On the incredibly steep bicycle bridge that I have to climb once a week, I was passed by a man who shouted something to me. I am constantly passed on that bridge, because everyone on the bridge – it leads to a suburb on the other side of the water – rides an electric bicycle.
I am at peace with that. Well on that specific bicycle bridge. I recently heard a cycling professor, or someone with something like that job description, say that electric bicycles are a blessing for humanity, because it allows people to settle in remote suburbs and it is possible for more people to continue living in the city. So on the bicycle bridge to the far suburbs, I always generously think: good on you guys, take advantage of it. (In the city itself, I think very different things about people on electric bikes.)
A man passed me, and shouted as he passed, ‘You are a warrior!’ For a moment I was confused. Was this a passive-aggressive comment? Did I accidentally cut it off, did I take up too much space on the bike path? Or was it age discrimination? Was I a fighter because, over 45 and with quite gray hair, I rode up a steep bicycle bridge? Or was he just one of those people who would say ‘You’re a warrior!’ called out?
He turned to me and yelled, “No electric!”
Oh, that was it. I was a fighter because I didn’t ride an electric bicycle. I looked after the man, he was already descending the bridge. He was a warrior himself, I saw. No electric.
The last time I had received such a spontaneous, big compliment was eleven years ago, when my children were 0 and 1 years old, and I was traveling alone with them by plane. I had two babies in my arms, a folded double pram on my little finger and around my shoulder the 75 bags that you normally carry with you as a mother of one or more babies. A Portuguese flight attendant pulled me out of line and gave me right of way. “You are a hero,” he said. I’ve been living on that for over a decade now.
I don’t know if I’m really a warrior because I ride a regular bike. Rather, it’s the other way around: I see all those people who electrically buzz past me all day long in my head turning into greasy blobs, because let’s face it: for most people, cycling is their only sporting moment of the day. So it’s not that I’m a fighter, but a lot of people are anti-combatants.
Yet now every time I drive up that bridge I will think, ‘You are a warrior.’ That’s profit.