It all started with a sleepy scroll on a Sunday afternoon. I was half-asleep, lounging on my couch with one eye open, when I stumbled across the Instagram page of @nsbiciklista. It was packed with vibrant photos of people on bikes—smiling, sweating, climbing hills, cruising along riverbanks, and occasionally looking absolutely exhausted, yet oddly triumphant.
The page had this chaotic, heartfelt energy. Every photo screamed, “We’re tired, we’re happy, we’re doing this together.” I smiled, double-tapped a photo of someone lying flat on the grass next to their bike, and thought, “That’s my kind of vibe.” I didn’t know it then, but that was the moment I began my transformation into a real @nsbiciklista.
Let me explain. I was not a cyclist. I had a dusty old bike in the basement that hadn’t felt air since pre-pandemic times. My idea of cardio was walking briskly to catch a bus. But something about that account pulled me in. It wasn’t about speed or showing off fancy gear—it was about joy, community, and a healthy dose of self-deprecating humor. That combo? Irresistible.
So, the next weekend, I decided to try. I pulled the bike out, wiped off the cobwebs, and discovered that my tires were as flat as my motivation. But I was determined. I took the bike to a repair shop where the mechanic looked at me and said, “She’s seen better days.” I replied, “So have I.” We both laughed.
Once it was patched up and semi-rideable, I hit the streets. The first ride was rough. My legs were jelly by kilometer three, and every bump in the road rattled through my entire skeleton. But then, something beautiful happened. As I huffed up a tiny hill, a woman on a pink bike with a basket full of flowers passed me and gave me the warmest smile.
“First time?” she asked.
“Is it that obvious?” I gasped.
She winked. “Keep going. You’re doing great, real @nsbiciklista energy.”
I didn’t even know her, but that encouragement lit me up like a firework. From that moment on, I committed. I followed the hashtag. I joined a Telegram group someone posted about in the comments. Suddenly, I was part of this quirky, kind-hearted network of people who celebrated the little victories—like not falling off your bike when you try to drink water while riding.
Week by week, my rides got longer. I found new paths around the city, quiet corners I never knew existed, and sunset views that took my breath away (though to be fair, I was already out of breath). I also learned the unspoken rules of the road. Nod at fellow cyclists. Avoid potholes like your life depends on it. And most importantly: always carry a snack.
I started documenting my rides, just like the people I’d admired online. My first post was me sitting on a bench, red-faced and drenched in sweat, holding up a peace sign next to my bike. The caption? “Still can’t feel my legs but I’m alive 😂❤️ #nsbiciklista”
The likes rolled in. So did the comments.
“Welcome to the family!”
“Now you just need a bell that sings and a basket full of bananas 🍌🚲”
“You’re officially one of us now 😴❤️🚲😂”
And just like that, I became one of them. A real @nsbiciklista.
There were tough days too. I remember one ride when it started pouring rain halfway through. I had 10km left to go, and I was soaked, cold, and very much questioning my life choices. But as I passed a bus stop, I saw two other cyclists huddled under the shelter, laughing their heads off as they wrung water out of their socks. We locked eyes. No words were needed. That was the moment I truly understood the spirit of this community.
It wasn’t about being perfect or fast. It was about showing up. About pushing through the soreness, the bad weather, the flat tires—and still smiling through it all.
I joined group rides too. That’s where the real magic happened. Dozens of us cruising through the streets like a two-wheeled parade, ringing bells, sharing snacks, and shouting encouragements up hills like “You’ve got this!” and “Don’t trust the downhill, there’s always another climb!”
Every ride came with its own little story. Like the time I took a wrong turn and ended up leading a small group of five into a sunflower field. Or when I forgot to bring water and someone handed me a cold peach juice like a divine gift. Or when we stopped at a bakery halfway through and bought every croissant they had.
And then, one evening, I found myself looking at a photo of me that someone else had taken—helmet slightly askew, grinning with a mud-splashed shirt, leaning on my bike like it was the love of my life. The caption read: “Look at this legend! A real @nsbiciklista.”
Reader, I teared up. I really did.
Because here’s the thing: Becoming a real @nsbiciklista wasn’t just about riding a bike. It was about rediscovering joy, finding community, and learning to laugh at myself. It was about showing up, even when I was tired or grumpy or had no idea what I was doing. It was about celebrating progress, no matter how small.
And now, I can’t imagine life without it. The bike rides, the people, the random roadside dance breaks, the post-ride naps, the endless group chats filled with memes and route maps—it’s all part of the beautiful chaos.
So yes, I became a real @nsbiciklista. 😴❤️🚲😂
And if you’re thinking about dusting off your bike, let me just say this: there’s a spot for you too. Just start pedaling. We’ll be here cheering you on—bells ringing, croissants ready, hearts open.
