Fueled by Baguettes and Validation: The Impact of Strangers Post Bike Purchase

It was Tuesday morning, and I had just parked our new electric cargo bike at Whole Foods. Both toddlers were sitting in their seats, buckled, helmets on, enjoying the songs of Winnie the Pooh on the portable speaker.

I was on cloud nine. I was finally riding a bike I had dreamed about – a fairly intensive financial commitment, which our family took seriously – and I was enjoying it even more than I had imagined.

I had started the morning by riding the bike to my gym for a weight lifting class, my chest swelling with pride as I pulled up to the glass windows to park it. Post-class, I glided home, high on endorphins from the workout class and the exercise I was getting on the bike. After breakfast and diaper changes and the morning shuffle, the kids piled into the bike for errands.

It was in this moment, parked at Whole Foods, where I received the most attention I’ve had from strangers in years. The majority of the strangers were nicely dressed women, as we were in a relatively well-off community. Most women seemed to be shopping with a friend or family member. In duos, these women approached the bike.

“Wow! I have never seen something so cool in my life!” they exclaimed. “Well, isn’t that the neatest looking bike!” another called out. I smiled, unable to contain my pride and excitement. “I agree!” I would reply. “We’ve had it for about a week and I’m obsessed with it!”.

The bike purchase was inspired by three years living in Paris. We saw electric bikes often, but the Urban Arrow – the cargo bike we bought- was the crème de la crème of cargo bikes. Another mom gushed about it to me as I searched in English-speaking WhatsApp groups for advice related to which bike to purchase. I had explained my desire to tote my kids around and my need to be able to adequately cover about a ten mile radius. Time after time, this bike was the winning recommendation.

After locking the bike, securing our helmets and helping the kids climb out, we walked hand in hand into the store, searching for oranges for a muffin recipe I had in mind and a baguette.

Oranges in hand, we approached the bakery. My toddlers eyes widened as they viewed the glass cabinets of baguettes and demi-baguettes. “Babette?!” my two year old cheered, hopping up and down. “Peaseee?”

I ripped the top of the baguette off and handed it to my two-year-old, then another piece for my oldest. We learned in France that the proper etiquette never included biting the baguette, and tearing was preferred over cutting with a knife. We were fairly particular about our baguettes, and we had only found a few local places where we liked them enough to purchase them regularly.

As we paid for our groceries and skipped back to the bike, more friendly encounters with strangers ensued.

“Well, you’ve got a full house there, don’t you?” a gentleman exclaimed as the children climbed into the bike. Another small group of women smiled, their arms crossed and their hands thoughtfully secured around their chins. Nodding and inspecting the bike, they mused to each other, “Now wouldn’t that have been nice when we were raising our kids?”

I grinned as I strapped on my helmet and turned on the portable speaker. “Pooh?” my toddler ask, and I obliged.

My toddlers happily munched on baguette, unaware of the quiet impact of these strangers’ comments of the bike on their mama’s heart, as well as the uniqueness of their childhood experience.

I began pedaling, the electric assist making it easy to initiate take off and steer. Heading to the library, I noticed the grin on my lips had spread to a full smile. I was light as air. The bike felt effortless, and I was floating on validation of our purchase and lifestyle change. Days later I would realize I hadn’t used our minivan in a week.

The curious and kind comments from strangers had provided me with both justification and warmth, as well as a growing sense of community and belonging. I wasn’t the weirdo on the bike – I was the practical yet creative mom who had found a way to intertwine joy into the mundane.

I hummed along to “The Hundred-Acre Wood” while riding along in my own enchanted neighborhood. Fueled by baguette and exercise-induced endorphins, I announced to myself that I was entering into the next chapter of life - one of unapologetic joy, endless possibilities, and rock hard calves.