Riding Danishly
What connects cycling on a Jutlandic peninsula to an ascent of Mont Ventoux, and how does travelling by bike shape our understanding of where we ride?
At the hire place, we were greeted by the sight of hundreds – and I mean hundreds – of neatly parked bikes. The proprietor picked out three for us. They were Kildemoes, a classic Danish brand. Designed for riding in an upright position on flat terrain, the bikes had three gears, a front disc brake and a rear coaster brake. Kickstands, racks and a basket made them resolutely practical.
Cycling was the obvious way for us to get around during our stay in Skagen, a town at the tip of Denmark's North Jutland region. So, having arrived from Sweden by ferry and train the previous evening, our first errand the following morning was to the cykeludlejning (bike rental) recommended by our host.
I love walking, but I think cycling through a landscape, urban or rural, produces a fundamentally different experience.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how places reveal themselves when we cycle through them. Much of the literature of place writing, of psychogeography, uses walking as the means of discovery. I love walking, but I think cycling through a landscape, urban or rural, produces a fundamentally different experience.
There was, after all, nothing particularly Danish about our stroll to pick up the bikes. I don’t mean the views, which were filled by the town’s bright yellow houses with their orange-tiled roofs. Or the soundscape, which was punctuated by ship horns from the port. I mean the act of walking itself.