One woman’s journey discovering the joys of cycling – and the risks that come with it.

I don’t remember why I decided to start commuting to work by bike.

It wasn’t something I thought I’d ever do. The roads connecting my Karori home to the central city are variable and busy, especially during rush hour. At that point, there were no cycle lanes and not much space to ride alongside the traffic. I didn’t trust the drivers or my own abilities. If there’s an opposite of an athlete, I have always been that.

But one day, I got tired of the mysterious and unknowable beasts that are the Karori buses (always running late or way too early, bless them). I mourned the loss of half-price fares in July 2023, and my cheap heart broke at spending $40+ a week going to and from the office. Finally, my partner bought himself a brand new, bright yellow e-bike, and he just looked so darn happy, zipping through the Wellington breeze like an errant knight of climate action.

So full of FOMO, I found myself a cheap secondhand push bike and began the journey of learning how to commute – down into the city in the morning, bussing back up the hills in the afternoon. But what I wasn’t expecting was that it would actually become a journey full of ups and downs, plot twists and left turns that rivalled the streets of Wellington itself.

The joy of biking

The first time I rode my new secondhand bike is something I’ll never forget. It felt like flying. In an instant, the years fell from my shoulders and I was a kid again, racing my friends around our school and the neighbourhood. It was straight joy – joy at the speed, the wind in my hair, the movement. But my first real learning quickly brought me back to earth — I should have asked for a second opinion before buying something shiny off TradeMe.

Within the first few rides, I realised that I needed to replace the back tire. The tread was so worn down that it was a hazard. So I got that sorted. Then, the bike chain and gear cassette had to be replaced with help from the team at Bikespace. Then I punctured my wheel while riding through the city and didn’t notice. A walk of shame to the bus stop and three YouTube videos later, I learned how to change an inner tube.

Starting cycling was like being inducted into a cult I wasn’t even aware existed. Learning about maintenance, care and upgrades were the price of entry – and it was addictive. Before long, I’d swapped out my stem for a longer one so I could sit more upright. I bought headlights and tail lights, fluoro gear, a bike lock and a kickstand. I started dreaming about adding a road and mountain bike to my current stable (my preferred collective noun for cycles). I was discussing the hill climb technique with coworkers during lunch breaks. I named my bike Merlin.

It was this addiction that kept me going – that and the rush of endorphins I earned with every commute. I needed all the help I could get, because the truth was, I was struggling.

The (literal) uphill battle

All the bike knowledge in the world wouldn’t distract me from the fact that I couldn’t make it up the hill in Karori between the supermarket and Marsden village – every time I’d try, my breathing would constrict, my thighs would burn, I’d dramatically convince myself I was dying and give up midway. Rather than smashing through my mental barriers, I’d end up pushing my bike past the prim crowd at the bus stop, pretending I wasn’t hacking up my lungs. It was a shock to the system to learn how unfit I actually was. A passing cyclist once helpfully yelled at me to swap to my lowest gear, only to then realise that I was in my lowest gear and it wasn’t helping. 

Then, there was learning to play nice with all the other road users. As a kid, I’d sped down the gentle slopes and flat trails of Auckland’s Cornwall Park, convinced no one could possibly be faster than I was. But as an adult, being tailgated by a car just waiting to zoom past really humbles you. Even where road markings indicated that bikes should take the lane, some drivers assumed I was fair game to overtake. More than once, I found myself gritting my teeth and preparing to swerve when a car got way too close. There’s this moment of real panic when you realise that there’s no competition between your 10kg bike and a two tonne vehicle.

The stories I collected were far worse. A friend told me about being hit by an old lady who “didn’t see him coming”. Another one was sideswiped by a driver who ran a red light – but he “wasn’t wearing fluoro”, so it was “actually kind of my fault”. It made him think twice about taking his kids on his bike with him. It certainly made me think twice about taking myself. 

But I kept going because as the weeks went by, I started gaining ground. My breathing was slowly getting calmer, and I was less flustered with every sudden turn and downhill. I tracked all stats on Strava because that was my life now. Does a ride count even if it’s not recorded? I was getting more and more confident with each personal record broken. And then, one day, I made it all the way up the Karori hill. I cried happy tears the whole way down.

Downfall

By this point, I’d begun to think that maybe, maybe I was kind of a cyclist. But there was one last rite of passage that I hadn’t gone through yet – I hadn’t had my first real fall. And when it finally happened, it couldn’t have been more stupid.

I was heading down the driveway, adjusting my clothes with one hand, when I accidentally hit the brakes too hard with the other. I went straight over the handlebars, crashing into the asphalt face-first. Initially, I thought I was fine – I got up, dusted myself off, and prepared to ride off. Then I noticed the blood on the ground.

It turned out I’d scraped the skin off my left knee and elbow, split my lip and chipped my front tooth. My flatmate had to patch me up while my partner made soothing noises from the doorway – the poor man faints at the sight of blood. I logged into Slack and let the team know that I’d be working from home that day.

After several bandage changes, finding bits of teeth embedded in my skin, and a quick trip to the dentist, I finished the week sore but no worse for the wear. The real damage was my loss of confidence. How could I have been so careless? You’re supposed to get straight back on the bike (horse?), but I just couldn’t bring myself to. If I couldn’t stay safe on the driveway, how could I keep myself safe on the road?

Merlin was banished to the depths of the garage. I told myself I’d dig him back out again once I felt better. But as the seasons changed and the cold and wet of winter set in, it all felt like a lost cause.

Cycleways win out

With spring came something miraculous. Cycle lanes appeared in the streets almost overnight, arriving in a puff of dust and construction vehicles. In a feat of council wizardry, Karori was suddenly connected by a network of protected cycleways, separating bikes from the traffic on every uphill. My old battleground, the Karori hill, now sported a bright stripe of green, and I itched to get back on my bike again to try it out.

The thing about protected cycleways is that they make beginners feel safe. Even if nothing physically divides us from cars, we now have this bit of road that’s just for us – and it’s enticing. There was less fear when I hit the streets again, for the first time in months. The council built it, and I came.

I’m not the only one, either. Data for the Newtown cycle route shows a 62% increase in usage annually, with a 93% increase in ridership comparing August 2022 to August 2023. In a July survey, 41% of residents thought it was easier to cycle Wellington, up from 27% last year. It’s not surprising – commuting has become an all-round less harrowing experience. Special shoutout to whoever came up with the turning bays on Featherston – they’re a stroke of genius.

But the icing on the cycle network cake came one day after work, when my partner and I decided to ride along the waterfront on a whim. It was the first time we’d seen the upgrades around Roseneath and Kilbirnie, and it was sheer magic. We cruised around the coast, enjoying the sea breeze and taking up space. The last light of the day reflected off the ocean, painting everything in pink and gold. There was a sense of peace that stayed with me, long after we’d caught the bus and gone home.

It really was the height of Wellington on a good day.