A failed summer in Canada attempting to embrace cycling for fitness and sport left me thinking that bikes weren’t for me on a day-to-day basis. While there were some high points of that time on two wheels (like cruising over Vancouver’s iconic Lions Gate Bridge), I was mostly out of my comfort zone — and beyond my physical abilities. I fell countless times struggling to clip out of the pedals, bruising my hips and thighs, scratching up my elbows, and tearing holes in my specially purchased snug-fitting cycling kit. Thankfully I never caused any serious damage to myself, my fancy race bike, or anyone else, but I did have a comically low-speed crash into a Czech high school exchange student playing basketball on an otherwise un-trafficked suburban street. That memory still makes me cringe — and then laugh at the absurdity.
That one season of experimenting with padded shorts and cursing the misguidedly named clipless pedals was enough for me and I sold my race bike. (Far more sensibly, the non-English world calls pedals you clip or click into ‘click pedals’ or something similar; they’re klikpedaler in Danish.)
Then we moved to Europe and my relationship with bikes changed, but I still wouldn’t call myself a cyclist. I am a person who rides a bike to get from point A to point B, not for the love of lycra or health benefits. I do love the freedom that comes with riding my bike, though. And the ease of pedaling around this mostly flat, mostly cycling-considerate country.
I didn’t use my bike often while living in Switzerland or the UK. Zurich’s hills frequently proved too much for me and bringing power into the equation didn’t make things better. My one ebike test ride ended with an unintentional dismount coming down a hill. I was grateful that passers-by stopped to check that I was okay, but I think they were mostly curious about my detonated Höding airbag helmet. (Höding “helmets” are no longer manufactured and I’ve since switched to wearing a classic helmet, but the airbag certainly did its job that day!)
The cycling infrastructure in England (at least around our small-ish Sussex town) was either non-existent or unpredictably dangerous. Marked cycle paths would suddenly end with no apparent route other than directly in the path of vehicle traffic. Roads frequently had little or no shoulder. Motorists were impatient or didn’t acknowledge cyclists at all. And bike racks outside shops or leisure facilities were almost unheard of.
The exact opposite is true in Copenhagen. Bike lanes are practically omnipresent. Some routes even facilitate a ‘green wave’ where maintaining a consistent speed allows cyclists to hit nothing but green lights. Drivers are (usually) cautious and considerate. Bike racks are plentiful, although often crammed full.
While the summer construction season can make cycle paths a little harder to navigate, it’s amazing that Danish municipalities invest so much in the infrastructure. And many places are trying to make riding a bike even better. The kommune I live in is seeking residents to work with the government and planners to make cycling easier and more attractive as a means to get to and from school, work, and leisure activities.
Having only been back in Denmark for a few months after six years living away, I’m relieved to find that it really is just like riding a bike. The muscle memory of churning my legs to push the pedals, flicking my wrist to shift gears, and fluttering out a hand to signal never left. I have yet to time the lights perfectly on the stretch to and from my favorite yoga studio, but I have faith that with practice I’ll figure out how to ride that green wave. And I’m thrilled to enjoy riding my bike in Denmark without ever needing to think of myself as a cyclist.
