The days are getting warmer, the snow is disappearing and the roads are clean. Time to step onto the pedals finds Ata Bos.

Kuivasjärvi

When our family moves to Oulu in June,1999 I´m glad to notice biking paths and people peddling around in a lush green landscape. I realize I haven’t biked since we left the Netherlands in 1991 and have missed it.

In Heidelberg, Germany, we had an apartment half way up a mountain. Cycling down to town went fast. Coming home was an uphill job, so after the first trial the bikes stayed locked away in the basement. Three and a half years later, we moved to Calgary, a city with 1 million inhabitants in Canada. Cycling with three small children and traffic snarling all around felt like a suicide attempt. I sent the bikes back to the Netherlands and accept that the car becomes the driving force in our household.

Finns have more sauna´s than inhabitants; similarly the Dutch have more than 16 million bikes. After we settle, I call my parents to get my “Gazelle” bike shipped to Oulu.

For the Dutch, being notoriously famous for their Calvinist frugality, cycling is the cheapest way to get from A to B and, apart from the biking holidays to places as far away as Luxembourg, I never see cycling as exercise or a hobby. A bus card in Oulu costs € 2.90. Cycling saves me enough for a new bike every other year, I calculate.

But apart from the financial aspect, cycling also means freedom, independence, fresh air and it reminds me of home.  So I jump for joy when my bike arrives and I set out for my first biking tour in Oulu. The area is flat and forested just like the area back home. After the years in Germany and Canada it feels as if I´m reconnecting with my roots.

There are differences too. Unlike in the Netherlands, the biking paths do not extend out of town. But the roads are better maintained and in wintertime the main routes are snow ploughed on weekdays before 7a.m. I buy a winter tire for my front wheel and excitedly tell my relatives in the Netherlands about this new phenomenon. “Winter-tires- for-a-bike?” they ask.

“Cycle paths in the city area amount to 520 km which together with 24 km outside the city area, create a network of 544 km of cycling paths” writes the tourist information in their leaflet. Cycling quickly helps me to find my way in town.

The shared bike/pedestrian paths are spacious. Only dog owners spoil the fun when they, each standing on the other side of the path, start conversations about dog breeding, mating or other dog related issues. Any tourist in Amsterdam having a conversation on a biking path knows he´s not getting away with the civilized sound of a bike bell. But I´m adjusting to Finnish life, so I flick my thumb and my bell gets them to untangle long leashes and amorous dogs while I keep my mouth shut.

My daily 8 km ride to work from Kuivasjärvi to town takes about 30 minutes. In the early days, (faster than bus 6 or 7,) it took me 22 minutes to ride to town. Unfortunately, age seems to correlate with minutes nowadays, so there´s no point bragging about speed anymore.

Cycling to work is never the worst part of the day. I see the city in the early morning hours from sunrise perspective.

On weekdays, I leave home around 7.30 and shortly after I pass a little bridge over the lake. On my right, I see a water surface surrounded by pine and birch trees. On the left the lake is smaller and covered with floating green lily leaves. On summer days sunlight is spectacularly reflected from the water while in autumn clouds of white fog create breath taking scenery. On rainy days I see the drops splash on the rippling water. No matter how hurried, sleepy or grumpy I am, as soon as I pass that bridge my mood changes.

I usually slow down before the bridge, look at the sky and smell the earthy-musty lake. The air reminds me of freedom and long forgotten holidays. I take a deep breath, enjoy the moment and feel happy.

I continue my way in a cheerful, sensitive mood and sometimes, I receive a bonus by the view of a woodpecker hammering on a wooden electricity pole or a bisam or musk rat in the lake. I think it´s the one who’s responsible for the abduction of eight ducklings during the otherwise glorious summer of 2009.

After many years of cycling the same route I recognize people´s faces. I start to spin stories around them.

A couple in blue and pink training suits who, probably on medical advice, walk their daily route. He’s had a stroke, I think as I see how he balances and leans on his wife. Sometimes, she marches 3 meters ahead without keeping an eye on him. “Walking with him is not easy for her” I think when look at her face.

A sporty type with long, grey hair in a black outfit seems always late as he speeds towards Kaijonharju. During the summer, he swaps his bike for roller skates but his helmet stays the same. As in many other European countries, helmets are compulsory in Finland. My not so law abiding Dutch friends amusedly think people look dorky if they wear a helmet. Reason enough for me to leave my helmet on the shelf in our garage.

A dark-haired woman wearing a red mantle walks every morning with a distinguished looking elderly man in the direction of the University.  I´ve made up my mind. He, holding a leather briefcase containing mathematical examinations? must be a professor. She is his punctual secretary and in love with him.

Sometimes, I see my 15-year-old son cycling to school. He leaves home later than I do but is, nevertheless, earlier in town. “Hi Mum” he waves with an amused look in his eyes while he overtakes me and disappears in the distance. I don´t need to fantasize. I know darn well what he thinks about my riding tempo.

When I approach town, I forget about wildlife and people and, instead, focus on busses, traffic lights and cars, although Finnish drivers are generally respectful of two-wheelers. I store my bike in the rack at Oulu 10, and do what I would do in the Netherlands: lock my bike with a u lock and make a double loop with a heavy chain and cross check everything before I enter the office.

Bright and breezy I´m ready to face the day.