My bike, a duck-egg blue squeaky piece of metal with two wheels and a basket, is the object that has defined my week (and my term thus far).
‘Oh, you go to Somerville – where is that again?’ is a question I have been asked more times than I can count. ‘It’s in Jericho’, I say. ‘By Gail’s’. This, I have discovered, seems to be the most successful reference point. ‘That’s quite far out’ is usually the token reply. It is surprising, therefore, that for the last year and a half I have managed to survive, in such a ‘far out’ college, without a bike.
I will preface this by saying that I do not believe that Somerville is ‘far out’. OX2 it may be, but it’s still only a fifteen minute walk to the Bod, less than ten to Tesco’s, and about a brisk three minutes from the Classics faculty. It is also under ten minutes to the Four Candles and Bridge, which as a deeply studious student I find very useful, though my tutors may not. People generally seem to forget that Somerville has a side entrance onto Little Clarendon Street, cutting off a good few minutes (even if it’s only psychologically quicker).
My breaking point, however, came last term when I had an Isis Magazine meeting at Folly Bridge and a Lincoln formal all in one evening. I also had to squeeze in a pit stop at Somerville so I could change in between. And it was raining. Everyone can relate to the business of Oxford terms: I wanted to do everything, be everywhere. The hour round trip to Folly just didn’t physically fit into my schedule. To the complete ridicule of my Isis colleagues, I took a taxi to the meeting. And back. Which cost me just under £20.
Enough was enough. It was time to get a bike.
The solution was the annual Somerville ‘bike cull’ and auction. I surveyed all the contenders and chose my fighters. Admittedly, I have no mechanical awareness, so the bikes were picked purely based on aesthetic qualities. The prettier the colour, the better – and bonus points if it had a basket. If I was going to be seen riding a bike, then it had to be an accessory, rather than a functional eyesore. I also had no awareness of how much a bike cost, and so severely overbid on all my choices. Despite my wallet being slightly worse for wear, I finally had a bike!
Asking the group chat how to pump up a bike tire was not very successful (prompting more ridicule than support), and paying my friend’s boyfriend in Jägerbombs to do it for me didn’t feel like the most sensible option. If I was going to put my life in the hands of a rickety piece of rusted metal, I thought I’d better get it vetted first. Check-up complete (Walton Street Cycles – would recommend), it was time to start putting her to use.
After a wobbly start and adjusting to the embarrassment of wearing a helmet (safety first), I started to make small journeys. I discovered that bike riders view the world differently; I suddenly saw a whole new side to Oxford. I’d never noticed bike racks before, they had just blended into the background. I’d overlooked bikes chained to fences, and where the lanes stopped and started. I now have a mental map of the best and least busy bike racks for every destination.
The time-saving aspect of cycling is addictive. The twenty minute walk to Exam Schools now takes me five minutes, while I can get to the Bod in two. Suddenly, Somerville does feel far out when I don’t have my bike. My usual walk feels twice as long. I feel like I’m wasting time.
Which brings me back to why I bought my bike in the first place. Time. I didn’t have enough time to do everything. But in saving time, am I losing out on something else? I used to take the same route to the library every day. I’d notice changes with the seasons, bump into friends going between lectures, chat to my mum on the phone, listen to podcasts, admire the architecture, soak up the sun (or the rain). Walking allowed me to slow down and appreciate my surroundings. It allowed me to connect with people and reconnect with myself.
The irony is that I have still not managed to cycle to Folly Bridge. The buses on the main road scare me. But that forces me to abandon my bike and walk, something which I am now reminding myself to do more often. Oxford life is hectic; sometimes, we just need to allow ourselves to slow down.