Growing up, I thought that I would go on monthlong trips through mountains on a la Motorcycle Diaries or rock the headscarf-Vespa combo navigating a sick Italian villagio. But in reality those dreams were over before even started. It took me some time into my adult years to realize that I wasn’t so great at biking.

The truth is my discomfort on two wheels goes back to when I was eight years old and totaling my new bike on my summer camping trip to Tahoe. My uncle hauled my mangled, pink bike into the back of his pickup and everybody at the campsite was cooing over me. Which was great, but I felt the pain of not being able to go on any more bike rides that trip. My mom staying back to hang out with me as the rest of the camp rode off into the metaphorical sunset.

Later while backpacking on the island of Bocas del Toro, some friends and I rented a bike from a rastafari on the side of the road. Being the shortest one of the group I received the smallest and, I swear, shittiest bike available. We rode on rock and sand to the beach, beer cans jangling in the front basket, exploding, and one thing after another…

I petulantly expressed my frustration at the purveyor upon our return. I can still hear my friend groan “Kristen” in a tone of disappointment with just a hint of sympathy. (Coincidentally, this friend insisted I ride on the back of his motorbike instead of riding my own.)

Everybody has kind of pitied me when it’s come to my two-wheel voyages, but determined for self-improvement I got an annual Citibike membership when I moved to New York City. I biked across the Manhattan Bridge. Missed the train, biked to appointments. Strapped in shopping bags, ran errands. Only some minor hiccups.

Then, I travelled to the Netherlands, where there are bikes (22 million) than people (18 million) as of 2018. Kids, adults, geriatrics on wheels. In business suits, in sundresses, in the rain. Amsterdam is a study in urban planning, if urban planning meant bikes, bikes everywhere.

This is simply a mode of transportation for the Dutch, and locals would hate me for saying this, but can I say that biking makes Amsterdam feel like a playground? A very expensive and super polished playground, and I’m talking about the central ring district, but for me it’s a city like no other (I’ve never been to Scandinavia).

I’m from San Francisco where bike theft is seemingly inevitable. Dropping the kickstand, locking the wheels, walking away for days, and the bike being there when it returned never occurred possible to me.

Similar to New York, most residents don’t own cars. But whereas in New York having no car makes one feel trapped, it’s downright freeing in the Netherlands.

Living like a local is a goal when traveling, so I biked through streets with the voice in my head: “Everybody hates bikers. Even bikers hate bikers. This is a universal truth.” The other voice tells me: “You are Lance Armstrong, no balls, but strong heart.” On a rainy day in Utrecht I almost wiped out trying to bike up a curb, and two ladies stopped to ask if I was okay. It was frankly embarrassing, but the human connection is nice.

Like all my experiences of the past, Amsterdam was here to remind me that if you fall off the bike, you get back up.