I love Miami, and I love being a Latina … except when it comes to cycling, then I fantasize about being a gringa in Vermont.

I was having mental health issues with my bike.  This caused a major problem because competing in an IronMan would require 116 miles of cycling, and thus a whole lot of training on Miami roads.  I faced this much like an ostrich: I dug my head in the sand and left it there. A brand new bike sat in my kitchen, and I took a plane to Vermont for a vacation.

It’s funny how these things work.  While in Vermont we stayed at my friend Alex’s house.  Now, this is a guy who used to guide cycling tours around Vermont.  When we arrived, Alex informed me he had a bike I could use to go riding.  I dilly-dallied, used my kids as an excuse in a thanks-but-no-thanks kind of way.  Yet before I could say anything my husband Joe blurted out “that would be awesome honey! Go and I’ll take care of the kids.”  Huh? Joe actually said that?  Crap.  My stomach began to turn: “oh, the bike may be the wrong size, its probably hard to find clip-on shoes my size … what a hassle.  Don’t worry.” I spoke to deaf ears as I tried to graciously get out of it.

Unfortunately, not only did Alex have a friend whose bike frame was my size, but the size nine shoes fit too!  To boot, as soon as we were getting ready to go out, it stopped drizzling, which I took as a sign that I was meant to ride on a road after all.

And I need to thank God for that one.  It wasn’t just that the ride was gorgeous and that I was with someone who knew what they were doing, but I rode through this major obstacle that had been blocking me for months.  I pulled my head out of the sand and took in the awe-inspiring beauty of Lake Champlain.

We went through 15 miles of hills around the lake, where cars that passed us stayed far away, and other cyclists let us through.  When I heard a car in the distance, I instinctively moved closer to the inside of the bike lane.  At one point Alex reminded me “cars here will wait until it’s safe to pass you, keep your line because the inside of the lane might have lots of debris from the rains.” On a tri bike, debris is tricky as it can cause you to slip, skid and fall.  In Miami we have debris from the rain too, but between risking some sticks and risking a driver who insists on having less than three feet between you and his car … I’ll take the debris.  In Burlington I didn’t have to make that choice.  I kept my line and the cars kept away from me.

The ride helped me be confident that I can ride a bike; I can get up a hill, and I can ride on a street, safely.  So when I got home to Miami I pulled my head out of the sand again and took “Slider,” my new tri bike, for a spin to get used to the new ride and get reacquainted with cycling outdoors in Miami, something I hadn’t done since February.

Boy was it different.  I admit that part of it is my own psychosis but the other is that riding in Miami is just plain … traumatic.  I rode around a popular route on the Rickenbacker Causeway linking Key Biscayne to Miami.  On a Sunday morning, the place was besieged by cyclists.

I did not keep my line as I did in Vermont.  I was as far away as possible from the car lane heedless of the accumulated debris on the edge.  Several cars zoomed by me, not one making an effort to share the road.  Here, cars are entitled to all their space and glory.  But the cars aren’t the only reason why cycling here is harrowing.

I turned into Virginia Key, a popular three-mile loop leading to a public beach. I was trying to do a “pick-up” where I increase my speed for a while, but instead ran into a group of cyclists who I guess were catching their breath and riding slowly.  No problem, that’s allowed.  But they were riding three abreast on the lane going out of the park, while there were cars coming in.  If I were to pass them, I was squarely on the wrong lane against traffic, with plenty of cars coming.

I could have said “on your left” in the hope they’d move closer together so I could have a safe passage, but last time I tried that things did not go so well.  I was doing a speed test, going as fast as I could, and struggling to keep the effort.  I bumped into a group who was on their rest break.  When I said “on your left”, they refused and opened wider making it harder for me to safely pass so I had to slow down.  When I finally did pass, I received all kinds of agitated comments and two seconds later heard “LEFT, LEFT, LEFT” as they yelled while passing me.  Really?  I may not be as fast or as strong, but just because I am polite enough to say “left” when I pass does not give you the right to intimidate me.    Though between you and I, I was totally intimidated.

Then there was another time when someone threw tacks on the causeway causing at least fifty bikes to get flat tires.  Or another time I was actually running on a pedestrian lane over the William Powell bridge (on the same causeway) when I almost got run over by a casual cyclist who was not on the bike lane.  When I told him there was a bike lane for him (admittedly in a smartass kind of way) he stopped, got off his bike, and began to tell me he could just throw me off the bridge.  That was my last smartass comment out there.

So there I was riding behind the group, too scared to pass them, too intimidated to yell out “left” and feeling like a total doormat.  Then I remembered … training is a part of my life, one I want to keep and not risk by getting into a scuffle with men in tight pants or entitled drivers of half-ton deathmobiles.   I chose to forgo my sprint, take a breath, and enjoy the scenery.  In the end, a grand total of five minutes passed before they picked up their pace again, so in retrospect it was not a big deal.  It did however propel me to volunteer with Safe Street Miami.  I may behave  out there and choose safety: either by slowing down or keeping my mouth shut. But I refuse to be a victim of a city that doesn’t respect its citizens on the streets.

Yet with all this said, and with all due respect to Vermonters all over the world, I can’t leave Miami and join your ranks.  Perhaps for a Summer, but the thought of Winter, snow and the lack of a cortadito after lunch makes this Cubana choose to slow down if needed and enjoy the flat ride.