I have been a biker in Paris for twenty years. As such, my pioneer pride induced slightly disdainful thoughts of Mayor Bertrand Delanoë’s scheme to make bikes available to all. (I have always been suspicious of democracy.) Considering the value of square meters in the city, the administrative authorisations that were probably needed, the bureaucratic barriers that were surely invented against it, plus the difficulty in finding good builders, the fact that these stations have mushroomed almost seamlessly in a few weeks is for me one of the more impressive aspects of this project. By the end of the year, we’re promised 2,000 stations and 25,000 bikes.

The city is now clogged with cycling debutantes, some of whom need side wheels and most of whom lack traffic sense. Yet, I can’t help feeling that our mayor must be a very proud dad as he watches his offspring take their first ride, wobbling and nervously stumbling down the myriad of cycle tracks he has also created.
For me, choosing a bike is probably more important than choosing a partner and just as difficult. After all, a long and preferably comfortable ride is what it’s all about. Although a high-spirited snazzy spin on unsuitable wheels has its merits too. Nothing too flashy or it will be coveted and perhaps stolen.

Although Vélib’s are quite trendy in a nice shade of grey with a hint of purple (“so very cardinal”) for bikes meant to be used like tanks, these bicycles will never be truly Parisian: They cross from the Left to Right banks, from working class neighbourhoods to posh parts of town with apparent indifference. What’s more, they feign ignorance of the innate French sense of individuality by pretending that a shared, virtually free public transportation system can work. But in fact it might just work—because cycling through Paris is one of the greatest legal highs known to man.