Four days after that first trip (this is still August 2019), I ride to N’s on my little rental for another expedition outside of Amsterdam. My explorations within the city have been solo, and though I get lost constantly, I’ve never left civilization. But outside the city, I wouldn’t even know where to go, let alone how to get there. N has been riding these routes for many years, and knows them well.
To my surprise when I arrive at his street, things are busy: there is a move and a delivery going on simultaneously. I’m fascinated by this, because my street is chock-a-block with moving vans and deliveries and frankly, it’s chaos. But that’s not what’s happening here.
To my surprise when I arrive at his street, things are busy: there is a move and a delivery going on simultaneously. I’m fascinated by this, because my street is chock-a-block with moving vans and deliveries and frankly, it’s chaos. But that’s not what’s happening here.
In fact, no one has been inconvenienced in any way. There is no horn honking, no yelling. There is no idling, no exhaust. No one’s pissed off. The move gets done, the delivery delivered. People walk and bike through just as they were doing before.
Here’s what it looks like on my block in Chelsea on a normal day – and this is just the movers.
Here’s what it looks like on my block in Chelsea on a normal day – and this is just the movers.
USPS delivery can’t even get through…
I’d like to note that my block is easily TWICE AS WIDE as N's. Hmmm, what could the difference be? I’ll leave it to the urbanists among you to sort this out.
N and I ride down his street...
N and I ride down his street...
Taking a different route out of the city.
While I marvel at moments like this, moments I only ever see here:
What must it be like to have safe independence as a child? What must it be like to have cycling parents? To be able to ride as a parent with your child like this? I can only dream.
By now I’ve become familiar with some of this route, and N and I fall into easy conversation as we take a bridge over the Rhine Canal. It’s not until we’re on the other side that I realize – hey wait a minute - this bridge was built just for bikes! I wonder if that's why he took me here...
By now I’ve become familiar with some of this route, and N and I fall into easy conversation as we take a bridge over the Rhine Canal. It’s not until we’re on the other side that I realize – hey wait a minute - this bridge was built just for bikes! I wonder if that's why he took me here...
Don’t get me started on how much we would love this in NYC. Over the East River, over the Hudson, the Harlem River, Newtown Creek, the Verrazano Narrows – hell, I’d take one over Bloomingdale’s. Will it ever happen? Will we ever get Congestion Pricing? Will pigs ever fly?
Soon enough, we’re out on the dijks again (it’s windier today):
Soon enough, we’re out on the dijks again (it’s windier today):
Where sheep may safely graze – or lie languidly on the blacktop, in the middle of traffic.
(notice to NYC sheep: do not try this at home)
And the only other people we see are just like us - on bikes.
And the only other people we see are just like us - on bikes.
At the end the day, we ride back to N's to exchange my saddle and, through silent city streets, under a blue-black sky, N rides me back to my hotel. Streetlights are shining on the canals, smooth as glass. It's timeless.
It's the kind of beauty N has seen so often, I don’t think he even notices anymore. I am mesmerized, want to stop time. When will I see this again? I am suffused with gratitude to even be there. If it weren’t for N, I wouldn’t be. When we get back to my hotel, I throw my arms around him.
“N” I say, “Thank you SO MUCH. I would never have seen any of this, never have done any of this without you. I had such a great time!”
At least I think that’s what I said.
But whatever I said, it must have been the wrong thing. He mumbles something about something and before I know it, he’s hit the road and is off. I watch him ride into the distance wondering if I could have handled that better… I doubt I’ll see him again, but I’ll never forget his kindness.
- - - - - - - - - - /- - - - - - - - - - -
The next day, I’m sitting in Schipol airport checking my email on WiFi when I see an email come in from N. It is surprisingly...well, romantic. He says he wanted to hug me back - hard. (Oh, he was just shy! Damn that British reserve); says that he wishes I hadn’t gone home. I sit there glowing, taking it in. How long has it been? For the first time since I can remember, my imagination awakens to a feeling of possibility: the thought that anyone could find me desirable, even lovable.
Perhaps love is not over.
Perhaps life is not over.
Maybe I’ll be returning to Amsterdam after all.
“N” I say, “Thank you SO MUCH. I would never have seen any of this, never have done any of this without you. I had such a great time!”
At least I think that’s what I said.
But whatever I said, it must have been the wrong thing. He mumbles something about something and before I know it, he’s hit the road and is off. I watch him ride into the distance wondering if I could have handled that better… I doubt I’ll see him again, but I’ll never forget his kindness.
- - - - - - - - - - /- - - - - - - - - - -
The next day, I’m sitting in Schipol airport checking my email on WiFi when I see an email come in from N. It is surprisingly...well, romantic. He says he wanted to hug me back - hard. (Oh, he was just shy! Damn that British reserve); says that he wishes I hadn’t gone home. I sit there glowing, taking it in. How long has it been? For the first time since I can remember, my imagination awakens to a feeling of possibility: the thought that anyone could find me desirable, even lovable.
Perhaps love is not over.
Perhaps life is not over.
Maybe I’ll be returning to Amsterdam after all.