Vincent Van Gogh Taught Me to Ride a Bike in My 40s

I had come thousands of miles to do this.

I’ve loved the painting “Starry Night” since I was 20 when I first heard Don McLean’s song “Vincent.” I could feel the brush strokes in the melody and relate to the angsty, melancholy lyrics of feeling misunderstood. Yet, amidst Vincent Van Gogh’s emotional turmoil, his painting had all the colors that bring me joy.

I bought Starry Night thong underwear, iPhone and computer cases, and a twirly Starry Night skirt. When I feel like I need to work through an emotion, I consult a Van Gogh painting as a base from which to work to create my own versions of his art. I’ve painted the Van Gogh Sunflowers, but with colors that get more vibrant as the sunflowers age to represent always having a bit of brightness and youthful energy as I get older. So, in an angsty moment where I felt inadequate for not learning to ride a bike as a child, I once again turned to Vincent for guidance.

I searched the internet for a bicycle painting in a Van Gogh style. I figured if I could paint it, I could ride it. Then, I saw the Van Gogh-Roosegaarde cycle path in Eindhoven, Netherlands, with thousands of crystals that light up like Starry Night. That’s the glowy inspiration I needed, and it was only 660 meters (1,968 feet). I could push a bike that far if my feet have trouble pedaling.

I started painting the Water Mill at Opwetten, which Van Gogh painted and is just about a kilometer from the cycle path created to honor the 125th anniversary of his passing. Then, I added the path between the water mill and the oil mill he painted. I watched a YouTube video on how to draw and paint bicycles and added two to the painting. 

Once the artwork was complete, I started to get nervous because the next step of manifesting riding a bike was taking lessons and riding one. I broke my tailbone on a spin bike once because the instructor kept telling me to push through the pain of the uncomfortable bike seat until my tailbone cracked. It took over two years for it to heal. But I figured if I found the right teacher, my fear would start to dissipate because I’d have enough confidence and training to ride safely. I’d also invest in a bike seat cushion.

Susan McLucas from the Biking School in Boston was perfect for my first lesson. She’s in her 70s and an older hippie. It was comforting to take a lesson from someone who could be my mom. Especially since my own parents gave up on teaching me how to ride a bike after one try when I was 8, all I remember is being given a push, and I rode down one hill, swerving. Then, the bike was put away and stored for eternity.

Practicing on my own was hard. My dad was disabled, and my family didn’t ride bikes together. We also lived in rural North Carolina, and the nearest kid I could ride with was half a mile away. As far as riding anywhere, the nearest gas station that had snacks was several miles and a dozen hills from us, and the McDonald’s was a 15-mile distance.

Susan was prepared to pick up the parenting slack. She had a stacked garage of bicycles and helmets. Of course, she properly sized me for knee and elbow pads. She drove me to an empty school parking lot and took the pedals off so I could propel the bike forward by pushing my feet backward like my dog kicking his hind legs to cover up a scent. She specializes in easing the fears of adult riders with an easy-going process and attitude. Many of her students are new to the country and brand new to bike riding. Others grew up in poverty and could never afford a bike. She teaches on a sliding scale to accommodate everyone.

Little by little, I glided further and further during the two-hour lesson to the point where my feet didn’t touch the ground while balancing on the bike for 45 feet. It took five more bike lessons when I returned to NYC between REI and free community lessons from NYC Bike.

A month later, I was on a flight to Amsterdam. I stayed in Gouda, Netherlands, and rode two hours by train and bus to get to the trial. I planned my trip for a 3 pm arrival, two hours before the November sunset. After all, the Starry Night glow doesn’t exist until the starry night. The crystals are solar-powered and charge all day from the daylight.

I walked to the corner and saw a small sign surrounded by tall grass marking the path. There was also a painting of what looked like a purple Iris on a giant power box. I walked down the trail just to stare at it and bask in the knowledge that the surrounding area is where Van Gogh once painted a quarter of his life’s work. About 200 paintings were painted within 3 miles of that spot. I admired and studied the different grasses in green and yellow ochre, trees in twisting trunks, and what looked like Willow trees. It was too cold to paint outside, so I snapped about 100 photos to paint the landscapes he had painted 140 years ago.

Just across the street from the trail was a small area with bike rentals similar to Citibike at home. With the area properly scoped out, I headed to the De Watermolen van Opwetten restaurant that’s next to the 19th-century oil and water mills Van Gogh painted. I sketched in a tiny leather sketchbook wrapped about 10 times around with string and graphite pencils I bought at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.

After dinner, it was dark enough for what I had come thousands of miles to do. The problem was the only bike that wasn’t electric was just for show and not available for rent when I scanned it. I tried calling customer service, but it was out of commission. I could barely pedal, and every fear I had about bike riding would have come to fruition if I had been forced to ride an electric bike without a helmet. I nervously tried looking for rentals but most places closed at 6 pm, but I’d have to ride 2.5 miles back to the path by the side of a busy road with no helmet. Uber didn’t transport bikes to that area. Neither did the city buses.

Without an available bike, I ran the bike trail to see what the lights would look like. Unfortunately, because it was cloudy all day, they didn’t fully charge. So, like my hopes of riding a bike in the area, the glow was a bit dim. But the cool part was that I explored the area that inspired my favorite artist, and I now know how to ride a bike. Condemned to experience this trip on foot, I took a walking tour of Van Gogh’s sites. I saw the exact spots where he sketched and stayed two minutes from where his art was displayed in the Passage shopping center two years after his death. I also saw where he marveled at Rembrandt paintings and Panorama paintings by his friends. I even climbed the same steps he once did. I’m planning to go back when it’s sunnier, but In the meantime, I’ll practice until I feel comfortable riding some of the over 450 km of bike paths in the Netherlands dedicated to sites related to Vincent Van Gogh.