As soon as I got back home to the City of Light, I noticed them: weird silver-violet installations all over Paris. I heard they'd appeared at the beginning of the summer, while I was visiting family in Canada. By August, the implantation was complete: Paris had been taken over by bicycles.

Well, all right, not quite taken over: French drivers haven't stopped screeching up the Champs-Elysées in their Citroí«ns. But in the first month of Vélib, Paris transit's new, almost-free bike rental system, the city estimates there were 1.7 million users. All kinds of fashionable Parisians are adopting the clunky yet iconic bikes. I couldn't help noticing the bicycles locked up in shiny silver-violet parking zones. That's when my fantasy began.

I've always wanted to ride a bike through this romantic city. Maybe you've seen those 1930s photographs of Paris: men in berets carrying baguettes past the Eiffel Tower; women in elegant hats cycling serenely across bridges. I've always dreamed that one day I too might bump along the cobblestones on a bike. But I've never taken the first step of buying a vélo (as they're called here). I figured it would be stolen within a week, so why bother. More importantly, I've been too frightened by the fashion question.

You see, Frenchwomen ride bicycles in high-heeled boots and miniskirts; they ride bicycles wearing flouncy shifts and platform wedges; they ride wearing all-in-one short overalls and gladiator sandals”¦and that's just what I've noticed this week. In other words, parisiennes never wear basic Canadian Lycra cycling gear. They wouldn't be caught dead in a waterproof MEC ensemble. (They also don't wear helmets–with all the cigarette smoke we inhale over here, longevity just isn't a big issue.)

I've never had the courage to face the bike-lane fashion runway. But the Vélib bikes kept winking at me, their little headlights blinking past in the evening. Their silver-violet parking meters dared me to try. Finally, on the Friday of a holiday weekend, I decide to give it a go; traffic is light on holiday weekends, and the weather report is promising. I put on my very best shoes–yellow platform wedges with red leather trim–and set out to rent myself a bicycle.

Vélib is nearly free, but not quite. For a temporary membership fee of one euro (about $1.40) a day, or €5 for a seven-day pass, you can use a bike for up to 30 minutes at a time, as many times as you like. (The temporary membership gives you a code that expires at the end of the day.) If you keep a bike for more than 30 minutes, you start paying about a euro per half-hour. The bikes are designed to complement public transit, which explains the 30 minutes: when you want to get to work or visit a museum, you borrow a bike for the 20-minute ride, then you park back at a central meter and the ride is free. With an annual Métro/bike pass, you don't have the daily fee: you just swipe your magnetic card across the lock on the bike you want to borrow, the lock unclicks, and you ride away.

But I don't have an annual pass. (Most visitors to the city don't.) The Vélib central parking meters take bank cards, though, so I wade through the computerized instructions and get a secret rental number. Then the machine tells me there are no bikes available at this station–even though four of them are right in front of me. Okay, I think, who am I to argue with a computerized parking meter; I follow the directions to a different meter a few blocks away. This one tells me to return to my first location, which I do. Back at square one, nothing has changed. I've managed to walk back and forth in my high heels–and a Frenchman has helpfully explained where the second parking meter is. Score one for friendly Parisians; score zero for me and Vélib.

After a quick consultation with my husband, I decide to head downtown, where more bikes might be available. We gamely take the Métro to the stop just above Place de la Concorde. The tourist info office, which helps with things like Vélib, is closed–did I mention it's a holiday weekend?–but there's a very kind sanitation worker who points out the Vélib stand, just across the street.

Once I've tottered over there, my fantasy becomes a reality: I punch in my secret Vélib code and one of the shiny big bikes magically unclicks. It's mine! After a brief acclimatization (the seats are adjustable and the three gears are dead easy to use), my husband and I each head off on our bicycles. First goal: the Champs-Elysées.

The sun is shining as I discover the first peculiarity of cycling in Paris: cobblestones are really bumpy. But it's no problem cycling in high heels; it's actually a lot easier than walking in high heels. Maybe that's why Frenchwomen cycle in crazy shoes–to save their feet.

At Place de la Concorde, I do a victory lap around the entire rond-point–one of the busiest in the city. I don't wave my hands over my head like the Tour de France champions, but I do get a big thrill out of crossing the Champs-Elysées on a bike. Riding through the city gives me a whole new perspective on the butter-coloured architecture around me–so different from the crowded underground Métro experience!

Reunited, my husband and I take a ramp down to the quays along the Seine. There are lovers sitting on the bank and idyllic houseboats moored near the bridges, and I can't help but stop and photograph my Vélib bike and the Eiffel Tower. What could be a more perfect experience?

From here, we could stop at the Musée du Quai Branly's impressive anthropology and primitive-arts collection. But the weather is so lovely, we decide to go for coffee at a sunny sidewalk café instead.

We cycle around Napoleon's tomb, looking for a Vélib parking meter, but can't find one. We try Boulevard Saint-Germain, narrowly avoiding some pedestrians pausing in the street–maybe they're distracted by my flashy shoes. I try to remember where I've seen installations, but when we finally find a parking meter, it has no space left. We ride down a market street, drooling at the pastry windows, but the meter there is filled up too.

My husband suggests Saint-Sulpice, the gorgeous church with paintings by Delacroix. And finally, I spot a free Vélib meter. Even with the slight change of itinerary, I'm delighted: we're around the corner from my husband's favourite café, once popular with existential philosophers and beat poets. We head over, knowing that when we've finished drinking coffee and philosophizing, another Vélib bike will be just around the corner.

ACCESS: Visit Vélib's Web site, www.velib.paris.fr/ , and click on "Autres langues" in the top right-hand corner for English; most of the site is translated, but your high-school French will help. The parking meters also have some English directions. You'll need a bank card that works on the VISA or Maestro system; if you lose or damage your bike, your card will be charged €150. Check the interactive map of each neighbourhood for bike locations. If you use the bike for less than 30 minutes, there is no charge beyond your membership fee of €1 ($1.40) for one day or €5 for a week; after 30 minutes, you're charged by the half-hour at escalating rates. As an example, a two-hour bike ride will cost you about $10.