up buying from him, but he performed a repair for me recently. His assortment tended to be mostly purpose-built, European e-bikes. I particularly liked a Giant model called the Twist. His bikes are really first-rate, but have a “dutch bike” feel, which wasn’t for me.
The next store I visited was in Vancouver, B.C. called JV Bike. I was intrigued by a hub motor kit made by Bionx and this appeared to be one of the largest dealers. The Bionx kits are light weight at about 17 pounds with Lithium batteries, and the completed build looks like a regular bike. In contrast, many cheaper e-bikes weigh in at about 70 pounds with lead acid batteries. I also liked the flexibility of the system; you can use the system to augment your force or you can use a throttle. They performed the install for free, which was tricky because I have a soft tail mountain bike. They found an Axiom rear rack by Norco for the battery that would accommodate my bike’s suspension and disc brakes.
My E-Bike Commute
I live in the south end of Mercer Island and work in Seattle – about 9 miles one way. With the electric bike I average over 15 mph and make short work of the commute, which features the I-90 bridge and bike tunnel. I pass everybody on the hills, even folks on road bikes. Fellow commuters have commented that I’m in amazing shape (not the case) or ask what is that thing, referring to the hub motor. When I explain that it’s an e-bike, they usually become more curious. Honestly, I was a little concerned initially about negative reactions, and that’s one of the reasons I bought a rather stealthy kit, but I have not received even one bad comment.
There’s only two things that I would do differently. First, I would not convert a full suspension bike, because I would now prefer a lighter e-bike with the middle-mounted battery. Second, I would find a bike with really tall gearing. In the flats in top gear, I can’t keep up with the motor. Beyond the benefits to heart and soul, the parking savings alone will pay for my new kit!
By Brian Collins
Snohomish, Wash.
With traffic, gas prices, and health concerns ever-present before my view, I have gradually taken to the streets. A rider of seven years, I now commute as often as I can by bike. In that time, I have found that bicycles have given me more than just a means to get around; they’ve given my community and me a greater sense of self.
Recently, I took a trip to Portland to listen to one of Portland’s City Club Friday Forums on cycling. Before the forum, I pulled out my bike, and took a tour of this Mecca of bicycling in America. I was amazed by how much Portland is focused around alternate transportation.
Astonishing, isn’t it, that Portland, for the cost of one mile of freeway, built over 270 miles of bike lanes, bikeways, and bike boulevards. And locally Seattle, in the past several years has constructed over 130 miles of its 450 miles planned for by 2017. Obviously the answers to our transportation problems do not lie in pouring more concrete for cars.
At the Forum, I saw small hand-built bike companies like Vanilla and Courage, and I loved the sense of individualism that I saw. Listening to the speakers, I felt inspired. Bicycling can be about more than just bikes; it can be about what bikes can bring. Organized rides, like Cycle Oregon, was started by Jonathon Nicholas, a columnist at The Oregonian, who thought that cycling was about transforming individuals and communities with cycling. Such rides like STP have taught me the value of accomplishment through hard training.
Our cities touched by cycling have become a dynamic mosaic of mixed-use communities. On my bike, I’ve found less stress in my life, more energy for riding, and happiness in life; in effect, I found freedom.
By Erwien Saputra
Bothell, Wash.
It was summer 2008. My friend and I decided to bike from work, from Redmond all the way to Bothell. It sounded fun. I had not been riding for a while, and I recently won a bicycle.
We mounted our bikes on the vanpool and went to work. In the afternoon, I rode my bicycle to my friend’s office, and we rode our bikes from his office to the bike trail.
Still around his office, we went downhill. While I was speeding up, I saw my friend turn to the right and I followed him. Being a good rider, I made the hand signal. It was a disaster; I fell off my bike.
I did not know how I fell, but I injured myself badly, with some really deep cuts.
Luckily, we are still behind his office and we grabbed some antiseptics and bandages. I cleaned the wounds and called the vanpool to pick me up.
My first bike commute had been a disaster.
The thing that I really enjoy when my friends and co-workers asked about how I got my injury, I start by telling them that I was riding downhill really fast, when I heard a police car with sirens behind me. So I went onto the sidewalk, but suddenly a lady with stroller was on my path.
I did not have time to stop, so I threw myself down and the cop car went by just a few feet from where I fell. After a few seconds pause, I tell them the real story, less heroic but true, that I fell while making a right turn.
After that accident, I had my bike fitted for me, and I am looking forward to riding my bicycle again from work.
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