My Life on Two Wheels: From Blind Dreaming to Campus Biker
SOPHIA KAISERMANN // FLAT HAT MAGAZINE
As I picked spider webs and cleared the dust off my dormant bike on a scorching day in mid-July, it never once crossed my mind that I would be unable to complete the quick journey from my house to the library and back. It didn’t seem possible for a 16-year-old to be unable to do it, even though I knew I lacked the athletic gene. What I didn’t know yet was that I also have low-blood pressure.
What was supposed to be a simple, summery moment of enjoying a ride under the sun and clear blue sky turned into one of the scariest moments of my life as I suddenly lost my vision. Crying when I felt like I didn't have eyes was a confusing experience: unable to tell the difference between tears and sweat, it felt like I was under a saltwater shower. When I finally made my way home and regained my sight, I was certain I would never ride a bike again. Which makes me all the more proud of myself to become the newest campus biker at the College of William and Mary.
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I learned how to ride a bike in the garage of the building where I grew up in Rio de Janeiro. I remember my dad starting the day by removing one training wheel and both of us fearing I would add a Hello Kitty bike-shaped dent to one of our neighbors’ cars. Eventually, I got the hang of it, the remaining training wheel came off, and I was ready to take on the trail by the lagoon and my grandma’s condo. On that dear pink bike, I felt invincible, like I could go anywhere if I just pedaled for long enough.
When we moved to the United States, cycling became an even more important part of my life. My mom doesn’t drive, so she, my sister, and I would bike up and down Mt. Diablo Boulevard in Lafayette, Calif. Even when we weren’t going anywhere, I used to cycle my days away around our condo. We became so known for biking, that my mom’s bike was stolen one night, leaving our cycle-heavy days behind us.
We were able to take my same pink bike from California with us when we moved to Pennsylvania. And with it, I would loop our neighborhood over and over again, imagining that I was a decorated biker — after all, I was my family’s reigning cycling champion on Wii Sports Resort.
Those late afternoons of just my two wheels and I became rarer and rarer. A growth spurt made riding my Californian companion from difficult to impossible, and school obligations kept me busy. Biking became a hobby of long ago.
Six years later, on that fateful day when I realized just how little athletic skill I have, I yearned for a taste of my childhood. There is nothing that says summer quite like a sunny bike ride, and in the midst of writing my Common Application essay, I wanted to feel as free and empowered as that little girl on her Hello Kitty bike.
The disappointment of that day was something I carried with me during any active outdoor activity. Instead of empowered, I felt weak; instead of connected with my child self, I felt that part of me was gone for good. My success on two wheels would remain on the Wii.
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Excited by all the study abroad opportunities the College offers, I began my research freshman year and quickly decided to go to Copenhagen, Denmark. I knew very little about the Danish capital at the time, but one quick Google search and you find that if there is one thing Danes love, it’s cycling. There are more bikes than people in Copenhagen, and the infrastructure is the best in the world.
Torn by my dream of biking again and an immense fear of an even worse failure, I decided to slowly condition myself to do it. Since freshman year, I would go to the Bee McLeod Recreation Center and pedal on the stationary bikes, all in the hopes that I would be able to do it when it was the real deal.
After two years of indoor training, I was still nervous to commit to a semester-long rental, but I knew I wanted to try. On pick-up day, the man at ABC Bikes inspected his fleet of two-wheelers as if he were deciding which wand would choose this witch. He offered me a rusty cream bike with a black basket. It was love at first sight.
The bike ride home was exhilarating. As I made my way across Lille Langebro and over the sparkling, cerulean canal for the first time on the cycling lane instead of the pedestrian walkway, I couldn’t believe that I was doing what I had thought impossible. I finally had my summer bike ride.
After many more summer rides by the water, autumn rides to class, chilly winter rides when it was dark at 2 p.m., and a surreal Lime Bike ride to catch my train on time in Lisbon, biking has once again become a part of who I am. So, as I moved back to Williamsburg, but off-campus this time, I thought what better way to get around than a bike.
For $100, I got my new two-wheeled companion at the Williamsburg Bicycle Co-Op, where you can buy repaired second-hand bikes for a discounted price. She is a rose gold beach cruiser with gears and a cup-holder. I love her.
Sometimes when I ride my bike up and down Richmond Road, I feel that I am in Copenhagen, biking from Juno the Bakery to Tivoli Gardens, passing by the lakes on the way. Sometimes I’m on the endless loop of my suburban neighborhood, the captain of my imaginary cycling team. Now that it is getting warmer, I find myself in Rio, following my dad’s lead around the lagoon. And when I’m late to class, there is no question that I am in Lisbon, slipping on Portuguese limestones and praying for a delayed departure.
But maybe what I love most about biking around campus is that many years from now, wherever I may be biking, I might feel that I am in Williamsburg, chasing a sunset to the yarn store in Merchant Square. Maybe I’ll be on Duke of Gloucester Street, avoiding the carriages and enjoying a breeze. Or simply making my way from Sadler Center to Earl Gregg Swem Library, effortlessly gliding down the hill, slowing down to catch a glimpse of Crim Dell. I hope to continue to pedal my way from place to place and from memory to memory, nostalgia fueling my effort and retrospect squeezing the brakes. Especially on a summer bike ride.