Same old, same old

Today's ride was a little less exciting than yesterday's, as I didn't see much out of the ordinary.

Well, that's not quite true -- There was this strange sight on one of the nesting boxes at the Club pond. At first I thought it was a duck, but it was too big for that. I could tell it was a large bird, but without my bins I wasn't sure what. So I took a closer look, and it turned out to be a Great Blue Heron, all huddled up.

The cormorant was also at Deer Park pond. Maybe it spent the night there. Also saw lots of ducks, as usual.

School only started yesterday, so it seems a little early to be fed up with it already:

And, I am totally envious of this person's tomato plants. I have no idea how they do this, but this is my goal for next summer!

My rides around town also give me a chance to wonder about the minds of bike thieves. I have had two bikes stolen from my yard and another stolen from work. Youngest Son had a bike stolen from a friend's backyard. Second Son has had three or four bike stolen from his backyard. Yet as I ride around, I see bikes everywhere, thrown down on front lawns, sitting on the front porch, and worst of all, lying on the sidewalk in front of the house. There is a certain pink bike that has been there for more than a week. Are my family's bikes really that much more appealing? Maybe.

The Great Egret

Morning ride:

It has been a long time since I recorded anything here, but since I have continued to ride almost daily, I thought maybe I should start up again.

And what better sight to begin with than the Great Egret?  This bird has been a now you see it, now you don't visitor to our area over the past 4 years. We first saw it in May 2021, at Jubilee Park. There were only a few sightings and then it was gone. In 2022, we didn't see it at all, but last summer, it was around regularly at a few different ponds throughout the whole summer.

This summer it has been around, but not as much. There have been sightings reported in Leduc, Fort Saskatchewan, and a few other areas.

Today, I left for my ride at about 8:15 and rode to the Deer Park ponds, not expecting anything spectacular. I did a quick scan without seeing anything very interesting, but then when I picked up my binoculars to check on the ducks, a big white thing appeared!

There was also a cormorant, and two barn swallows circling above. 

From Deer Park, I rode past the rejuvenated pond, where there have been flocks of geese, but there was nothing there. Then it was on to Atim Creek and Caledon Pond.

At Caledon, this little fellow greeted me as I entered the path: 

Yesterday I rode through here to turn around, but today my way was blocked. I guess they didn't like people riding through the work area (although no one was working there today).

I ended by riding around Fairhaven Pond, where there were lots of ducks but nothing unusual.

Total distance: about 14 km

Afternoon ride:

The cormorant was still at the Deer Park pond, and we saw another one at Caledon. Also, I was surprised when arriving at Deer Park to see a Great Blue Heron in the same spot I had seen the egret. The two look quite similar in body shape, so I had to look twice to confirm that it was not the egret.

We also rode past the pond the city recently rejuvenated, and there were about 50 geese in the water and on the shore.

This lawn ornament caught my eye. I know what I will buy Third Son as a housewarming gift!

As we finished our ride, we met up with this Pileated Woodpecker. It stayed on the ground, letting us watch it, for a good 3-4 minutes.

What's in a name?

One thing about bicycle commuting is that you have a lot of time to think. I try to keep my thoughts positive, but sometimes stuff happens to make that difficult.

For example, I'm riding along, minding my own business, when I see a garbage truck making a left turn. Pretty normal behaviour, right? Except that this garbage truck is closing in on an elderly lady who is crossing the street on the walk light. Rather than coming to a complete stop and waiting for the woman to clear the intersection, the driver chooses to maintain only light pressure on the brake, so that the truck eases its way towards her, making it clear that she is taking too long to cross, and that it is only because the driver doesn't want a black mark on his record that he is allowing her to proceed. I feel indignant. And then I notice the irony. The name of the garbage company is Green for Life. My quick-thinking mind thinks of a more fitting moniker: Green for Death.

This is the beginning of a new trend. During the next few weeks as I ride in the protected bike lanes downtown, I happen to notice that not once, not twice, but three times, either I or a fellow cyclist has a close call with a DynaLife driver. You guessed it -- that company's name is now DynaDeath.

Then one winter day, weary of jiggling my way over the packed snow and ice covering the marked on-street bike route through Glenora, I decide to try the sidewalk on Stony Plain Road. Maybe, just maybe the home and business owners along that stretch have cleared the walk and it will be a better ride. I know, of course, that it is not strictly kosher to ride a bike on the sidewalk, but when the city refuses to clear the roads on the bike routes, it can be mighty tempting. And so I give in to temptation. Ah joy, most of the sidewalk is indeed cleared of ice and snow, and it is a pretty good ride. Until I reach the walk in front of Young Life. Or should I say, Young Death? I'm not exactly young, but as I rode on their sidewalk, I felt the hand of death.

This is fun. I entertain family and friends by telling them about my renaming spree.

Then summer rolls around. Construction abounds, most of it necessary, but truly mystifying is the creation of benches and planters on the path connecting the 121 Street bike lane with the 105 Avenue bike lane -- a short path behind the Brewery District plaza. It was a nice clear route, but for some reason the powers that be decided to festoon the path with planters and benches. What was previously a direct, hazard-free ride has become an obstacle course. A glance at the vests of the workers and I have the chance to re-christen yet another company. Wilco -- classic shorthand for "will comply" -- becomes Wilinco (stress on the second syllable: "will-IN-co") -- short for "will inconvenience". And they live up to their new name in days to come, running a large hose across the path one day, and parking one of their vehicles on the path another day.

Anyone want to join in the fun?

reflections on long red lights

Anyone who bicycle commutes in Edmonton knows the city-planners' rule: if there is a red light on a bicycle route, it should be an extra-long red light.

This is true at a couple of the intersections on 106 Street heading south from the river. It is also true at 102 Ave. and 116 St.; 105 Ave. and 116 St.; 105 Ave. and 109 St.; at 121 Street and 104 Avenue; at Kingsway near the Royal Alex; at 111 Street near the transit centre. The list could go on.

I have to admit, sometimes this really irks me, especially when the wind chill is around -35 C and I am literally the only person at the intersection, waiting, waiting, waiting for the light to change.

 

Recently, however, I have been trying to use these long waits as opportunities for reflection. 

The corner pictured here provides the waiting bicycle rider with ample food for thought. 

On my left I can feast my eyes on Umberto's hair salon, with its quaint 1940s architecture, complimented by Italian-themed awnings and a coat of mustard paint. 

And just in case I am tempted to forget this important truth, Umberto reminds me: 

"After all, no matter what you wear... you are still judged by your hair."

Thank you, Umberto! This is just what I want to think about as my hair is being squashed into strange shapes by my bike helmet, aided by the elements.

But that's OK. If I tire of Umberto's, I can turn my gaze to the other side of the street and The Twinson apartment building. 

Where, I ask myself, does this name come from? Is Twinson a surname? Apparently not, an admittedly cursory Google search tells me. (I have time for said Google search as I wait for the light to change.) So, perhaps the owner is the proud parent of twin boys. But in that case, shouldn't the name be The Twin Sons? This conundrum occupies my mind until, at last, the light turns green.

I get ready to ride, only to find that I have to wait until the drivers whose green light didn't last long enough shoot through the intersection on the red light. 

I would be annoyed by them, but by this time I am so grateful for the opportunity to continue my ride that I almost feel like writing a thank you note to the city: 

Thank you, City of Edmonton, not only for giving me time to pause in my busy day and reflect on the important things in life, but also for allowing the light to turn green so that I can proceed on my journey. And thank you that I can look forward to several similar lengthy waits opportunities for reflection before I reach my destination.

What about you? Where are your favourite lengthy red lights on your bicycle commute? What deep thoughts occupy your mind as you wait for the light to change?

Just don't call me late for supper

Presumably, this sign also includes Chris Bruntlett!

Just Don’t Call Me Late for Supper!

Chris Bruntlett is a pretty good guy. If you don’t believe me, just ask him. He’ll tell you!

To be honest, I don’t know him. I’ve just read a few of his blog posts, one of which is called “I Am Not a Cyclist.” I’ve read it through a couple of times, and I’m still not quite sure what he is trying to say.

I do know that he favours extreme language. He despises being called “a cyclist.”

He always does this and he never does that, this meaning all the good things “cyclists” fail to do and that meaning the bad things “cyclists” inevitably do.

He believes that his polite, dignified behaviour makes him a minority (I’m guessing a minority of one) and sets him apart as something other than a “cyclist.”

Clearly, I am not as good a person as Mr. Bruntlett, but that doesn’t make me feel too bad, since I am pretty sure no one else is either.

And I don’t mind if people call me a cyclist. A cyclist, according to the Cambridge English Dictionary (as well as every other dictionary I consulted) simply means “a person who rides a bicycle.” By definition, as soon as you hop on a bike and begin to pedal, you are a cyclist. Like it or not.

Mr. Bruntlett attempts an analogy: if he uses a vacuum cleaner, it doesn’t make him a janitor. If he flosses his teeth, people won’t call him a dental hygienist. But this is a flawed analogy; the terms “janitor” and “dental hygienist” have specific definitions. (In case you are wondering, those definitions are not “a person who uses a vacuum cleaner” and “a person who flosses his or her teeth”!)

Many monikers have stereotypes. Think of “librarian.” Chances are you pictured a slim woman with her hair pulled back and wearing glasses. Engineer – good at math; terrible at English. What about “lawyer”? Can you imagine how absurd it would be if everyone who didn’t like the traditional stereotypes conjured up by their job titles, for example, refused to let people call them that?

Cyclist happens to be the universally accepted English-language name for people who ride bicycles. The fact that it has certain connotations, some of which might be negative, doesn’t mean we can deny that this is what we are and demand that people stop referring to us by this name.

It’s almost as if Mr. Bruntlett fancies himself royalty or at least someone entitled to special treatment.

Hmm, now that I think about it, it seems like he does. He appears to think that because his behaviour while perched atop a bicycle seat is so exemplary, he deserves to be called by a special name, possibly “someone who often uses a bicycle.” But even his bike is not just any bicycle. No, his is a bicycle that reflects his personality and style. And the casual observer can probably distinguish him from other people who often use bicycles by the fact that he is riding with grace, elegance and dignity, while others around him occasionally ride fast or forget to signal or hop on the sidewalk for a meter or two to avoid a hazardous situation.

It seems I for one would make Bruntlett’s blacklist on a number of counts.

First of all, I like to ride fast. My bike is not only a way to get from Point A to Point B, but it is a fitness tool. By working hard and riding fast when I have the chance, I maximize the exercise benefits of bicycle commuting or running errands by bike. As a result, I am strong and fit and riding fast comes naturally. Riding fast does not preclude riding carefully, and when it’s necessary I slow down, but my preference is to go at a good clip and give myself a bit of a workout.

This leads to the second thing: sometimes I work up a sweat. It’s hard not to when the temperature is 28C and my cadence is 80-90 rpms. Bad, bad, bad. Sweat is bad. Hmm... funny how this recent article about exercise seems to say that working up a sweat is desirable.

Thirdly, I ride my bike almost everywhere, all year round. This means it is not always practical to simply hop on wearing nothing but my work outfit. If it’s raining, I wear my MEC (ooh, another bad word, according toMr. Bruntlett) Adanac waterproof tights over my regular tights or work pants. Sometimes I pack my skirt instead of wearing it, to keep it clean and dry. When I am going for a long ride in the country or in the River Valley, I often clad myself in “cycle wear” – spandex jersey and padded shorts. Even – horror of horrors – clip-in shoes. For me, comfort rules, even if being comfortable means I look like a cyclist.

Fourth on my list of Bruntlett no-nos: I usually wear a helmet. I don’t exactly make a practice of falling, but I know it is a possibility. Once last September, before I had my studded tires on my bike, I rounded a corner, slid on a patch of hidden ice and was on the ground before I knew what had happened. I hit my head and was shaken-up but not injured, thanks to my helmet.

Wow, lots of negatives, eh? Here is the fifth: in the winter, when I ride to work in the dark, I wear a reflective sash over my winter coat. Why not? It didn’t cost me much, it is easy to slip on, and it adds to my visibility. Of course I have lights as well, but I figure the extra stripe of reflective material doesn’t hurt.

Onto number six: I frequently share the road with motor vehicles. This is not my preference, but in Edmonton, it is often a necessity. The other option might be to ride on the sidewalk, and guess what? Number seven: I do that occasionally too,  for example, when the road on a marked bicycle route has not been cleared of ice and snow.

It makes me sad that someone like Chris Bruntlett, who obviously considers himself a leader in the "someone who sometimes rides a bicycle" realm, is spouting off about something so trivial. Rather than encouraging people to ride and talking about the benefits of riding, here he is, like a nine year old on the playground, complaining that people call him names he doesn't like.

I think I should score some points with nay-sayers for being polite, cheerful and friendly when I ride. I try to make eye contact with drivers and give them a grateful nod or wave when they yield to me. I say good morning to my fellow people who ride bicycles and ring my bell when passing pedestrians.

But I am fully cognizant of the fact that no matter how I feel about myself, when I’m riding a bike, I am and always will be a cyclist. You can call me a biker; you can call me a bicycle commuter; you can call me a cyclist. I don’t really care. Just don’t call me late for supper! Because, with the amount of riding I do and the number of calories I burn, I am usually ravenously hungry at about 6:00 PM.

Welcoming another bike (or two) to the fold...

Folding bikes, of course. 

Since my Dahon Vitesse, although beautiful and a dream to ride, is not suitable for taking on an airplane as a piece of regular checked luggage, I had to start again with my search. This time we decided to go the secondhand route, so we searched Kijiji. By this time, Hubby was convinced that folding bikes were a good idea, so we ended up buying two older Dahon bikes with the sixteen inch wheels. 





Mine, which I have christened "Kleine Fiets," is made of gleaming stainless steel and folds to an unbelievably small size. It came with its own softside carry case. Once I got used to the tiny wheels, it was surprisingly comfortable and fast. One problem, though -- the Sturmey Archer 3-speed internal hub isn't working quite right. I can't shift into the lowest gear. But for riding around town, without any significant hills, it was just fine with only the two gears. I tested it on a 10 km ride and even rode up the little -- but very steep -- hill on the trail behind our house. No problem!

From looking at photos online, we figure this is one of the very early Dahons, from the 1980s.

The other is also a Dahon, subtitled Piccolo, and it is considerably newer. It doesn't have the angled bar that is on the older model and it doesn't fold quite as compactly. Like the older one, it has the Sturmey Archer 3-speed hub. I rode it over the same 10 km route, and found it pretty much the same as the other bike, except that I could shift into all three gears on this one.






So, we were pretty pleased with our finds. For less than $300, we had two folding bikes that rode well and could fit into standard suitcases.

London, here we come. 













But. Of course, there's a but. We decided to see whether we could get the gears fixed on the older bike. So, we rode to a DIY bike shop, which shall remain nameless. My understanding of this place was that there would be people there who would show us how to fix the bike. However, when I got there, the super-zealous guy said, "Wow, this is a beautiful bike!" He popped it up on a stand and started working on it. Next thing I knew, the gears were in worse shape than before. I thanked him, paid the minuscule fee and left. The bike was still rideable, but the gears were harder to shift than before and I still had only the two gears.

Oh well, I thought. It'll be OK. But then when we were trying to decide which suitcases to use, Hubby took the back rack and fenders off the Piccolo 9to make it smaller), and when he reassembled everything, something was wrong with the rear wheel. Oops!

Just proves the truth of one of my favourite sayings: if it's not broken, don't fix it.

Know when to fold 'em -- bikes, that is

Somewhere along the way, I developed a bit of an obsession with folding bikes. 

The first time I ever remember seeing one was in the late 1990s, when my next door neighbour Beverley, in Richmond, BC, came home from a garage sale with one. Thrilled with her find, she proudly showed me how it could fold in half and easily fit in their RV.  

I thought it was pretty cool, and because Beverley was older and at a different stage of life, I thought, “Yeah, maybe I’d like one of those someday,” and then promptly forgot about it.

Folding bikes came to my attention again when I visited London for the first time in April of 2015. I made extensive use of the cycle hire system, in which you pay 2 GBP for a 24-hour period and use a bike for half an hour at a time, as often as you want, at no extra charge. For me, this was simply marvelous, and I rode every day of my stay – to Buckingham Palace, to the British Museum, across Tower Bridge, to Trafalgar Square, to Regent’s Park and Hyde Park, and many more places. I did end up paying a little extra because twice I went over the half-hour limit, but even so, it was a super deal.

As I rode, I spotted people on folding bikes. Lots of people. I would see them exit the underground, break open their bikes and start riding. They rode fast, as fast as people on regular bikes. Many had panniers which presumably carried all they needed for a day at work. It was intriguing, and again, I thought that was pretty cool.

When I ended up beside a folding-bike rider at a red light, I asked him how he liked it. He replied that he loved it, adding that he used to use the cycle hire bikes, too, but when he would arrive at Paddington Station in the mornings, there would often be no bikes available, so he’d have to walk to the next cycle dock, hoping to find a bike. After a few times of doing this, he decided to buy a folder, and he was glad he did.

Once again, the thought crossed my mind: I’d like to own a folding bike someday.

The next winter, one morning as I rode my full-sized, studded-tired bike to work, I spotted a woman flying out of her yard in the Glenora neighbourhood -- on a folding bike. She sailed along over the ice and snow, that typical happy-bike-rider look on her face. Although I had previously felt rather special just for bicycle commuting throughout the winter, the sight of this woman riding in an Edmonton winter on her tiny-wheeled folder made me feel quite ordinary and boring. This time I felt more determined than ever: someday, I vowed, I too will own a folding bike.

Fast forward to the summer of 2017. I tentatively mentioned to Hubby that I was sort of, just a wee bit, interested in owning a folding bike. He likes cycling, too, but he doesn't quite get the n+1 rule, so I wasn't sure what he would say. But to my surprise, he was quite enthusiastic. I showed him the one I had in mind -- the Dahon Vitesse i7, with seven speeds and internal gearing (another thing I am a bit obsessed with, by the way.) He liked it, and it was on sale at Revolution Cycle, so he encouraged me to buy it online and we would pick it up the next day.

I love it! It is a dream to ride, and as mentioned in my post about Castor, it even rides nicely on gravel roads. BUT -- it turns out it is too big to take with us on an international flight. Bummer. I guess that means I have to try to find a different folding bike, right?

Riding near Castor

Never heard of Castor, Alberta? Me either, until a short while ago. Turns out it is a charming small town halfway between Macklin, Sask., and Red Deer.

A couple of weeks ago, Oldest Son wanted to ride from Macklin to Castor, so I decided to join him for part of the ride. I rode about 65 km before I felt too saddle-sore to continue. He is like the Energizer Bunny; he keeps going and going, but I find I need a break after about 60 K.

Hubby and I drove down to Castor on Friday evening and with a minimum of difficulty found the campground. It is right on the highway, but shielded by a row of trees and there is no sign, so we missed the turn the first time around.

After selecting our campsite, Hubby told me I should disappear for an hour or so. Why? He likes me to believe that setting up the tent trailer is a breeze, so if I am not around while he does it I will never know the truth. Something like that.

So I took out my Dahon Vitesse folding bike and went for a ride. The campground is situated south of the highway, so I started my tour of the town on the same side. The town soon ran out, however, and I ended up on a gravel country road.

 Curious to know how the 20" wheels on the folding bike would handle the gravel, I decided to forge ahead. It was just fine. I rode a kilometer or so along this road, before deciding it was a bit boring and turning around. I did manage to nicely spook some cattle that were grazing along the road. They were not concerned about the truck that went past, but when I came along, they took off.

Leaving this area behind, I crossed the highway and entered the main part of town. I was greeted by a sign with a beaver on it, and right next to it, the beaver itself.

I began by riding straight north, through the town and into the countryside. Here it was peaceful and quite beautiful, with gently rolling hills and patches of gold and green.

But I soon hit gravel again, and although I had proven that the Vitesse was up for the challenge, I definitely prefer smooth riding, so I turned around and headed into the town, which as I said before, is totally charming. One of the most charming sights to me -- bikes standing, unlocked, in many of the front yards. I didn't see anyone actually riding, but clearly people do ride, and not only that, they don't fear their bikes being stolen.

I rode past the historical hospital site, Our Lady of the Rosary, built in 1911, still in use as a continuing care centre.

 

And of course, there's the Cosmopolitan Hotel and the obligatory small prairie town Chinese restaurant, the Shangri-La.

And I love what they've done with the old Roman aqueduct.

Kidding aside, it really is a lovely little town. 

On Saturday, after a somewhat noisy night, we set off for Macklin, about 1 1/2 hr drive east. Incidentally, it is home to a giant bone, a symbol of the game of Bunnock, which was introduced to Canada by Russian/German immigrants. We saw the bone -- definitely over-rated!

Once there, we hopped on our bikes and rode west. It was a good ride -- lots of rolling hills and pretty scenery. 

 

High points - literal and figurative

Riding up a hill in Sturgeon County and feeling on top of the world...

Riding to the library to drop off some books and seeing a full bike rack...

riding near Nordegg

 On August 12, together with my oldest son, I rode from Nordegg to Cline River. It was a perfect day - hot but cloudy enough that the sun wasn't too intense. I tried out my sunblock sleeves, a new purchase from MEC, and they did the trick in preventing sunburn.

I rode my MEC Mixed Tape bike -- 7-speed internal hub, and was quite impressed with how well it handled the hills. 

I actually began the day by riding about 30 km from our home to Highway 770 in the morning. Hubby picked me up and we drove down to the Goldeye Campground where we met Oldest Son.

Not only was it cloudy, but it was also hazy with smoke from a distant fire or two (yes, I am totally giving away my age!) When I got home and looked at the photos I'd taken, I was surprised at how much the smoke covered the mountains.

Lake Abraham is beautiful. Because it was a hot day, there were lots of people enjoying the cool water, but it is still so unspoiled and peaceful.

As we were riding, a male deer came out onto the road right in front of us. I wanted to get a pic, but someone drove by and honked to scare the deer away. This bear, however, was cooperative and didn't move! I wondered if the hat was all that remained of his latest victim.

our stopping point - the David Thompson Resort

This was the end of our ride -- the David Thompson Resort. I'm afraid Thompson's rest might be less than peaceful if he knows that this place is named after him, but maybe the fact that he is remembered is enough?

add some beauty to life

“I'd like to add some beauty to life," said Anne dreamily. "I don't exactly want to make people KNOW more... though I know that IS the noblest ambition... but I'd love to make them have a pleasanter time because of me... to have some little joy or happy thought that would never have existed if I hadn't been born.”

― L.M. Montgomery, Anne's House of Dreams

I didn't read the Anne of Green Gables series until I was an adult and pregnant with my second child. I loved those books, and as soon as I met Anne I recognized a kindred spirit. 

And when I read the above words, I had that feeling you get when you wish you would have said it first. 

Travelling by bike offers opportunities to stop along the way and add some joy and happiness to people's lives. Of course, this is not one-sided -- those people usually do exactly the same for me.

Because I commute to work, I cover approximately the same route at approximately the same time every day. As a result, I see some people quite regularly, walking, riding a bike, or waiting for a bus. Sometimes these people fail to appear and I experience a fleeting curiosity about what happened -- did they change jobs, move away from the area, start driving to work, take a holiday? The curiosity comes and goes and I quickly forget about them.

One person, however, stands out as a little different. This is an older lady whom I think of as Princess Grace. She reminds me of Grace Kelly. Her hair is in that classic, impeccable 1950s bob; she carries herself regally, and she wears the most beautiful scarves. 

A few years ago I would see her every day after work as she ventured out of her care home (I could see her call button around her neck) for a slow, painstakingly careful stroll to the end of the block and back. We always exchanged smiles and greetings. 

One day when I arrived at my parking spot and began unpacking my bike, she didn't appear. I dawdled a little, but in the end I had to load the bike into the back of the van and drive away. This time I experienced more than fleeting curiosity; I was slightly worried. Where was she? Was she sick? In the hospital? Perhaps even...

I told myself that this was ridiculous. First of all, I didn't even know her, not really. Secondly, she was probably just fine.  I would probably see her the next day -- maybe she just took her walk later than usual this one time. 

But, no, I didn't see her the next day. In fact, I didn't see her again for months, perhaps even a year. I thought of her from time to time. I even told my ESL class about her when we were studying modals of possibility (might, could, may.) The students, practicing these verbs, offered many possible explanations for her sudden disappearance. None was completely satisfactory.

I didn't forget her. I didn't think about her every day, but occasionally when I arrived at my parking spot, I would wonder...

And then one day, I took a slightly different route back to the van. Instead of riding on the main street, I took a side street, and there she was, wearing a lovely scarf (Hermes?) and walking as elegantly as ever. In astonishment, I stopped my bike and said hello. Her face lit up and she explained that she was taking longer walks now and she started a little earlier, so that by the time I arrived at my parking spot, she had already passed. We had a nice little chat and I rode to my van with a cheerful heart.

That was about two years ago.  Since then, I haven't seen her very often, but just this week I met up with her again. I stopped to say hello and she immediately smiled and said, "It's so nice to see you again." Of course, the feeling was mutual and I told her so. And I thought of Anne and her desire to add some beauty to the lives of others.

As we ride our bikes, taking life at a slower pace than so many people around us, we have the chance to do just that. 

Share your stories!

Copenhagen Cyclists in the Spring

How Lorne Gunter gets to be a columnist for a major Edmonton newspaper is beyond me. I can only hope it's because he is willing to work for food. Oh wait, maybe it's his ability to overlook the obvious: He claims that on his recent visit to Copenhagen, he didn't see any cyclists in the bike lanes. 

To put it quite simply: I don't believe him. But wait, maybe that is a tad uncharitable. Maybe he is telling the truth. It's possible that he didn't go outside, since he thought the weather was so formidable. (We're talking 8 degrees Celsius -- that's PLUS 8, not minus 8.) Or maybe he just didn't look around him as he walked along with his jacket's hood obstructing his vision.  

In stating his claim, he is trying to prove a point, summarized in the last line of his op-ed: Spending millions on bicycle infrastructure cannot create a bike culture where Mother Nature rules against it.

Why do I think I know better than an esteemed columnist? I have visited Copenhagen not once, but twice.

The first time was in early March and the first thing I noticed was all the cyclists. I rented a bike and rode along with them, all over the city. It wasn't exactly warm -- about 3 to 5 degrees Celsius during my 3-day visit -- but the cyclists were definitely out there.

This statue of King Christian X was one of the sights I rode past. I also rode to the harbour to visit the Little Mermaid.

The second time I visited Copenhagen was in late April. Again, Mother Nature was doing her best to discourage outdoor activity. It was about 8 degrees, and it was windy and raining rather enthusiastically, which made it feel even colder. But the local cyclists were undaunted. During the morning and afternoon rush hours, the bike lanes were busy, and even in between they were well used.

Not only were there plenty of cyclists out and about, I was struck by the way they were dressed. Some of the women had bare legs or just thin nylons. Some of the riders had bare hands, although most wore what I would consider thin and inadequate gloves. Many had nothing on their heads. Of course, most of them were probably just riding a short distance to work, not spending the whole day riding around, as I was, but still...

So, a word of warning -- just because you read it in the Sun, you shouldn't necessarily believe it. 

Above photo: My rental bike from the Wakeup Hotel in Copenhagen. At first, I was nervous about parking my bike because I thought I might lose it among all the other bikes (hundreds) that were parked nearby. Fortunately, this bike has some identifying marks -- a bright green "wakeup" stamped on the frame, a green "503" on the back fender, and bright orange front forks.

The photos below were all taken on my trips to Copenhagen.

March 5, 2015 - 5 degrees Celsius. You just can't keep those Copenhagen cyclists off the streets!

Oh yes, one more thing... Gunther also discusses Amsterdam. I've been there, too, three or four times, and yes, the first time I inadvertently stepped into a bike lane and received hard stares from passing cyclists. But guess what? That happened to me in Vancouver's Stanley Park, too. As Dr. Suess might say: In cars or on bikes; in the rain, in the snow; people are people wherever you go. A bike lane is for bikes, after all.