note: this was originally written in 2013, for a class presentation, but I felt it fit here.

In 2013, I travelled to the US & Canada.

it was my first time on a trip abroad, before, I’d only ever crossed the andes to go to Argentina, which was always done by car,so besides a few quick national trips,it was also one of the first times in a plane.

On Sunday May 5th, my sister and I got up early to go to central park.

We’d been there earlier in the week and we both wanted to return, her to run and me to ride.

Sadly I’d forgotten sports clothes so I just wore jeans and a tshirt while she put on running clothes. we got off the subway in columbus circle and immediately saw several street vendors offering bike rentals. I approached one, asked how much and if he had the bikes there, since we’d previously talked to another man who did not have them nearby. he did so I paid to rent for two hours.

we entered the park and my sister asked me to take some pictures of her running before I started riding. I did and she took off, saying she’d see me later.

I took my time putting the camera away and getting to know the bike.

I started to ride and seconds later I was surrounded by cyclists.

hundreds,possibly thousands of them.

soon I noticed almost all had white numbered vests on top of their clothes so I figured I must be in the middle of some kind of race.

there were too many to get away so I figured I’d just joined them.

It turned out to be fun. riding along all those people. there were strangers but they were cyclist and there was kinship to be found.

I liked that it was obvious it wasn’t a pro race. It was just a lot of different people who enjoyed cycling.

there were some people who seemed almost like professionals,in expensive bikes,dressed all in spandex, with camera helmets and having complicated conversations.

but there were only a few. the majority were just enthusiasts.

there was a mum driving a pedicab for her children. there were plenty of kids in small bikes strapped on to their parents’ bikes.

there were mountain bikes,folding,big,small,old,tandem. some dressed in jeans and a tshirt like myself,others in more sporty clothes, others in outdoorsy clothes, some dressed up. there were old people,like senior citizens, there was plenty of kids and teenagers, though I would guess the majority was between 20 and 40 years old.

almost all wore helmets and the little white vests but not all of them. perhaps the few that didnt were other like me crashing. There were groups,couples and solo riders, of all ethnicities, they certainly represented the diversity I found in the city.

there was a nice spirit of sportmanship and camaraderie amongst all participants, there was chatter,jokes and mostly support.

when someone would be struggling, for example up a hill, others would shout “come on!” “keep going!” “you can do this!” and other similar things.

there were some cyclists who wore vests that said “rider assist” who I assumed were staff there to help. there where photographers, mechanics and medics on the side of the road, ready to help with either mechanical or human problems.

there was also a few stationed at crossing with flags whose job as far as I could see was to wave down cyclist when somebody wanted to cross, especially in the case of babies or the elderly.

One of the most confusing things I saw was a group of these “rider assist” people who were all standing in a circle, talking, with starbucks cups on their helmets.

It was one of those things I wish I could’ve taken a picture of. I saw many but I could either ride or take pictures, not both.

Which is why helmet cameras exist, of course.

I remember going up a hill and seeing a group of women stretching. one of the cyclists yelled at them “go stretchers!” and they answered “go cyclists!” to many cheers.

After a while I settled onto a nice rhythm and stayed with the same group of people, going up and down the streets of the park and some rather difficult hills, and there I started to understand, I think, why these big group events happened, I think.

I heard the conversations around me, I heard the cheers, I saw the smiles and I thought it felt nice, it felt good.

it was very different,riding with so many people, you had to be very conscious of what you were doing and those around you and you had to mind your speed as well, but it felt nice to be part of this swarm for a little while.

I don’t know how much time had happened when we reached an exit. the way through to the park was blocked and everyone was turning to the right and out of the park.

that was where I stopped, I had some water, took some pictures, and looked around.

There I finally got an idea of what was going on. I talked to some people and I saw a man with a white vest except his said “five boro bike tour”

I decided to google it later. at the moment I had another dilemma, to continue with the tour or on my own.

I toyed with the idea of following them for a while, but I didn’t know where they were going, I didn’t know the city and I only had the bike for 2 hours, plus it just didn’t feel right, crashing the tour.

in the park it had been a coincidence, an unavoidable one, but to carry on seem deceitful.

so I went around the blocked part  and I kept riding through the park, feeling happy by the accident and thinking that maybe the next time I saw an ad for a bike race or something I might consider it.

after I left the tour people, I went around the park again, now appreciating being on my own, and looking around at the landscape I hadn’t been able to see before. I finished my second lap and I only had like ten minutes before my two hours were up so I went to drop off the bike, and then I returned to the park and I bought a drink and  a hotdog from a street cart. it was only one the whole time I was there. then I took the subway to return to the flat, and we all went sightseeing later and everywhere we went, I’d see cyclists passing by us wearing those white vests. some people were complaining because of the closed streets and slow traffic but I smiled whenever I saw them, feeling slightly jealous, wishing I was riding too.