This year, I’ve been living in exile at the hands of ResLife. The housing lottery hath forsaken me and I have been condemned to Perkins Hall, the last outpost of civilization on Brown’s campus. There were two options with how best to cope with this fate. I could either embrace a reclusive lifestyle, removing myself from the follies of society and sustaining myself off the local wildlife and vegetation, or I could bring a bike to make commuting to classes easier.
I was this close to packing my dad’s squirrel trap (an actual thing he actually owns), but ultimately I opted for my bike. This decision has changed my life. How did I make it so far in life by just walking places? There’s a reason “pedestrian” also means “dull,” people!! There’s nothing passionate or powerful about strolling through life/the Main Green. When I crest down Charlesfield, I feel like the alpha of the street. When I pull in toward a bike rack, I feel like a woman in control. When I leave packs of ambling fools in the dust, I feel like the living embodiment of “I’ll Make a Man Out Of You” from Mulan.
It may seem like biking has gone to my head. I’d argue that the superiority complex I’ve gained is counteracted by the inferiority complex I’ve developed from my housing condition. That, plus the fact that biking has delivered me to a higher plane of spiritual awareness.
A few weekends ago, I decided to take advantage of the autumn weather by exploring Providence’s bike paths. I started with the East Bay Bike Path, a scenic strip that hugs the coast, making me feel like I was passing through a serene, seaside hamlet. I felt so free, so untethered, so connected to the local populations of waterfowl and middle-aged cyclists. So connected that I didn’t really know where I was going until I entered Barrington and suddenly found myself in the middle of a random music festival in the woods. It was so surreal that I wondered if it had appeared for me as my own personal Brigadoon, or if the winds of fate had brought me there to have my life changed, or if I was somehow having a bicycle-induced hallucination about fiddles and line dancing with strangers. I’m still not quite sure, but nonetheless I will remember that day as a symbolic turning point in my life.
The next day, I hoped for a similar adventure and started out toward Pawtucket. Everything was going well until I crossed city lines and looked up to see an ominous storm cloud as a gust of wind violently thrusted me to the side. I had seen thunderstorms in the forecast before heading out, but I am a chronic weather-denier and ignored the 70% chance of showers. But oh boy, there were showers that morning. “The Witch’s Theme” from The Wizard of Oz might as well have been playing, because I felt like Ms. Gulch cycling through a tornado. I put my pedal to the medal in the most literal way possible, channeling my survival instincts as rain started to beat down on me.
Splashing through puddles, I passed an old man on the sidewalk with a black umbrella poised above his head. “Now, be careful, young lady,” he offered, with a grandfatherly smile. I said a quick thank you as I switched gears to get up a hill. It was at this point that the rain started to subside and I could see Hope (Street). I thought—have I just met my guardian angel? Is God really just a kind man holding an umbrella? I spent the rest of my ride having a spiritual epiphany, and returned as a changed/very damp woman.
This is all to say that biking at Brown will open up a world of possibility to you. You might uncover confidence you didn’t know you had. You might find yourself welcomed by a folk music commune. You might even reach the threshold of total enlightenment.
And you’ll never be late for your 9 A.M. again.
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