Like many second-years from Turl Street, I don’t think I realised how lucky I was to live in the city centre as a fresher. I was spoilt last year with a Tesco just two minutes away, and even the Schwarzman a 10-minute speed-walk, if necessary. Now, living in a house out on Iffley Road, I have a new appreciation for what it means to commute, and how much bigger Oxford is than simply its college-dense centre.
So, I’ve joined the flock of bicycles that take over Oxford’s streets every morning. And, while it’s more of an effort, I’ve grown to love the journey. It’s not a long ride, but it’s enough to clear my head and mentally create a distinction between ‘work’ and ‘home’. It’s quite therapeutic being in your own little world on your bike, with the wind in your face and the soft whir of the wheels (or rattle, depending on when you last oiled it) creating the soundtrack of your journey. I’m not against listening to music on a walk—though some would argue that enjoying the silence is a lost art—but headphones while cycling seems like a sure-fire way to start an accident. Besides, listening to the sounds of the city is part of what makes the journey so enjoyable. Out of the centre and our strange Oxford bubble, it feels like you’re in the real world. In the mornings, the pavements are filled with families and children on their way to school, and I love overhearing their excited chatter. In the evenings, the bells toll in gorgeous antiphony from the surrounding parish churches. Later at night, the streets are completely empty, save for the cats that wander the lamplit sideroads. There’s something comforting about the steady routines of ordinary life that quietly persist even when you’re in an essay crisis, or are late for a tute, or just get caught up in the intense whirlwind of term.
Doing the same journey every day, you quickly get very familiar with the route. I look out for the same landmarks: punts resting on the river, Magdalen’s tower rising like a beacon, and the morning sunlight catching the tops of turrets along the High Street and making the wonky old windows glitter. Little things change every day—who is playing tennis on the courts beside the road, how many trees have lost their leaves, the progress of the new building on the roundabout. There’s always a chance to spot new things too, like the pretty stained-glass door of one house on Iffley Road, or the line of grim-faced gargoyles peering down from Brasenose College.
And the lovely thing about routines is that other people have them too. Every morning, I see the same schoolgirl setting off on her bike as I head out of our driveway. I pass the same old man waiting at the bus stop. Every time I reach the Ashmolean corner, another new group of tourists pours off their coaches for their daytrip, clutching their phones in eager anticipation to capture every angle of the city. And while it’s frustrating to have to swerve around them when they spill onto the roads, seeing their eagerness to photograph the beautiful buildings gives me a sense of pride in being able to call this place home, and sparks a fresh admiration for the beauty I don’t want to take for granted.
Admittedly, it’s only October, and my enjoyment of the journey will inevitably decline when I’m regularly setting off in darkness, getting rained on, or being chilled to the core. But for now, it’s a lovely little journey; the fresh air and exercise is the perfect way to start the day. So next time I complain about having to remember my lights, lock and helmet, I will remind myself that without the commute, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to be re-surprised by the stunning city each day, and, most importantly, I wouldn’t have learnt how much Oxford buses adore taking up the bike lanes!