Two wheels good... eventually

Flatmate Jenny doesn't cycle in the city. She has a bike out in the suburb where she works and zips around there no problem, but she has yet to work up enough courage to tackle the streets of Amsterdam proper. I've managed to avoid talking to her about my early days as a city biker - or at least I had until last night, when, over a giant bowl of Haagen-Dazs, I filled her in. I think I may have scared her even more...

My first (and worst fall) was on my very first visit to see Oran after he'd moved here. It was a scorching Indian summer's day and we'd spent the afternoon lounging around the Vondelpark. (I may have had a touch of sunstroke, which can't have helped.) Oran had very kindly given me his girlie bike and rented one for himself and we zipped around town for a while in the early evening so I could find my balance. I hadn't cycled in about twelve years and was surprised by how confident I felt. We decided to bike home through the park to change before dinner, so I took advantage of the relatively clear bike paths and upped my speed. Trouble was, for all the fast pedalling, I was having a little trouble biking in a straight line, and so when Oran appeared right beside me all of a sudden, I swerved in his direction... and our handlebars locked together. There wasn't much either of us could do at this stage but somehow Oran managed to stay on his bike as I flew off, did a bit of a somersault and landed hard on my right side. The next few minutes after that are a bit hazy but I do remember Oran phoning my parents for my health insurance number (my poor father!). I was then bundled into an ambulance and carted off to casualty, where I was kept waiting for a while before being checked for concussion and given a tetanus shot to ward off any potentially nasty beasties (I'd cut my right leg pretty badly - I still have scars...). The following 36 hours or so were rather painful, but the psychological effects lasted much longer. It took me a year after I moved here (almost two years after the accident) to get back on a bike.

I've had a couple of spills since I started cycling again two and a half years ago, but nothing as serious. I've learned the hard way that tram lines are the perfect width for a bike tyre and getting caught in one will result in a surefire fall. I've learned that there is a limit to my cycling abilities after a few drinks, but I've not yet fallen off while tipsy. But, most importantly, I've learned that, whatever the hazards, there is no better way to navigate and appreciate Amsterdam. Hopefully, in time, Jenny will arrive at the same conclusion.