Yikes! in Amsterdam, means Bikes! So, so many bikes. Their take over is utter and they outnumber people three to one. At any time, a bike might strike you and in a worst case scenario, paralyze you. But after 18 hours without a bike hitting me, I’ve already begun to believe that the bikes cannot hit you due to magic.
Blogging this early on is risky. If a bike does hit me, as soon as I wake up from the coma, I will take down this post and deny I ever wrote it.
But more likely than me being the victim of a reckless bike, is that I am the reckless bike. My friend Hannah has, using the scrounging skills she honed during her time wearing a leather jacket in Antigua, Guatemala, has scrounged me up a bike.
The bike is similar to the 1988 Olympics Jamaican bobsleigh team during their last race. The bike has character, but no brakes. When I ride it I find it’s best to run through various scenarios and how I will explain to someone I hit why it was not my fault but the bike’s on behalf of the brakes. I’ve edited down to a simple “No brakes,” yelled without stopping, since I can’t. Shining Lady Luck, I have not had to use this with anyone yet. The bike is, likely, magic. It seems it cannot crash.
A magic bike is a bike that can A) Fly B) Shoot flames C) Turn into a Decepticon D) Not crash. But a bike is only as magic as the city where it is from. A magic city is one where I have not read the Wikipedia page about it. Everything I know about Amsterdam is roughly 40% bullshit of my own making, 40% bullshit of other people’s making, and 10% a combination of, facts, somewhat remembered barroom conversations, popular stereotypes and certain America pop-punk songs featuring the city.
Perhaps it’s because I’m lazy, possibly because they sell these just where-ever:
Or maybe because during these fast days of professors learning faster than the pace of spring breakers partying, with information available at everyone’s fingertips, there is something nice (sacred?) about leaving a place filled with the mysterious enchantment of ignorance (also known as bliss). Boycott that place’s museums and if you want to take it really far, check out books from the library about that place and put them in the fireplace.
My teachers have long missed their opportunity to test me on Amsterdam. I can learn as little or as much as I choose to about it. I choose to learn nothing. At least, nothing people don’t tell me in bars and the grocery store. People may lie more often when they are drunk, but at grocery stores they often tell the truth. I am committed to believing all of what they say.
