Rocky and me: On becoming a Boston bike girl

Rocky

I am a Boston bike girl. Me and my bike, whose name is Rocky, are a team who together take on the gritty urban streets of this city and make it our own. She is my transport, my friend, my ally, and I ride her everywhere. But it wasn't always this way. Here is the story of how I faced my fear of urban cycling in one of the nation's most unfriendly places for bikes, one pedal at a time.

I'm from Seattle where the rain and hills are plentiful, but people still manage to bike all over the place anyway. I had a structurally unsound mountain bike in my possession after college. I never rode it, it just sat there in its vivid purple glory and still managed to look sad. I was living on Capitol Hill after graduation, and my roommate Tim got this beautiful yellow Schwinn on Craigslist. It weighed about 100 pounds, but it was sleek and hip. I  was secretly jealous of his new moving machine and wanted my own badly. Brian, a dear friend and bike enthusiast, found Rocky at a swap meet and managed to get her for an excellent price of $250. Thus began a beautiful friendship between myself and a little red Lotus that continues to this day.

Fast forward a few years and I am accepted to grad school at BU. I disassembled Rocky and put her in a huge box, shipped her across the country and paid a bike shop in Boston to put her back together. But then I took her home and put her in the closet. Why? From the week or so I had been in Boston waiting for my bike to arrive, I had realized that this city was big and scary with no bike lanes and spirals of one-way streets. The drivers were insane and everyone was constantly double-parked. I was already stressed out from starting grad school in a new city, so Rocky just hibernated while I focused on other things.

In the spring, I met Eric. He was a bike messenger and nonchalantly risked his life daily by flying around in all weather, delivering packages faster than any other method of transport the city had to offer. He would not accept my fears and instead piled on intense pressure for me to ride. "Bonnie," he said, "just get on your bike." So I did. I had run out of excuses.

It was terrifying at first. Torn up streets with no bike lanes, drivers yelling, having to go around double-parked cars by cutting into lanes of speeding traffic. But with time and true grit, it got much easier. I started to appreciate the good things about Boston for bikers. The city is actually pretty small. The city is flat. The city has beautiful bike paths, that once you find them are quite a treat. In time, Mayor Menino launched the Boston Bikes Initiative, which included an expansion of the city's bike lane plan to add most major thoroughfares. Even Mass ave in the South End has a bike lane now, which is excellent considering that strip was one of the scariest places I've ever biked. (Some day I'll tell you the story of how a car headed me off there, almost causing me to bike into a sub-terranean construction zone).

Of course, I know many people who would never hesitate like I did. Who would get right on their bikes without fear or worry. But I have a few accidents under my belt, so I know what being thrown on the street feels like, with the adrenaline and blood mixing together to form feelings worth avoiding. I needed time, and now three years later, I feel like a champ. I still wear a helmet, I still stop at red lights even when nobody is coming, and I still leave Rocky at home when the snow comes down. But she and I have conquered Boston, and that's a feeling I'll always be proud of.