Introduction: A journey on wood and will
Eight years after arriving in England from Ethiopia, I found myself buried in a routine that prioritized lectures, lab work, and long commutes. My identity, once anchored in family, food, and vibrant Ethiopian customs, began to feel fragmented by the monotony of a biochemistry degree at Imperial College London. Then I chose a radical form of rediscovery: I built a wooden bike and cycled the length of the United Kingdom. What began as a test of endurance became a slow, steady project to piece together who I am across unfamiliar landscapes and familiar streets.
Why a wooden bike?
Wooden bicycles are not common in modern Britain, especially not for a long-distance trek. The choice was symbolic as well as practical: wood carries a slower, more deliberate rhythm than steel or aluminum—an invitation to observe, listen, and reflect. The bike itself became a portable reminder of a childhood in which crafts and family stories were woven together, a contrast to the sterile, fluorescent corridors of academia. Building and riding it required patience, problem-solving, and a willingness to adapt—skills that later echoed through every mile of the journey.
The route and the rhythm of the road
I mapped a path that connected coastal towns, rolling hills, and industrial belts. Each day brought a new landscape, new people, and new conversations. The UK’s weather demanded humility: rain that turned to sun, fog that clung to hills, and winds that tested the bike’s resilience. The wooden frame creaked in a way that invited listening, and I learned to read the land the way a scientist reads a graph—careful, patient, and full of subtle cues. The road became a classroom without walls, offering lessons in endurance, humility, and human connection.
Reconciling culture and identity
In Ethiopia, family meals, music, and collective celebrations create a robust sense of belonging. In England, anonymity can feel like safety but also solitude. The journey forced me to bridge these worlds. I shared meals with strangers—savory stews, injera-inspired flatbreads, and spices that sparked memories. I learned that culture is not only tradition but also the way you approach the world: with curiosity, respect, and openness to new forms of belonging. The wooden bike carried more than my weight; it carried a narrative that connected the diaspora’s longing with a curious local audience willing to listen.
Challenges, learnings, and the science of resilience
The scientific mindset helped me measure progress in stages rather than in a single destination. I kept a log of miles, weather, and small repairs, but also notes on conversations that mattered: a cyclist in a small town who spoke of home, a hostel receptionist who asked about my culture, a student who shared a poem about migration. The blend of technique and empathy kept me moving when doubts crept in. Each repaired component on the wooden bike was a metaphor for repairing internal dissonance—the work required, the patience needed, and the reward of a journey completed with integrity.
The turning point: cyclists, scientists, and storytellers
On the final stretch, I realized the trip wasn’t just about proving that a wooden bike could survive long miles. It was about telling a story—that science and culture aren’t separate spheres but two faces of curiosity. Imperial College highlighted the rigor, but the road reminded me to honor warmth, community, and personal history. The journey taught me to translate lab precision into everyday compassion and to write a narrative that makes room for both data and memory.
Conclusion: moving forward with a rebuilt identity
Returning to daily life, I carry the scent of spices and the memory of shared meals, along with a deeper confidence in balancing multiple identities. The wooden bike remains a symbol of how far I’ve come and how far I still hope to go: a reminder that culture can be carried forward with science, curiosity, and a generous curiosity for people. If you’re seeking your own reforming journey, remember that the road—wooden or otherwise—begins with a single deliberate pedal and ends with a more connected sense of self.
