(Understanding China) Riding Shared Bicycles in Beijing

The first time I unlocked a shared bicycle in Beijing, it felt almost too easy. A quick scan on WeChat, a soft click, and the bike was mine.

Around me, several people watched as bicycle users glided past. Office workers in neat coats, students with backpacks slung low, elderly men pedalling calmly as if in no hurry to outrun time. Even foreigners like myself too.

Beijing, like many Chinese cities, has embraced cycling not as a weekend hobby but as a serious mode of transport.

Bike lanes stretch for kilometres, neatly marked and often physically separated from car traffic.

At traffic lights, cyclists wait in disciplined clusters. When the light turns green, the city moves quietly, efficiently, and predictably.

As I rode through the wide avenues and smaller alleyways, one thought kept returning: why not Kenya?

Back home, some 2500 miles away, in Nairobi and other major towns, cycling still lives on the fringes of urban mobility.

It is either associated with childhood, poverty, or sport, which is rarely associated with everyday commuting. Yet China’s bike revolution offers lessons Kenya could borrow, adapt, and benefit from.

In Beijing, shared bikes are everywhere. Brightly coloured fleets from companies like Meituan and HelloBike line pavements, outside subway stations, near malls, and in residential estates.

You don’t own one. You simply use it, pay a small fee, and leave it at your destination. It seamlessly connects with the subway, buses, and even walking routes.

This “last mile” solution has transformed how millions move over there.

In Kenya, however, the last mile is often the hardest. Commuters alight from matatus only to walk long distances, negotiate muddy paths, or hop on bodabodas. Cycling could fill that gap — cheaply and cleanly — yet infrastructure remains largely hostile.

On the contrary, China’s commitment is visible. Dedicated cycling lanes are smooth, wide, and continuous. In some areas, they run parallel to highways but are shielded by barriers and greenery.

Cyclists are not treated as intruders but as legitimate road users.

But it is not by accident. In the early 2000s, as congestion and pollution levels were soaring in China, authorities began deliberately pushing non-motorised transport as part of a broader green transition.

Massive investments were made in bike-friendly infrastructure, alongside policies encouraging shared bicycle programmes that would reduce reliance on private cars.

In contrast, Kenyan cyclists often share narrow, potholed roads with speeding vehicles. Where lanes exist, they are quickly swallowed by parked cars, hawkers, or construction. Safety becomes an afterthought.

Beijing’s system is also so digital. Payments are cashless. Navigation apps like Amap guide cyclists through the safest and fastest routes. Traffic lights sometimes include countdown timers for cyclists and pedestrians alike.

Kenya, on the other hand, has made strides in digital payments, with M-Pesa leading the way. But urban mobility remains fragmented. While apps exist for ride-hailing, there is little integration for cyclists or pedestrians.

But, perhaps, the biggest difference is culture.

In China, cycling is normal. Executives ride alongside cleaners. The young ride beside the old. And, it is simply practical.

In Kenya, however, cycling is often viewed through class lenses. A man in a suit on a bicycle is still an unusual and often a very rare sighting. Yet rising fuel prices, congestion, and climate concerns are also slowly forcing conversations about alternative transport.

Some initiatives already exist. Particularly in Nairobi, where 45 per cent of people walk for their daily trips and many others use NMT to reach public transport, the Non-Motorised Transport (NMT) policy has promised safer walkways and cycling lanes. But implementation remains inconsistent.

According to the United Nations, “there is still a lot of work to be done in Kenya to address the needs of people who walk and cycle.”

What China demonstrates is that infrastructure changes behaviour. When safe lanes exist, people use them. When bikes are accessible, people ride them. When systems are convenient, habits shift.

But Beijing was not always a cycling paradise. The boom of private cars in the early 2000s reduced bicycle use dramatically. Congestion followed. Pollution worsened. And the government responded with massive investments in public transport and non-motorised mobility.

Today, cycling is again central and people ride not out of nostalgia but as a necessity.

For Kenya, the opportunity is ripe.

Nairobi’s traffic congestion costs the economy billions annually in lost productivity. Air pollution continues to rise. Public transport remains chaotic in many areas.

“If only we could have cycling as a norm in our country, we could ease the pressure on the roads… I think it would drastically reduce the traffic jam we witness in the capital city and other major towns,” said George Otieno, a Kenyan who has been to China. “It is working in China. It can also work for us.”

But it requires more than just painting lanes on roads, he explained. It demands political will, proper planning, enforcement, and public education. It also means protecting cyclists, integrating bikes into transport planning, and shifting perceptions.

As I returned my Beijing bike and watched the next rider scan and ride off, I realised the system’s beauty lay in its simplicity. It wasn’t fancy. It was just well thought out.

Back home, I imagined a Nairobi where commuters cycle safely from bus stops to offices, where children ride to school without fear, where roads accommodate all users, including cyclists.