My Path, My Ride - Tuesday Vander Weide

Growing up in a small Midwest city, we didn't have much. Our shoes and school supplies came from Goodwill. We were fed by school lunch, summer programs, and food stamps. Although we were a broken family, there was love. Even so, I was exposed to violence, drug and alcohol abuse, abandonment, broken promises, and constant uprooting. At a young age, I learned to read the room and adapt to the moment, prepared for whatever came next.

When we were fortunate to stay in one place, we’d make friends. The first time we busted out of our dead-end block on our rusty old off-brand bikes and rode the city's paved trail drastically broadened my worldview! I saw what I could only describe as a waterfall (turned out to be a levee) and so much open space! Being bathed in sunshine, laughter, and friendship showed me real peace. That day I learned what could be if you didn’t always have to be “ready.”

I was too young to sign a lease when I was officially “on my own” and driving missing reverse when I met my first bike. A Columbia Sports Tourist. Steel, teal, and chrome fenders. When my car died, she was my commuter. I would ride around town, pedaling through bank drive-ups and playing “pick up the groceries’ when I realized they had fallen out of my bag. Midwest winters are tough, but so was I. This was different, though. Instead of suffering, I felt capable and independent. Commuting showed me that hard things weren’t all bad. Most of all, it brought back that same peace I found as a child. On the bike, I was finally able to be present. I didn’t have to change to fit the scenario; I was in control.

My love of cycling pushed me to buy my first bike. Officially, the nicest and most expensive thing I had ever owned, I wanted to learn how to care for it, and I applied at my local shop. During the interview, I shared my joy of cycling, my curiosity, and how much I wanted to rebuild my teal Columbia. When I was offered the job, to my surprise, it was not for general sales but for a mechanic position. I laughed and said, “You don’t want me to be a mechanic,” not realizing he had seen something in me that I had never seen in myself: intelligence, curiosity, competence, and apparently, a bike mechanic.

I spent eight years at that bike shop, growing from basement assembly to service, sales, and eventually building out and managing my own location. I chased down customers' mysterious clicks and squeaks, had long days and longer inventories, and loved every minute of it. That shop is where I met my husband, made lifelong friendships, and even watched their kids take their first pedal strokes. I joined my first cycling team while my family cheered me on. Through the shop, I organized events, service clinics, and group rides, later branching out on my own as a Juliana Ride Ambassador and partnering with a nutrition company, which helped me connect with my community even more—leading to podcast appearances and features in local news and magazines. Every day gave me the chance to share the thing that healed and transformed my life: bikes!

I continue to choose this career because it allows me to teach skills that build independence in those who may not yet have their own. Carrying the work of those who came before me is an honor, and I hope to make the path smoother and more accessible for those who follow. Along the way, I’ve connected with groups doing the real work in the field: helping, teaching, sharing, and pushing for change, often without the recognition they deserve. Guarina Lopez from The Indigenous Cycling Collective is constantly pushing for change for indigenous communities and shedding light on true history. The team at The Silver Stallion, empowering youth with service skills, and lastly, Kyle Mesteth and the crew supporting Lakota Skateboarding.