When I waltzed into the Fort Collins Bike Library, I hoped to do my part to reduce my carbon footprint, save myself a little green, and pay my own personal tribute to Bike Month.
In truth, I was decidedly clueless about what a carless week would entail.
I expected to take home a beater. (What other kind of bike could you expect to check out for free?)
But once I hopped aboard what was to be my transportation for the week, I began to think this was going to be easier than I had imagined.
Although the bike was made from parts of several recycled or abandoned bikes, it rode better than any bike I can remember having in the recent past, and I already knew that any respectable 8-year-old could pedal a bicycle, so what’s it to an 18-year-old college student?
I quickly realized how much easier my car makes my existence.
No less than a minute after I rode the bike out of Old Town Fort Collins on my way back to my job my legs started to burn. I felt sweat starting to bead on the back of my neck as I started to heat up and itch all over. Immediately I remembered what it felt like to exercise.
I arrived back at work 10 minutes later than I expected.
After my shift and already tired, I definitely was in no mood to bike the few miles to my apartment. My ego took a beating with every passing car, especially when I gasped in fear as a city bus nearly blew me off my bike. I’m pretty sure I saw a little girl laughing as she passed by.
It was only the first day, and already I missed my sweet little Honda Accord.
My second day on two wheels required me to make the 2-mile trip to campus and back — twice. And then when I walked into my apartment ready to crash, I realized my fridge was empty.
I emptied my backpack and rode off to the nearby King Soopers. The groceries wouldn’t all fit in my backpack after all, so I needed to put two bags on my handlebars, making for a precarious ride home with the bags bouncing off of my knees, into the front tire, and back into my knees with each rotation of the pedals.
After I got home, it was already time to head over to my in-laws’ house for dinner. I painfully mounted my one-speed bike and headed for the house, a mere 5 miles from my apartment.
I started strong. It seemed like riding was becoming more natural to me. Despite the usual burn in my legs, it was exhilarating to feel the wind in my face and to know I was propelling myself along with nothing but my own two legs. I was still feeling good when I started an inevitable uphill climb toward a familiar intersection.
In my car, it’d take me a few moments to fly through that intersection with a press of my big toe. On the single-speed, I watched the light changing a demoralizing four times before I finally passed through the light, just as it turned yellow.
I arrived at my in-laws in time for dinner, irritable, itchy, tired and sweaty, and now painfully aware of being out of shape. My iron will broke down as I rested in front of the T.V., and I accepted a ride back home to the apartment in the back of my father-in-law’s truck. Bikes 0, Cars 1.
After the two hard days, I knew I was in for the long haul. As the week continued, I would cheat one more time and decide not to go out because it would mean hopping on my bike.
The week was endlessly difficult, whether I was biking into the brick wall popularly known as wind or riding home exhausted after a long day of school.
When I returned the bike to the library on my seventh day, I left with a lot to think about.
I discovered that I wasn’t as physically fit or capable as my ego told me I was, that saving a little gas money and being green took a bigger commitment than I realized and that my car deserves more admiration.
But despite the hardship of my car-free week, I kind of miss my red one-speed from the bike library and don’t doubt that I’ll hop on a bike for that unique feeling of being in the open air — but most definitely for fun, not transportation.
Jacob Whitsitt is a freshman at Colorado State University.
