Translator: Khanh Linh Nguyen Reviewer: Hélène Vernet
Before we get started, I want you to look at this picture for a few seconds.
You probably don't know this girl,
but maybe there's something about this picture that looks familiar,
maybe it even triggers some memories.
I'm going to give you a few more seconds.
We'll come back to this picture in a little bit.
Hi, my name is Jimmy Hallyburton, I'm 34 years old,
and I've spent most of my life on a bicycle.
When I was 25 years old,
I started a non-profit called the Boise Bicycle Project
with the mission to make bicycles, bicycle repair and bicycle education
available to the entire community regardless of income.
Now at the time, I had no nonprofit experience whatsoever.
I barely even knew what a non-profit was.
But I had discovered something along my own 25-year pedal-powered journey
that I needed to share,
something that I believed, could transform the community that I love.
That's what I'm here to do again tonight:
share that journey, share those discoveries that I made along the way
and show us how a familiar and very specific speed
might be able to connect us all a little bit in the process.
In 1905, Arthur MacDonald became the first person
to travel 100 mph in a car, which is pretty impressive for 1905.
But does anybody really think that 100 mph
is a speed that connects us to our community?
No.
In 1947, Chuck Yeager became the first person
to break the speed of sound - about 767 mph in a plane,
still not that community-connecting speed that I'm looking for.
But in 1986, the little kid in this picture -
not my sister holding the bike, the one with the cowlick, that's me -
pedalled out of my driveway for the first time
and broke into the speed of discovery,
probably about 10 to 12 mph, so not quite as historically significant
as Chuck or the dude with the glasses, but to me, it was a big deal.
And I distinctively remember pedalling out of that dirt driveway,
turning on to the road and feeling like my entire world had expanded.
Maybe some of you have similar memories as a kid on a bicycle.
In fact, there's a word that most people associate with that memory.
The feeling of that little Huffy, BMX, cruiser banana seat,
whatever it was you rode as a child, there was a feeling that bicycle gave you.
Anyone know what word I'm looking for?
Freedom - oh geez, good job! "Freedom," that's the word.
So, let's look at this picture again.
This is Fahara, a six-year-old girl from Syria,
just seconds after riding out of the door from the Boise Bicycle Project
on her very first bicycle.
Look at Fahara's face.
You can see the world expanding in her eyes,
and you can almost feel the freedom that she's experiencing.
When I see this picture, it makes me smile
and makes me feel really connected to her,
because I've been this kid and I've had that look.
Judging by a few of your smiles in here,
I think some of you have been this kid too - especially you right there.
When Fahara left our doors,
she entered into a world of limitless possibilities.
And on two wheels, moving at about 10 mph,
she has suddenly connected to all of them.
I wish you could have seen everybody's smiles a second ago.
When I left my driveway at Fahara's age,
I don't think I stopped pedalling for 12 years.
I don't know if I realized it then, but my bicycle was building
a deep connection between me and my community
which was my neighbourhood at the time.
I knew every nook and cranny of that neighbourhood.
I knew all the shortcuts to my friend's house,
every single jump along the way,
which dogs you could stop and pet
and which neighbor's dogs you had to pedal like hell to get away from,
and I loved every single second of it.
When I was 14 years old, I remember riding my bicycle
to the Starr County Fair to see my girlfriend - don't tell my mom.
(Laughter)
And after the fair was over, we were sitting on a swing set,
my bicycle was leaning against the pole and I grabbed her swing,
pulled her closer, and we kissed for the first time -
my very first kiss, and I'll never forget it.
Then, there was the ride home that night.
There was this beautiful sunset, the wind was at my back ...
It definitely felt like I was going faster than 10 mph,
and as the wind passed by, I could taste the sensation of freedom on my lips -
strawberry Chapstick, in case anybody is wondering what freedom tastes like.
(Laughter)
When I turned 16 years old, I got my driver's license,
a 1981 Toyota Corolla, and I felt like my world had expanded again.
But the more I spent time behind the wheel,
the more dust my bicycle collected in the garage.
Although I can now travel 75 mph
if I had that little Toyota Corolla floored,
my world was beginning to change focus,
a little bit less on the community around me,
and a little bit more on my own isolated circle.
I realize it now,
but my journey had become solely focused on the destination.
There was a point A, the beginning; a point B, the end;
and this big blur in between.
Maybe some of you have experienced that blur before.
In fact, maybe you experienced that blur on your way here today.
What do you think your average speed was on the way here?
Twenty miles per hour to 45 mph, that's the speed limit.
We could go five miles over that, right?
No. That's a trick question.
So let's say 35 mph. Here's another way of looking at that.
Fifty-one feet per second.
Fifty-one feet.
That's the blur that I'm referring to.
A couple of years later, I remember waking up late for college,
and my car was stuck two blocks down the road.
Maybe some of you experienced that too.
With no other option, I grabbed my bicycle and I started pedalling.
And I'll never forget this ride because about two minutes in,
I was in a rush, but the world seemed to suddenly slow down.
I remember taking a deep breath,
and I could feel the air reach all the way down to my toes.
I started looking around, noticing houses, businesses, parks I'd never seen before.
I had travelled this road hundreds of times,
but all of a sudden it was different.
At one point, I passed a group of kids
walking and laughing on their way to school.
I remember hearing the birds in the trees,
and it was like I hadn't heard it in a long time.
Then, I passed a horse and a pasture on the side of the road - this is Idaho -
and the wind was blowing through its mane.
I reached up and I felt my own hair, it was a little longer at the time,
and I wasn't wearing a helmet.
And I had this moment with this horse,
where I was like, "This horse and I really have a lot in common!"
(Laughter)
You can laugh, but at that moment I was rediscovering my journey.
All of a sudden, there was more to my path than a beginning and an end.
There was an entire community, thousands of points in between,
and I had been missing most of them.
You see, in my car, my world had expanded in distance but not in depth.
But back on two wheels at about 10 mph, I broke back into the speed of discovery
and my connection with the community began to grow.
Every inch that I travelled, it felt like I was falling in love.
When that love could no longer be contained,
I started the Boise Bicycle Project.
And when hundreds of people began to show up to get their hands dirty,
I realized this journey I'd been going on,
this life-changing discovery that I thought I had made, wasn't my own.
This was something that had transformed
and was transforming the lives of countless others across the country.
This was 2007, so financially, things for a lot of folks weren't going very good.
But all of a sudden there was a huge spike in the amount of people riding bicycles.
Maybe it was because of lack of funds,
but those numbers have not gone down yet today.
I think what people were discovering as they got on their bikes
was something just as valuable,
something that, I believe, we're all looking for in this room today,
a need and a desire for connection.
I've been working at the Boise Bicycle Project for about 10 years,
and I've been part of a team that has fixed and distributed
over 12,000 bicycles back onto the streets of Boise,
including 5,000 bicycles to kids who maybe never would've had their own bicycle
or the feeling of freedom and opportunity that come with it.
(Applause) (Cheers)
Thank you.
And that makes me feel really proud, and it makes me feel really lucky.
One of the luckiest things I get to do is work with the refugee community.
These are people, families, from all over the world
who have seen and experienced things that I can't possibly imagine.
But when you put them on a bicycle, the look in their eyes,
the smile on their faces, it's the same as mine,
the same as yours, the same as this little boy from Sudan,
and the same as Fahara, the little girl from earlier.
That makes me wonder, what is it about riding a bicycle
that connects us in such an interesting way, connects us to our community,
and even connects us to a family on the other side of the world?
Gandhi once said that "There is more to life than increasing its speed."
I'd actually add: "There's more to life when you start decreasing its speed."
That's the speed of discovery I've been talking about,
that 10 to 12 mph average speed of a bicycle
that not only allows us to observe the world around us
but to interact and engage with everything and everyone,
between point A and point B.
The other day I was driving my truck - I still drive sometimes -
and there was a homeless person standing on a corner with a sign.
To be honest, I don't even know what that sign said,
because I started having this ridiculous dialogue going on in my head.
"Should I make eye-contact? Should I not make eye-contact?
Should I say something? Maybe I'll make a bit of eye-contact
but act like I'm really focused on my driving,
maybe even so focused, that by the time I pass him,
he'll be impressed with how focused I was on my driving."
This ridiculous conversation going on in my head, I knew it was ridiculous,
because a week earlier, I had been at that same intersection
with that same homeless person, he might have been holding the same sign.
Only this time, I was on my bicycle.
You know what I did?
I said, "Hey, how is it going?" without even thinking about it.
When we're not separated by the shell or a bubble,
or the speeds that come with a car,
our journey suddenly becomes a very human experience,
and our interactions become a little more real and a little less ridiculous,
maybe a lot less ridiculous if you're talking about me in that conversation.
By the way, this is Gandhi on a bicycle.
(Laughter)
So, a few months ago, I rode my bicycle down to the Women's March,
and I was surrounded by 6,000 passionate women and men.
It was snowing hard that day, wet snow, and everybody was cold and drenched,
but there was this incredible energy going on in the air.
At the end of the march, I had made a sign and it was looking pretty rough.
So I rolled it up, stuffed it into my bike basket and started pedalling home.
I got to an intersection, and this minivan pulled up next to me.
I could tell that the passenger was staring at me, so I looked over,
and it was an older man with Down Syndrome.
He's looking back and forth between me and the sign on my bicycle.
So I smiled, I waved, and I looked forward again.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eyes, I could see them waving frantically.
I looked back and he was pointing down at the sign in my basket.
Then he reached down and he held up a sign of his own.
It said, "I march for equality."
I gave him a big thumbs up, he gave me an even bigger thumbs up,
and then they drove away and I almost lost it.
It was an emotional day already,
but on the corner of Main and Broadway, I started to breakdown,
because I could not comprehend the interaction that had just taken place.
It was very quick. It was very simple.
But I've never felt so lucky to be cold, wet and vulnerable
and completely accessible on my bicycle.
I'm not against driving; I told you already I still drive sometimes,
but most of the time, I choose to ride.
I know that when I ride, it brings me closer to you,
closer to the community that I love and closer to all of the kids
that I've helped donate bicycles to over the years.
I know this because there's a phenomenon in bicycling called "safety in numbers."
It means the simple act of riding, just one extra person on the road,
creates awareness for every driver that sees them.
That makes it safer for everybody who might be riding that day
and even the next.
I think that that's magical,
how riding our bicycles not only connects us to our community
but helps us build a stronger and safer community for everyone else in the process.
If we wanted to take that further, it means that when we - you or I - ride,
we're making it safer for the 5,000 kids who might be riding to school
on Boise Bicycle Project's bicycles.
And each of those kids are making it safer for us.
And I think that that's an amazing connection to have.
I want to leave you with one last story, and this time it's not my own.
To get a bicycle from the Boise Bicycle Project,
every kid has to draw a picture or write a story about their dream bicycle.
They give us their height, age, two favourite colors,
and then we use this information to create the perfect bike for them.
When we give these bikes to the kids, they always say,
"This is exactly like the picture that I drew!"
and bicycles are pretty hard to draw, so that's not always true!
(Laughter)
But we sure do our best.
This is Andrew McCormick's drawing from a couple of years ago,
and a really good one.
And he also gave us a story.
"I would like to have a bike to ride, I do not have one to ride.
My cousin has a bike to ride and can go everywhere,
but I cannot go with him, because I do not have one.
My nana is raising me and doing all she can,
but she do not have money for a bike.
I have coins I have saved and will give them to help.
All of my friends have bikes and I cannot go and feel sad.
I would be so happy to have a bike, I do not care about color.
I would be thankful just to have one. That is all I want for Christmas.
Andrew McCormick."
So this is Andrew,
and this is the dream bicycle that he drew.
And you are damn right that I got my picture taken with him
before he rode away with bright eyes, a big smile, at about 10 mph.
What does that mean for us here tonight,
me, you, the people who might be watching or listening?
It means tomorrow morning, we're going to wake up,
and our day will be full of choices and opportunities to slow things down.
And maybe you'll reach for your car door, and decide to ride your bicycle instead.
That's actually what I want to challenge everyone here to do tonight.
Just one time next week, look at the weather forecast,
choose the nicest day of the week, and go for a ride.
It doesn't matter what clothing you're wearing, what bicycle you have,
and if the distance is too far, stick your bicycle in your trunk,
drive halfway and start pedalling.
A couple of minutes in, I want you to take a deep breath,
and I want you to think about Andrew and his dream bike.
I want you to think about Fahara pedalling her bicycle to school.
And I want you to think about the freedom that your bicycle gave you as a child.
Now look, listen and feel the world around you.
At this point, you'll have broken back into the speed of discovery.
You'll be connected to all of those people,
and you'll be connected to a beautiful community in between.
Thank you for riding on this journey with me tonight.
(Applause) (Cheers)