I thought joyriding meant nicking cars and taking them for a spin when drunk. I grew up on the council estate of Chingford Hall where some of the bad boys did it. I was surprised when I read that the cycling group is free for women and that bikes are given to the members who need them. JoyRiders started in my area where there is an infrastructure of 27 km of cycle paths called Mini Holland.
One of the most isolating years we have ever experienced was when I discovered the group, as London was edging out of the last lock down. I returned to my roots in hopes that this country would be a better place for my son. He had been in the mental health system in the USA for almost a decade, where the cure was worse than the diagnosis. My plan was hampered by the Pandemic. I knew I needed a better road map when my son was admitted to a hospital for the third time.
I had not been riding a bike in ages, but I had loved it since I first learned to pedal around the podium. I felt safe with the two small additional wheels that my mother had mounted on my bike, even though they made me lean to one side, like a Hells Angel passenger on a Harley.
When it was time to ride without the stabilisers, my mother ran behind me shouting, "Pedal, pedal!" and then she pushed me into a world where it was just me and my bike. She was confident that I would find my way.
The mother has left this earth. I'm the elder now. I can feel it in my joints and in my face as I drive to Jubilee Park for the first time with the JoyRiders. I hope I can keep up. I hope it does not hurt my back. I messaged Mariam, the co-director of the group, to say that I am 5ft 6in tall and heavy. I want to make sure the bike I borrow will fit my weight, because she is leading the ride today. My note is redundant. I will be using a hybrid Raleigh that is not a miniature pony.
Mariam assures me that my body will remember what to do.
The park smells of freshly cut grass as runners and dog walkers wake up. The container is where the council-owned cycles are kept. Mariam has a mix of Dutch and German heritage and has a no-nonsense sense of leadership. My body will remember what to do, she assures me. She insists that she has a muscle memory. I know that my body has other things that it keeps score of. My son struggled over the years. I do not say that I am gay or Jewish. It doesn't seem relevant until the other women arrive, many of them in traditional Islamic dress. I wonder if it will matter to them. Is this the right group for me? Will I fit in?
Mariam works hard to adjust my saddle so I can touch the ground. She shows us how to use the ABCD for our bikes. The first person to speak is Soraya, who introduced herself and reminded me of how the gears work. She is using a bike. I watch as she puts her jilbab over her wide belt and puts two cycle clips around her. Her head covering is tucked under her helmet. Some of the women wear hijabs. There are no shorts for bikes here. There are no titanium road bikes. As the women chat and fish in their backpacks for their phones, their purses, their water bottles, I get the sense that this group is about community, not competition, but I am not sure if it is for me.
We set off with Mariam at the front and a volunteer at the back. The route is mapped out on their phones and mounted on their handlebars. When the streets are wide and quiet, we are asked to double up and ride close to the centre of the road, where we can be seen more easily. Shazia is my partner. She tells me that she did a cycle training course for beginners and then progressed to intermediate rides after her baby was old enough to be left with her mother-in-law. Her smile is infectious and I feel good that wePukiWikiPukiWikiPukiWiki are not going to crash into each other.
A child points out to a group of people on the ride that he has never seen before, even though it is on my doorstep, as we ride through the entrance to the Olympic Park. I took one hand off the handlebars to wave at him.
We spread into a V-shape inside the park. We swarm over the bridge. A person sees how much fun we are having. Who are you? Can I join? she shouted at us.
TheJoyRiders. The volunteer says you can find us online.
The sound of music and the von Trapp family cycling scene are what I think of when I think of our chatter and laughter. It makes me think of my family, my sons, and the youngest one who I wish could experience this kind of freedom.
Even though I have a knot in my chest, I feel like it is starting to loosen. It's important to have a chance to just sit on the saddle and be led, to not have to be so hypervigilant, after fighting for support and services for so long.
Who are you? Can I join?
We stop at a coffee shop after passing the London Aquatics Centre, designed by Iraqi-born architect Zaha Hadid for the 2012 Olympics and Paralympics. One of the women in the group is doing a PhD on why we are still outnumbered by men. She asks us questions as we drink.
Shabnam is a family practice doctor. She tells me how hard it has been for her, how little we know about each other, how many assumptions we make, and the danger of stereotypes. It is not a rider's long jilbab that gets caught in the chain of her bicycle and brings us all to a halt, but rather it is me. My jacket, which I had tied around my waist, gets sucked into the spokes of my back wheel. The women wait until I am disentangled. There was no JoyRider left behind.
When I get home, I am tired in a way that will help me sleep. I know that Tuesday mornings will be mine. On occasion, weekends as well. I invite my friend to join the group. We stop and pose for a picture with our bikes. I get the pictures on our group and the messages say, "Hey sisters, well done, great ride today."
The ride to Brick Lane is my favorite. The women show me where to buy the best samosas. We talk about where my grandmother used to go to get pickled herrings, and then I mention that I was going to get my own bike. Mariam and some of the sisters give advice. I would like a hybrid. The saddle is comfortable and the gears are important. I tell the sisters how happy I am. The change in my internal landscape is the most important, it gives me the chance to lean into the community and ride towards joy.
There is an intersection of mental health and motherhood. Her memoir, "Zig Zag Boy: Motherhood, Madness andLetting Go," will be published in February of 2023.
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