But after World War II, France’s post-war reconstruction and recovery, supported by the United States-funded Marshall Plan of 1948, boosted the growing French middle class by encouraging a car-owning lifestyle. Bicycles fell out of favor, and roads were designed to prioritize car traffic. These days, automobiles and bicycles—and pedestrians, locals and tourists alike—compete for space on the streets of the French capital.
In Paris, many bikers rely on the self-service bike system known as Vélib’, one of the world’s largest, boasting nearly 400,000 subscribers. To ease the pressure on the public transportation system during the Olympics, Velib’ announced the creation of ten new temporary bicycle stations near event venues like the Place de la Concorde, the Trocadéro, and the Porte de la Chapelle. In theory, these color-coded green (manual) and blue (electric) bikes offer a rider mobility and independence—the name Velib’ is a portmanteau of the French words vélo, for bike, and liberté, for freedom—but they can also be a source of frustration. Biking in this city can wear you down. Every Parisian has a story of struggling with, say, a flat-tired Vélib’, or a bike with unreliable brakes, or some ominous beeping noise that might mean your steed could fail you on the road.
Vélib’ is the cheapest option, but hardly the only one. Other types of self-service bikes are available for locals and tourists who would like to bike their way through the city: Lime, Dott, and Tier are all available through their respective mobile apps. For many inhabitants of the greater Paris area, whichever service they choose, biking is first and foremost a practical choice. Public transportation prices have been increasing in the last few years: 50% since 2009—from 56.60 to 84.10 euros for a monthly Navigo pass, even after subsidies. And since the COVID-19 pandemic, the crowded Metros are hardly an inviting option for those who’d still like a six-feet rule in place.
Despite all its flaws, to bike in Paris is to find a sense of solidarity, if not commiseration. As we stand with our bikes along the Rue de Rivoli, Emilien Pagès, a young history student at the Sorbonne tells me that he started biking almost a year ago, “fed up with overcrowded Metros and wanting to escape a sedentary lifestyle.” He is now a cycling enthusiast who finds community with the city’s other riders. Pagès recalls a story with a smile: “Once on the Boulevard du Montparnasse, I was having a hard time with my bike. A guy on an electric bike overtook me. He made a joke, saying. ‘Faster! Faster!’ I caught up with him and we raced down the boulevard.”
This sense of togetherness is exemplified by the fair number of night group rides that have popped up throughout the city. Julien Tailliez, a motion designer and proud co-founder of Mayo Jaune, a group that goes for night rides on Mondays, tells me, “Every week, we see more regulars. Everyone’s techniques and endurance improve, and we’ve become friends.” Night rides give its participants more freedom, Tailliez explains. On a night ride, there are fewer cars on the road, and there’s safety in numbers.
It’s a Monday night at the Place de la Bastille, and Tailliez is gathering the usual group. Among them is Michel Vincent, who, at 80 years old, self-identifies as the oldest member of every group ride in the city. When he retired and picked up biking, he only took part in long rides outside of the capital. Now, with developments in the metro area’s bikeways and the societal shift toward a more bike-friendly attitude, Vincent has been riding more and more in town, on his own and with Mayo Jaune.
As Tailliez says proudly of cycling in Paris, “It can be a lonely sport, but also something very collective.”
