My arm span not being wide enough to keep my bike upright
and lift the free-swinging end of the parallel slabs of wood
that served as Ettore’s (the German Shepherd) barrier to the free world, I
would have to roll my bike beyond the radius of the gate and then speedily lean
my bike against the large car garage door and close the gate. The gate, attached to the side of the sliding
wooden door, which allowed cars to drive in and out, was perched at the top of
a short, but steep incline. It was from
this high elevation I would swing my leg over, push down on my right pedal and
coast down the hill to Strada Buon Respiro, the Street of Good Air. My years in
Italy were as wonderful as you can imagine, but it’s the small things that make
memories and for me it was the daily bike ride to school.
During my second year in Viterbo, I lived with the
Fabi/Turchetti family on a 14-acre farm that had olive and cherry trees.
Located on a ridge south of Viterbo, I would ride my bike to and from school
every day, well, at least in the fall and spring. As my bike hit the
intersection of the inclined driveway at the end of a hairpin turn on Strada
Buon Respiro, I would point my bike, already moving at a fast clip without
having expended any energy, towards the right fork of the hairpin turn and
coast along the single-lane road that gently curved to the right. The cold
morning air in my face was an added bonus sensation to what I saw on my a
right, a hillside of knarled trees, with branches that hung over the wire
fences and created long tree tunnel. Also vying for my attention, the vista on my left was down into the
basin in which the town of Viterbo lay, with it’s stone buildings and towers.
After 20 seconds of coasting, I would start the gentle
uphill ride of one and a half kilometers to the intersection Buon Respiro and
Strada Sammartinese. The incline required pedaling just enough to get my blood
pumping but not to sweat, I would feel a rush of happiness at how lucky I was
to be in that exact moment. Every day, I would not think about the events of
the day or but be present with what I was seeing, the sensations of my legs
going up and down and most importantly, I would feel the emotion of happiness
and pure joy of biking in the Italian countryside. Even now, in my mind I
picture myself from a birds-eye view and see myself winding my way along the
sinuous turns of Strada Buon Respiro and it seems like a movie, but I can
conjure up those feelings in an instant and I am transported back to those
moments of joy and contentment.
Here in Beijing, the bike commute is different. Instead of a
country road, I bike down a “hutong,” essentially an alleyway. The ride lasts
two minutes at most. Instead of the sensation and beauty of that Italian bike
ride, what makes me happy about my morning ride here could not be any more different.
The ride begins with myself riding as slowing as possible to allow for my
boyfriend to get astride the bike and seat himself on the padded cushion that
has been installed above the back wheel. I actually don’t know how he mounts
the bike, but I know that when the bike jolts a bit forward and my downward
moving leg meets resistance, that “Onions” is ready for our morning commute out
my complex’s parking lot and down the hutong to the main intersection. The next
thing that happens as I gain speed is that he puts his hands in my coat pocket
because he knows I’ve left them open and then promptly zips them up. Now the
hutong itself is as the Italian’s say, a “casino.” Cars are parked on both
sides leaving enough room for one car to drive. But cars come both ways and
often times one finds two cars facing each other with a kind pedestrian
orchestrating the dance of finding the geometric angles so the two cars can
find a way to pass each other. When this occurs, our two-on-one bike riding
comes to an end and “Onions” has to dismount and I walk my bike as he walks
beside me to our destination. However, there are those great days, where we
turn into the hutong and it’s smooth sailing. No cars, no honking, and way in
the distance I can see the buses on the large street through the gap between
the buildings at the end of the hutong. On these days, I pump my legs as hard
as I can to take advantage of the unobstructed pavement in front of me and for
a minute and having the leg workout of my day. As we near the end, I slow down
again, “Onions” (however he does it), hops off the back of the bike and gives
me a push. He peels off to the right to catch his bus and I turn left to go to
school. The happiness comes from the bike ride itself, but the joy of having
someone in your life in which there is routine. The joy also comes from having that unobstructed ride down the hutong.
Happiness through something as simple as a bike morning bike
ride to work. I take pride in the fact that this simple thing in life gives me such great pleasure.
