Bikes

In many areas of our life here, Fernando and I don’t feel like we fit in. We have noticed that, often, our possessions (Leo’s stroller, my engagement ring), our clothes (Fernando’s khakis, our inadequate foul-weather gear, Leo’s sweatpants), and our customs (languages spoken, pastimes enjoyed, peanut butter dependency) mark us as different from the locals. Sometimes it’s nice to feel different, like when we're talking on the tram and know, for sure, that some eavesdropping German is sitting there diligently trying to understand. Also, to our benefit, some people simply assume that because we are from somewhere else, we are interesting. But sometimes being different feels pretty bad. Like, for example, when we are fined multiple times on the train (at 40 euro a pop) for not understanding the ticketing system, or when we have to wait over a month to get internet service at home, or when we can’t figure out how to set up voice-mail. But now we’ve got one possession and custom that makes us feel positively acculturated: bikes and bike riding. From the fortuitous way in which we got our bikes in October to our daily use of them for transportation and fun, our bikes have been a high point of the past few months.

Bikes are everywhere
Well it’s not Amsterdam, a city which seems to have more bikes than people, but there are bikes and riders everywhere in Hannover. It is easy to see why so many people bike around here. Oh, Germans will tell you about how it’s good for the environment and healthy for the body. But the real reasons people do it are because of all the parks and forests, and the fact that the terrain is flat as a pancake. Fernando and I, soon after arriving, added bikes to the list of 536 things we should probably buy while in Hannover. But walking by one of the city’s numerous “Rad Shops” we were dismayed that even the clunkiest of bicycles cost several hundred euros. Much, much more than I remember not-so-great bikes costing at Sears, oh so many years ago. So when a colleague of Fernando emailed him about the Hanover Police used bike auction coming up, we put it on our calendars.

The Auction
The auction began promptly at 9:00 on a Saturday. We showed up at the address printed on the email, some kind of all-purpose building located across the street from the Machsee Lake. We arrived with the first wave of people, all entering and peering curiously at the tight rows of bicycles lined up along one side of the room. There were so many of them crammed into a relatively small space that it was hard to see the details of any single bike. But it was evident that they came in all sizes and styles, from pimped-out racer bikes to graceful English cruisers, from kiddy bikes to clunky pieces of crap. We had been in Germany for less than a month, so figuring out how the auction was supposed to work was going to be a challenge. Taking turns holding Leo, Fernando and I scouted around looking for people to answer our questions. We quickly found the “Chief” of the auction and spoke some German to him, having to decline his offer to communicate with us in Afrikans. But I was suddenly flooded with tons of questions—since neither of us had been to an auction before, we didn’t speak German, and I realized I didn’t know much about bikes in the first place. Oh dear, the chances were looking good that we’d end up with two plastic bicycles with training wheels. Meanwhile, the crowd was doubling, people were starting to take their seats, and Fernando and I were starting to doubt ourselves. We still had A LOT of questions. Finally, an English speaker was located, a nice guy who represented the auction space. Hearing his smooth English caused my brain to flood with questions, which I fired away at him, one after the other:
“What are the different bike sizes?” “Look at my tall husband. What do you think his bike size should be? And mine?” “Are all these bikes in riding condition?” “Might they have flat tires?” “Do you think we’ll get a good deal?” and even, “How do you say “bike” in German?” Only after I had dumped all these inquiries onto this guy did he confess, taking a drag off his cigarette, that he knew nothing about bikes. I kept badgering him, however, until Fernando, Leo and I had no choice but to take our seats and take our chances.

The auction started. The Chief auctioneer stood on stage in front of about 100 of us sitting down, and rows of people standing behind us. His assistants would wheel out bikes on to the stage in a steady, single-file stream. The auctioneer would stand with each bike, shout out its main features, and the bidding would begin. We hadn’t a clue as to what he was saying, and from our seats towards the back it was impossible to tell if it was a “good” bike. And as can be expected of an auctioneer, he was speaking rather fast. Each transaction took about a minute or sometimes less. Luckily, it was very repetitive, and soon we were understanding the words for the bikes’ heights, and whether or not they had gears, brakes, and bells. The most effective way for us to figure out if a bike was in decent shape, however, was by the rate at which the bid would go up. If, for example, the opening bid was 50 euro cents and hovered at 3 euro for several seconds before finally being sold for 2.50, it was a definitely a beater. But most of them would start at 2 euro and shoot right up to around 55 or so, and then be sold. Occasionally a real beauty would be wheeled out, fetch a bid of 200 euros within 40 seconds, and everyone would clap in admiration. Does that always happen at auctions? We watched, totally engrossed, for about 15 minutes, but were getting more and more anxious to start bidding ourselves. We were handing Leo a steady supply of drinks and snacks and he was being pretty good, but who knew how long that would last? I was ready. I was determined to get the next bike that wasn’t a BMX dirt bike or a tricycle. Out one came, and I raised my hand gingerly, keeping it raised as the price went up—55, 60, 61, 62, 63 euros… but somehow, someone else got the bike, even though my hand never once left the air. Then this odd thing, let’s call it Highest Bidder Totally Ignored, happened again. Some sympathetic onlookers started to nod their heads at me and “tsk tsk” the carelessness of the auctioneer, agreeing (I think) that I had been cheated of my bikes. One of them even bellowed “Nein!” in protest when the bike was given to another bidder, for a second time. The auctioneer just shrugged his shoulders and said he hadn’t seen me. But the bikes were moving too quickly to be upset about it. Next, out came a beautiful mint green ladies’ English bike that WOULD BE MINE. I propped up my raised hand with my other arm, annoyed but certain that this was the winner. I didn’t even listen to the bids, just kept my hand raised high. The bidding stopped, my neighbors looked at me approvingly, Fernando gave me a wad of bills, and I marched up to the front to claim my new bike. But by the time I got there, someone else was leaning against it and smiling broadly, handing money over to the cashier. When I went to take the bike, he hissed, “Das ist mein!!” I returned empty-handed to my seat, feeling outrage and humiliation in equal parts. It was time for me to cool-off (boy, had it gotten hot in there!) outside with Leo, who was starting to get fussy anyway. Well, we were only outside for about ten minutes before I peered through the window and saw Fernando with a big smile on his face, getting ready to wheel his handsome dark blue bike out of the building to meet us. He had just won a bidding war and gotten a good-looking bike! Now I definitely couldn’t leave without one… So, I took a deep breath, returned inside, and bid on the first bike that was the right height and had more than one gear. This time, the auctioneer took notice of me and the OK-looking, royal blue bike was truly mine. I met Fernando and Leo outside, where we took turns trying out our new purchases, both of us a bit shaky on them, but happy to prove that they actually worked. We felt elated, and I must have exclaimed several times about how much money we saved, but that wasn’t all, it was also gratifying to figure out something that was entirely in German.

Since the sale, Fernando has been biking to work (about ten minutes) and we installed a seat for Leo on mine, and it’s much faster to get around town than with a stroller. Leo likes to ride in back, though he hates having his helmet put on him. It also seems relatively easy and safe to ride here, since almost all sidewalks include a bike lane, and as mentioned before, it’s incredibly flat, so it’s OK that only one of my gears works.

And because this is Germany, there are lots of rules with bikes. You must have a light if riding after dark, and I’m pretty sure bells are also mandatory. You must use the designated bike path, and it’s rude to ride through the pedestrian center of town. But for now we don’t mind these inevitable, German rules. Because we understand them, and we’re OK about following them. Just like the Germans—hooray!!.