Silver Fox’s Demise

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Before I left for America, I decided to assimilate a little bit more into the culture that is my current homebase and buy a bike. My shiny, used bike was waiting for me when I arrived back in the Orient and it was everything I hope it would be and more. With a basket on front for my purse and purchases, a bright red lock to ward off thieves, a distinctive black and red patterned seat, and a sleek silver frame, I decided there was only one name for my bike: “The Silver Fox.” It only ran me about $7, and opened up an entirely new world. As the spring days turned into humid, sweaty messes, I found that I could create my own breeze as I biked to work, to brunch with friends, or to the fabric market to make cotton dresses to defend myself against the swelter of Shanghai’s summer. And the money I saved myself in cabs and tissues to wipe away the glossy sheen of sweat that appeared whenever I walked longer than two minutes more than paid for the bike in a week. My roommate Lindsay and I worked close to each other, and every morning we would ride together to work, which made me relive my childhood as I felt like a neighborhood kid on my way to a kickball game down the street. It was, and I am not exaggerating, life-changing.

 

One of the best parts about having a bike was the awe my non-biker friends had for me. “You biked all the way to Zhongshan Park from work? And you beat the people who cabbed it over here?” Yes, yes I did. All my other friends who owned bikes, who I was previously awed by (“Oh my god! You biked from your house all the way to the restaurant?!”), were now my partners in crime. We all knew just how unmerited that awe was. Because the best part was, it was fun. And so easy.

 

I even made myself a bike riding playlist for my shiny, new, green Shuffle. The best part of the day was when I was riding along and my Shuffle would surprise me with Queen’s classic “Bicycle Race.” “Biiiiiiiiicycle, Biiiiiiiiicycle! I want to ride my bicycle. I want to ride my bike. I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I liiiiiiiike.” Sometimes my shuffle would play me Johnny Cash’s “John Henry” and I truly felt John Henry’s exasperation and angst as he tried to beat the steam engine. I was trying to accomplish the goal I had set for myself: beat someone on an electric scooter, bike, or motorcycle. But they always hit the gas whenever they saw a blonde foreigner pedaling past them.

 

Sure, there were ups and downs in my bicycle riding life. My chain fell off a couple times, but I could snap that back on in about 10 seconds. Then, I hopped back on and sped off to my destination. The dresses that have become my summer uniform occasionally flew up and gave the Chinese men who were already staring and laughing at the nv laowai riding a bike quite the show. But I could laugh that off and tuck them between my legs and under my butt, and keep pedaling.

 

Two weeks ago, I wore a white dress to work and around 5:30 p.m. the summer storm clouds had rolled in and all I could think was how the Chinese men who stared and laughed at me when I was not wearing see-through clothes were going to be very amused. At 6 p.m., I bolted out the door and began pedaling furiously home. A young Chinese man, probably about 20 but you can never tell for sure with Asians, and I were neck in neck, legs flying as we sped through the humidity. He looked over and shouted, ‘Heeeelloo!” I replied, breathlessly, “Ni hao!” He then responded “Ni hen kuai [you are very fast]!” I responded with, “Mashang xia yu! Kuai dian, kuai dian [It’s about to rain, faster, faster].” We pedaled on and he told me I was very pretty. To which I said, faster! And we raced until we got to his turn-off where he shouted, “Goooooooooood-byeeeeeeeee!” I beat the storm, locking my bike up at my apartment just as drops started to sprinkle down.

 

This past week, my glory days of biking took an unexpected turn for the worst.  I had just biked to a picnic lunch for another farewell dining experience and was headed back to work when a motorcycle, many many yards away from me overcorrected on a turn and started skidding toward my bike. Being the ultra-aware and safe biker that I am (don’t worry Mom and Dad!), I had hopped off of my bike by the time the careening motorcycle hit my front tire. Altogether a terrifying experience which scared the bejesus out of me. I didn’t have a scratch on me, but the motorcyclist had been flying too fast and driver tumbled like a hay thing that tumbles (I am totally losing my English and am at a loss for that particular cliché) down the street. After asking if he was ok, I tried to help him and then went on my way because he was yelling at me in Shanghainese. Like it was my fault! I was at a loss when I got back to work and almost cried in my boss’s office (a sin that I refuse to commit considering the inordinate amount of tears that I’ve seen Chinese women cry). But the streets of Shanghai are probably one of the safest places to bike ride because a) you ride in a pack and b) cars are always on the lookout for bikers since we are everywhere. So I biked home, a little shook up, but glad that I had my one scary incident behind me without a scratch. 

 

The next day I biked to work and when I came outside around 6:30, I headed over to my distinctive seat only to realize it wasn’t my bike. I had just gotten done with a particularly stressful day at work and stormed around the other bikes, looking for mine. It was gone. Stolen! Who would steal my Silver Fox? It was so cheap, so not worth stealing. Especially when parked beside such nicer bikes. Dejected and irritated, I started to walk home, calling my friends as I walked, because walking was so boring now! “My bike got stolen!” I would cry when they answered their phones. “No!” They would respond, laughing at my misfortunes. But I was inconsolable. Then my Shuffle, usually the giver of little delights during my biking adventures, got spiteful, playing Queen’s “Bicycle Race” as I dejectedly stared jealously at all the bikers flying past me. I did want to ride my bicycle! How did you know, Freddie Mercury? I arrived home, drenched in sweat and pissed.

 

The next day I had to wake up early so I could start my long, sweaty trek to work. Fine, I thought. This will be safer. Until I had to squeeze along the sidewalk between a minivan and some bamboo scaffolding. The dress I had bought just the day before caught on the bamboo scaffolding, tearing my sleeve and making me look like a homeless scarecrow with hand-me-downs as I went through a workday that included a client lunch.

 

My friends have comforted me by saying things like, “You’re just having a bad transportation week” and “Bad things come in threes, so now you’re gonna be fine!”

 

But really, the only comfort I want is my Silver Fox back, with its convenient basket, distinctive seat, worthless red lock, and shiny silver frame.

This is for all the other bikers out there who have shared my fun and felt my pain:

 

 

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Filed under Shanghai

Tags: bicycles, motorcycles