: D D TE E N H IZ IO IG R T R HO BU PY T I O U TR C T A IS O D N R FO
ABROAD STRANGE CUSTOMS, INCREDIBLE FIETS, AND THE QUEST FOR CYCLING PARADISE
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: D D TE E N H IZ IO IG R T R HO BU PY T I O U TR C T A IS O D N R FO
Table o f Co ntents Prolog ue: Dropped from the Sky
13
Ch. 1: Hanging In There
29
Ch. 2: Unsolicited Advice
37
Ch. 3: “We Got a Child Now, Everything’s Changed!”
53
Ch. 4: The E lusive Nature of Belonging
69
Text copyright © 2013 by Eben Weiss. Illustrations copyright © DATE by NAME. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.
Ch. 5: Bounder of Adventure
93
Ch. 6: Summer of Like
103
Ch. 7: Dreams of Escape
115
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: TK
Ch. 8: It’s Real, and It’s Spectacular
127
ISBN: 978-1-4521-0525-3 [don’t repeat if giving CIP Data in full]
Ch. 9: All Aboard the Flotilla of Smugness
145
Manufactured in China
Ch. 10: Smugness Interruptus
157
Designed by Suzanne LaGasa Illustrations by Shannon May Typeset in Monod Brun and Sentinel
Ch. 11: Swept Away
169
Ch. 12: Welcome Back
181
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Ch. 13: On the Road Again
192
Chronicle Books 680 Second Street San Francisco, California 94107 www.chroniclebooks.com
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P r o lo g u e
exactly synonymous with job security, so it was only a matter of time before I’d have to rent myself out as a door-to-door gardenia peddler. And there’s only one place in the world where you can get a job as a bicycle gardener. So . . . I’m in Portland, Oregon.
But wait, I can’t be in Portland! Last time I was in Portland I felt like I had to pee all the time—and I mean all the time—because of all the Stumptown coffee and craft beer. Seriously, I never didn’t have to go to the bathroom. I happen to be very fond of Portland, but I also associate certain cities with certain smells, and the smell I associate with Portland is the way your pee smells after you’ve had a lot of coffee. So since I don’t feel like I have to go to the bathroom right now, nor am I actually in the bathroom urinating, then I can’t be in Portland.
“Where am I?” This is a game I like to play with myself sometimes. When I find myself in a remarkable situation or setting, I pretend I just woke up and have no idea how I got there. Or, I just imagine I’m that guy from the movie Memento who had no short-term memory and basically had to tattoo little Post-It notes all over himself. It’s fun—sort of my little way of savoring the moment. And I’m playing it now. So where am I? Well, let’s see: First of all, I’m piloting a strange contraption. It
And yeah, this is definitely not Portland, since even though I’m in a city, and even though it’s very damp out, I don’t see any mountains in the distance or anybody riding a tall bike while juggling. Still, that doesn’t account for the fact that I’m riding in a city on a huge bike yet nobody’s beeping at me. Nor does it explain why there are lots of other people around me on bikes yet none of them are wearing cycling-specific clothing of any kind. It’s also definitely the present day, since like half the other cyclists are on cell phones. It’s not Critical Mass, or a “Tweed Ride,” or a charity ride, or really any kind of theme ride whatsoever. There also aren’t any police. This makes no sense—I’ve never seen this many bikes in one place at the same time without some kind of police presence.
is, more or less, a bicycle, though there is a great big wooden trough
Unless . . .
on the front of it with a clear plastic canopy over it. Okay, I must be
I’m not in America at all!
riding a mobile greenhouse. This makes sense. Bike blogging is not
Well, it’s a good theory, and it would certainly account for the
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it’s not a special occasion. Anyway, it’s at this point that I encounter a little hump in the street, and as I crest it I realize that I’m crossing over a pretty funkylooking canal dotted with houseboats. I also notice a sign on the side of a building confirming my suspicion that I’m far from home—it’s a street name, and the street I’m on is evidently called something like “Niewenhusenvorbulgraght.” Most telling, though, is that I finally
: D D TE E N H IZ IO IG R T R HO BU PY T I O U TR C T A IS O D N R FO
fact a bunch of people are riding bikes at the same time even though
thrills, or you ride to make a statement. But as a lifelong cyclist and a new father, I’ve increasingly begun to realize the pleasure of riding a bike for no other reason than simply getting around. I’ve dreamed of a place where doing that isn’t considered “alternative” and doesn’t automatically brand you as an outsider, or at least as “different” somehow. So I packed my family on a plane and we came to Amsterdam, and it turns out that the cycling paradise really does exist. So now that I know where I am, let’s see how I got here.
peer into the canopy on the front of my rolling greenhouse, and I notice that what I’m transporting isn’t greenery at all. It’s a young human child who just happens to be my son. Now I’ve got it—I’m in Amsterdam. And this is why I’m playing the game—because I want to savor this experience. Just as countless teens and twentysomethings have sat in Amsterdam coffee houses, stared at each other through clouds of marijuana smoke, and coughed out the words, “I can’t beleeeve we’re smoking weeed in like a baaar,” I can’t believe I’m riding what amounts to a station wagon on wheels with my wife Sara just up the street and my son Elliott hanging out in his trough, and I’m being treated like a human being and not a stray dog who’s wandered out into the street or an #Occupy[Your City Here] protester about to be washed away with a fire hose. This treatment is something I didn’t even realize I wanted until just a few years ago—mostly because I was almost unable to conceive of it. I don’t mean the rolling greenhouse specifically (well, actually it’s a bakfiets, but we’ll come to that) so much as I mean the ability to take to the streets by bicycle free from harassment, fashion, politics, and pretense. See, in America, you ride for fitness, or you ride for 8
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