Chris gives me a choice when we first arrive in Holland: either Bakfiets or car. I opt for the Bakfiets (literally "basket bike") and never regret my decision. My Bakfiets fits both the children and the marketing. I ride it in town and through the country. It is just unwieldy enough not to fit in a bike rack, so I park it directly in front of wherever my destination might be -- just like a teenager with a convertible to show off.
When Joe turns four, we remove his sidewieltjes (training wheels) and he learns to ride behind me into the city center. Chris and I never get over the sight of small children on small bikes trailing behind their parents. There is something very circus-y about those small legs churning.
Nederlanders bike everywhere. The bike-riders possess the right-of-way even over pedestrians. Ask a Nederlander about their family's experiences in World War II and more than likely the first comment will be an indignant, "Well, the Germans stole my _________'s bike." Fietsen is one of the most important components of the culture, and the enemy cut the country to its core by rounding up the bikes en masse.
I now have my own enemy to fietsen -- traffic. I find it impossible to navigate my bike within the same lanes as double-decker buses. So I stare at my Bakfiets longingly out the front window, where it is chained to the gate. My convertible is now on blocks.
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