British singer Katie Melua once wrote a song called “Nine Million Bicycles,” which begins, “There are nine million bicycles in Beijing, a fact, something we can’t deny, just like I’ll love you till I die.” The juxtaposition of the two, I don’t know if it’s because they’re both surprising or both irrelevant. In any case, in 2005, when the song was released, the streets of Beijing had not yet been taken over by bike-sharing.
My earliest memory of bicycles is probably sitting on the back of one as a child, staring at the sun with unblinking eyes, thinking I could practice my golden eyes. At that time, my parents took me to kindergarten on their bikes, and as I watched the traffic, I felt sorry for the passersby who were commuting to and from work for the first time. Later, when I was in elementary school, I accidentally put my foot on the wheel one night on my way home from Go lessons. The pain was long forgotten, but the look of panic on my parents’ faces was still fresh in my mind.
Then I learned to ride a bike myself and soon lost my first one. I still believe that people wouldn’t rent a shared bike if they weren’t afraid of losing their own. During the time I lived in the city, I bought a racing bike and spent my nights riding up and down Chang’an Street singing: “On this Chang’an Street, he’s as lonely as I am. He’s like my friend, we cry together.”