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?

Poor Susan McNab

Every day as I ride my bicycle to work, I see motorists commit traffic infractions. Speeding is just normal, it seems. And at virtually every intersection I see one or two vehicles zip through as the light is changing from amber to red -- and often after it has already changed.

That's why I'm glad the city has increased the number of intersection cameras. 

But poor Susan McNab!

While taking her daughter to a dance recital in Edmonton, she was, in her own words, so focused on finding her destination that she ended up driving well over the speed limit through two intersections on 170 Street and earned herself not one, but two, speeding tickets.

She believes that two tickets 10 seconds apart is unreasonable and thinks she should not have to pay the second ticket.

Presumably, then, it is reasonable to drive 72 and 74 kph in a 60 kph zone?

And it is also reasonable to not pay attention to speed limits when driving?

Where was her attention? On her GPS? Her paper map? Google Maps on her phone?

Not on the road, at any rate.

Anyone who has driven this stretch of 170 Street knows that it is absurd to think the speed limit would be any more than 60 kph. This is a busy city street, not a freeway.

As Garry Shimko, the executive director of the city’s office of traffic safety says, "Each intersection is a high-risk intersection, so the point … is that we're trying to protect people at those locations because we don't want the crashes to happen."

And incidentally, if McNab was uncertain about her destination, how could whizzing along at more than 70 kph help?

I suggest that Susan McNab acknowledge the fact that she behaved carelessly on this occasion, pay her tickets, and chalk it up as a lesson learned. She should also count herself lucky that her careless driving did not result in a collision.

And when she is in the market for a new car, maybe she should consider one with cruise control!

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.

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!

A Cyclist to Emulate

One of my Facebook friends (an old friend from university days) recently posted this story from Pakistan. As soon as I saw him riding his bike, my interest was piqued. Now, of course I know he probably cycles out of necessity, not as a choice, but he makes it look like a perfectly normal mode of transportation -- which, duh, it is.

The Al-Jazeera story about this man, Master Ayub, is so inspiring.

I think my favourite line from the story is this one: “My family were staying in the village and I was here in the city alone, so I wanted to do something in my spare time that would be of some use,” Ayub told Al Jazeera.

Too many men on their own in the big city would find other ways to pass the time; this guy starts a school for poor children. Awesome!!

Winter ride: November 24 - 24 centimeters of snow

Actually they said on the radio that it was 25 centimeters, 

but the 24 - 24 is catchier!

It was quite a day of riding.

MORNING:
First, I had to drive into the city from Spruce Grove. That did not go so well. It normally takes me 20-25 minutes to drive to my parking spot in Glenwood. Because of the heavy snow today, I had decided to park a little closer to work, in Crestwood, another five minutes east on 100 Avenue.

I left home at about 6:50 a.m., and I reached the parking spot at about 8:00. 

Oh well, I thought, even if I get to work at 8:45, it will be OK. I got my bike set up and seeing that the ravine trail was deep with snow, I rode across the pedestrian bridge to Stony Plain Road. The sidewalk was covered in ankle-deep snow, so I started out by pushing my bike along, thinking I'd hop on and ride as soon as I reached a cleared section. But it didn't take long before I realized that a cleared section was not going to happen. 

Enter Plan B -- the bus. This has always been my contingency plan: I know that all the city buses have bike racks on the front, so I have always figured that if I got a flat or otherwise had a problem with my bike, I could catch a bus. I carry a supply of toonies, loonies, quarters and nickels specifically for that purpose. 

There was a bus stop a few steps away, and the bus came almost at once, so I thought I was lucky. I smiled at the bus driver, a sweet-looking blonde woman, and indicated that I was going to put my bike on the rack. She replied by heaving a sigh and rolling her eyes. Nice. Oh well, I wasn't going to let her make me feel bad. It was that kind of day. 

But when I went to put my bike on the rack, I realized that I didn't know how. Yes, there were some cryptic instructions written on the rack -- something about pulling and pushing, but no matter what I did, nothing happened. The rack wouldn't budge. So I looked at the driver and asked for help. Again with the eye roll. She snarled something at me, presumably some sort of instructions, so I tried again. Still nothing. I gave her my best big-eyed pleading look, and she rolled her eyes yet again, snarled, "Oh my God," and got out of her seat. She tried to get the rack to work and finally said with satisfaction, "It doesn't work. You'll have to wait for the next bus."

Whew. That was a narrow escape. I might have had to ride on the same bus as that witch. Talk about bad karma!

The next bus came only a few minutes later, so I was pleased about that. Now, I know it's hard to believe that there could possibly be a section in the bus drivers' manual called, "How to be nasty to people who want to put their bikes on the bike rack" but after today, I am convinced that section exists. 

This bus driver was a bald 55-ish man, but he had almost the same reaction when he saw me and my bike. Fortunately, this bike rack had very clear directions and everything worked just fine, so I got the bike in place with no trouble. When I entered the bus, I asked the driver whether I'd done it properly and he snarled, "That's all you can do." 

Thanks for the reassurance, man.

I dropped my $3.20 in the box and watched with trepidation as the bus began to roll. The bike held on and seemed perfectly content in its spot up front, so I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed somewhat.

Along the way, I saw a few other intrepid cyclists pushing their bikes, so I felt a bit lazy, but told myself that they probably had a shorter ride than I did.

At 127 Street and Stony Plain Road, I disembarked and proceeded to ride/walk the rest of the way to work. There were quite a few shoveled sidewalks and a couple of streets with packed snow, so I would guess that about half the way was rideable. The rest of the time, I pushed the bike along, giving myself a good upper-body workout.

I got to work at about 8:50 and managed to be in front of the class ready to start by 9:00. Although it had not been a particularly easy or pleasant commute, I did feel good that at least I had spent some of that time being active instead of just sitting behind the wheel.

AFTER WORK:
During the day the temperature had fallen -- it was minus 10 with wind chill of -17 C. So I bundled up and set out, knowing that at least part of the time I'd be pushing the bike instead of riding. And yes, that is what happened for more than half the time. Needless to say, I was glad I'd chosen to park closer to work today.

Most of my walk/ride/walk/ride was not too bad. Until I came to the bridge across MacKinnon Ravine. The sidewalk here had not been cleared at all, which meant calf-deep snow, partially packed down by pedestrians, but not packed enough to form a firm path. I dragged my bike along, struggling to find a good place to put my feet and a good place for the bike wheels. I actually considered picking the bike up and carrying it, but maybe that would have been even harder. 

After I finally made it across, feeling disheartened and worn out, I was getting ready to climb back on my bike and ride the remaining kilometer or so to my van when I noticed that a guy in a stopped car was trying to get my attention. I looked his way and he asked me how much farther I had to go. 

"I normally ride my bike, too," he said, adding that today he had decided not to. (He very kindly didn't say that he was smarter than I am!) 

I assured him that I didn't have much farther and that I was OK from here on, and we went our separate ways, but it was amazing how much better I felt after that bit of thoughtfulness.

I rode on the mostly cleared sidewalks until I came to a good stretch of road, and before I knew it, I was at the car and then on my way back to Spruce Grove and a hot cup of tea!

back to work

I've had a bit of a rocky start this session. The first Monday, January 5th, I drove because I had 3 large bags of books and other stuff I wanted to bring with me. The load included some books I had  borrowed almost 3 years ago, so I thought it was time to bring them back! That day also happened to be really cold -- maybe -35C with windchill -0- but even so I was frustrated at being behind the wheel. It took me almost 90 minutes to drive the 30 km from home to downtown, a combined result of snowy, icy roads and the detour for the bridge construction on 102 Avenue. 

The next day I was happy to be back on the bike. However, it had snowed a fair bit and I wasn't sure about trail conditions, so I decided to try something new. I parked in Glenora and rode from there. I took Stony Plain Road and the bike trail that runs behind Original Joes, ending up on the contra-flow bike lane and 100 Avenue. It wasn't bad, but when I came back to the car after work, I noticed that there is an entrance to the trail system just up the street from the place I had parked. Just as I took that in I was hailed by a guy who came out of one of the houses; he asked whether I was lost. I replied in the negative, telling him that I had parked there and ridden downtown. "You're good!" was his response, and he then went on to tell me about the entrance to the trail system, adding that the city is good about clearing the trails. 

So, on Wednesday I parked there again and rode down down down into the River Valley. It was pretty scary -- riding in the dark on a new, very steep trail, with a deep ravine on my right and no guardrail (and on top of it all, I'd forgotten my phone), but I made it to the bottom safe and sound, and from there it was but a short ride to the Faraone Park trail crosswalk. In all it was a much shorter ride than my usual 8.6 km, but it was fun to try something new, and it's good to know that on really cold days I have that option. On Thursday I took my usual route and arrived at work cold but happy.

Well, then the next Monday, January 12th, I arrived at my parking spot only to discover that I'd forgotten my helmet. I briefly considered bare-headed riding, but it was -24 C and I was afraid I'd arrive at work with no ears. I didn't have a hat in the car. I was rather annoyed with myself, but decided to simply be thankful that I am allowed to park for free as long as it is only occasionally, and I drove. These two days of driving have made me more thankful than ever that I can ride my bike, and I stuck a spare helmet (along with a hat, extra gloves, and a scarf) in the car so that I will never find myself in that situation again!

The weather warmed up dramatically for the rest of the week, so I enjoyed 3 days of absolutely delightful bicycle commutes through MacKinnon Ravine and the River Valley. The trails are ploughed and smooth, and I even had a couple of dog-walkers whom I pass every morning tell me that they are impressed with me! There is also a friendly guy who walks along the Railtown Trail and gives me a big smile whenever he sees me. Little things like this contribute to a great start to the workday! 

This graphic, spotted on Twitter, says it all!

this grandma rides her bike in the winter

I recently read this article about winter cycling.

The whole article is interesting, but what really caught my attention was this quote from Tom Babin's book Frostbike, in regard to Oulu, Finland:

But what really opened my eyes was being at the grocery store and seeing a grandma come out with a bag of groceries and pop it into her basket and ride off into the snow. You never see that in Canada.

Well, I hate to contradict the expert, but... on a visit to the small prairie city of Spruce Grove on a Friday or Saturday during the winter you just might see a grandma come out of the grocery store with a bag of groceries -- or two or three -- and pop them into her panniers and ride off into the snow. That grandma would be me, doing my part to normalize the idea of winter biking.

the full-to-bursting panniers

True, at first glance you might not realize that I am a grandma. I don 't have grey permed hair and a bulging midsection. I don't wear aprons. I don't even have very many wrinkles. But I do have two little grand-daughters, so that makes me a granny. 

And I ride my bike in winter. 

I ride about 17 km each day for work, and on my days off I use my bike to do all my errands around town -- grocery shopping, library, you name it. 

If it's warm, like today, I add on some extra riding on the trails in the woods.

If it's minus 30-ish, like it was earlier this month, I bundle up and sometimes make my ride a little shorter. 
But I ride almost every day. 

Why do I ride in the winter? I don't do it with the goal of normalizing the idea of winter biking; I don't do it to save money on transportation; I don't do it to make other people feel lazy -- I do it because it's fun and I love it! 
It makes me feel strong and tough and fit and happy. What other reason could I need?
 

I am Canadian and I am a grandma who rides her bike in winter!

catch-up

I can't believe it's really been more than a month since I wrote anything here.

The weekend of August 9-10 we went down to Calgary to meet up with my brother. Of course, I saw the opportunity for a good long bike ride. I started out fairly early Saturday morning and met up with Hubby in Millet, 90 km from home. If I'd known the distance, I would have ridden another 10K to make it 100 km, but oh well. Aside from a couple of inconsiderate guys behind the steering wheels of trucks -- one delivery truck and one pick-up truck -- and a dog that chased me, barking the whole time, for about 1/2 a kilometer, it was a good ride. Gorgeous sunny day. Smooth, fast pavement. Wide shoulders. Gorgeous scenery, but I didn't take many photos.

Sheep, just south of Devon

 

I stopped here to text Hubby and tell him to bring the stuff I'd forgotten!

We stayed at the Delta South in Calgary, where they cheerfully kept my bike in a locked storage room. After a superb buffet breakfast Sunday morning, we picked up my brother and went to Fish Creek park, where we walked for about 9 km. It was unexpectedly hot and there is virtually no shade on the trail, so we were ready for some cold drinks afterward. We had a most enjoyable visit and then headed home.

The summer session of ESL ended on Thursday, August 23, but I checked out a bit early, On the Tuesday, as I was riding back to the car after work, zipping along and enjoying the beautiful weather, a young kid, maybe 13 or 14, threw his skateboard out onto the shared pathway, right in front of my bike. It all happened so fast that the next thing I knew I was on the ground and blood was pouring onto the pavement. I sat there for a while, feeling stunned, then finally got up the courage to ask the kid what was bleeding. He told me I had a cut on my chin and another under my left eye.  My hands were also scraped-up and swelling rapidly. I instructed the kid to get my sweater out of my pannier and used it (white sweater, no less) to stem the flow. 

Still shaking, I finally stood up and assessed my condition. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I could walk without keeling over, so I asked the kid to take my bike and come with me to my car. He obliged, but after a couple of blocks, I realized that I was OK on my own, so I sent him on his way and walked my bike the remaining 2 or 3 blocks to the car. Somehow I even managed to load the bike into the back, then I sat down behind the wheel and called Hubby. I was still shaking and was scared to drive, so we left the car where it was and Hubby drove me home. 

It was a bit of a shock to look in the mirror and realize that I had a doozy of a black eye, along with the not unsubstantial cut on my chin. But there was nothing that a few bandaids and some ice couldn't take care of, so I took the necessary steps and then lay down for the rest of the evening. It didn't take me long to conclude that I was not going to be able to teach the next two days, so I called to arrange a sub.

Wednesday and Thursday I felt pretty shaky and didn't do much of anything, but by Friday I was feeling much better, well enough to agree to a visit from my three Buddhist monk students. They came after lunch, bearing fruit and flowers, and stayed for about an hour. Youngest Son was home, so he sat in on the conversation and was entertained by stories about life in a remote Laotian village.

On Monday I was ready to get back on the bike. I went for a short ride on the trails, figuring that between my helmet and sunglasses, I could hide the worst of my injuries. The bike was in pretty good nick, except that the front brake was a bit off. So on Tuesday I rode to the bike shop, where I impressed the guys with my war wounds and listened to their crash stories. And got the bike fixed.

I'd had great plans for my two weeks off -- lots of cleaning, plenty of long bike rides, hours of sewing. But thanks to my sore right hand, extensive cleaning was out of the question. I did organize my study and do some other light cleaning, but the blinds and windows are still waiting to be attended to. I did a little sewing, but fine handwork, required for the Waldorf doll I was planning to make, has had to wait. I did some cycling, but again, because of my sore hand I didn't dare ride for more than an hour or so, and I was afraid to ride the road bike, because the shifting and braking techniques are difficult and painful. I didn't want to go out much, because I looked so awful, so I mostly stayed at home. I did a lot of walking on the treadmill, reading, and preparing for next session. I was a little sorry to have spent my break in this way, but...

My predominant feeling about this crash is one of thankfulness. It could have been so much worse -- I could have had a concussion, broken my wrist(s), done more damage to my eye... Instead I came out with a sprained hand, some scrapes and bruises, a few cuts and of course the pro boxer-style eye. Not only that, but it happened just before I was due for time off. I had to take only 2 sick days (the first I've taken since I started working.) 

And I learned a most valuable lesson: don't ride so fast on the shared pathways!

yet another reason to ride

In my ESL class on Thursday, I was given yet another reason to keep riding my bike. We started the class with a 15-minute writing assignment. I wrote a few adjectives on the board and asked the students to write about one or more people who could be described by one or more of the adjectives. This type of assignment is always well-received. Since it's just a brief time of writing, the pressure is minimal; students know perfection is not expected. To be honest, I am not sure how well I would perform on such a task, but the students always do a bang-up job.

One of the adjectives I wrote was "energetic." I was surprised when a student from Ukraine  began to read, "My teacher Jane is a very energetic person..." As evidence, she cited the fact that I ride my bike to work every day, even in the winter, adding that I inspired her to start cycling, too.

Immediately after she finished reading, the Sri Lankan student stepped in. As a Buddhist monk, he is responsible for the spiritual guidance of his community. He said that he often uses me as an example to Sri Lankan-Canadians who complain about winter. He tells them about how his English teacher rides her bike all winter, even when the temperature is minus 40. 

Needless to say, I was had to blink back a few tears. When I first started bicycle commuting, I never dreamed that I would become a legend!

In reflecting on this, I remembered something that struck me when I read the Anne of Green Gables series while pregnant with my second son. 

Anne and her then-friend Gilbert are discussing their hopes for the future, and these are Anne's words: “I'd like to add some beauty to life... 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."

My primary goal as an English teacher is of course to help students KNOW more English, and I've always felt lucky to have such a rewarding job, but if, from time to time, I can help people to be a little happier as well, I will consider myself extra lucky. 

Friday morning in the countryside

Today I started off at about 9:30 and rode north to the top of the hill. As I climbed the last stretch before Airport Road, I glanced up and saw a deer standing in the road in front of me. Riding slowly and as quietly as possible, I cautiously approached (by now I know better than to try to get my camera out - that is a sure way to get the animal to bolt!) She stood there for quite a while just looking at me, then casually walked into the ditch, where she paused to nibble on some greenery before jumping the fence and running off into the field.

It was a cloudy morning, but pleasantly warm -- shorts and a long-sleeved jersey were the perfect combination.

At Airport Road I turned left and rode to the top of the hill before turning around and riding east to the seniors' home. 

Riding west again, I rode to the top of the hill once more, turned around and headed south on Muir Lake Road. At the stop sign I turned right and rode west to check out the lilacs. They are starting to bloom, but are not yet in their full glory -- maybe next weekend.

 Why plant a plain old hedge along your field when you can plant a variety of lilac bushes? 

My next turn was onto Roller Coaster road, which looks even more intimidating on a cloudy day.

But I gritted my teeth and pedaled hard to the top, to be rewarded with a fast downhill on the way back to the main road. I think this stretch of road must be my little secret, as I never see anyone else riding here.

From there it was home, riding south against the wind, for a total of 60 km.

I saw a surprising number of cyclists out today, including the tallest rider on the biggest bike I've ever seen.

And you know, certain pickup truck drivers are making it very hard for me to maintain my disdain for F150s, Dodge Rams, Chevy Silverados and the like. Today as I was riding north, a pickup truck driver wanted to turn right, but instead of turning in front of me, he stopped and waited for me to ride past. There was plenty of time for him to turn, and I wouldn't have minded at all, but he went above and beyond to be courteous and careful. 

This makes the third extra-nice pickup driver I've encountered during the last couple of months.

another type of ride

Searching for something interesting to use with my intermediate ESL class on Thursday, I cam across this article about a cowboy who rode horseback from Calgary to Brazil in time for the World Cup. The ride took two years, and he says it is the hardest but most gratifying thing he has ever done.

To introduce the story, I showed the video and let the students share what they understood. We then read a slightly adapted version of the print story. The students loved it, and it was a perfect way to get a new angle on the World Cup, with a Canadian tie-in. 

I love to use news stories that focus on people doing good things, interesting things, challenging and amazing things. So much news is depressing or horrifying. Sometimes it's necessary to cover those stories, but what a great change to feature someone who faces a formidable challenge and succeeds, inspiring others -- such as my English learners -- to pursue their dreams.

how to -- and not to -- place a bike rack

Businesses that provide bike racks for their customers immediately score big in my book. It is quite surprising how many plazas and shops do NOT have bike racks, so when I see one, I am happy.

BUT - like so many other things in life, bike rack placement is not as straightforward as it might first appear.

Cyclists, smokers, shoppers who need to dispose of their drink containers -- a shop owner wants to accommodate them all.

With this result: 

The photo shows my bike parked at our local thrift shop. They have a bike rack, yes. But notice that a cyclist has to lock up her bike between a garbage can and a smokers' bench, with ashcan handy. Most cyclists are not smokers and most of us do not arrive at our destination with coffee in a disposable cup. Usually all we want to do is keep our bike safe. Most don't really want to inhale whiffs of garbage and cigarette smoke while doing so!

And here's my bike parked at the bike rack of our local mall. Same thing. Garbage can right next to the bike rack. Yuck.

 

This is why the bike rack pictured above caught my eye as I rode past. First, it is a thing of beauty. Heavy wrought iron, with that sweet curlicue design. And the bench is conveniently placed between the bike rack and the garbage can. Now, I've never seen a bike parked here, but that's beside the point. This (a medical clinic on 9th Avenue) is a business that has done it right.

first long ride of spring 2014

After all my equivocating earlier today, at 1:30 I finally set out on a long ride. The original plan was to ride up Campsite to the top of the hill, ride east to the pond, turn around and ride west up the hill, turn around and ride home. But when I stopped near the pond to take some pictures, another cyclist was approaching, across the highway. Seeing me stopped, he very kindly rode across to ask if I was OK. Of course I was fine, but I did appreciate the gesture. 

Once assured that I didn't need assistance, he continued to ride west, leaving me with a choice. I could carry on with my plan to turn around and ride west, too, which would mean following on his tail. Awkward. Or I could opt for Plan B and ride east to the airport before turning around and heading west. Plan B it was. 

So I rode to the airport.

  

After turning around I then rode west as planned, to the top of the big hill, turned around and then turned right at Deer Trail. No deer today. No ducks, no geese, no hawks. The ponds were mostly iced over, but the fields were almost bare of snow. 

 

The ride back to town was against the wind, which of course is grossly unfair, as it is mostly downhill. How can a cyclist reach maximum speed on those downhill stretches when the wind is against her? Oh well, I made it back in good shape I rode about 42 km, not bad for the season's first ride.

 I was dressed just right for the weather, always a good thing. And I saw lots of other cyclists. In addition to Mr. Helpful, I saw two guys riding together, a woman riding alone, and another guy riding alone. 

And as I rode home, I had a pleasant encounter with a pick-up truck. I am not a truck lover. In fact, one of my favourite "22 Minutes" spoofs is the one about the truck. But I had to rethink my attitude today. I came up to a red light behind a line of 4 vehicles, the last of which was a red pick-up with his right-turn signal flashing. I took my place in line and waited patiently, but when the light turned green, the pick-up driver waved frantically, gesturing me to go ahead. I was impressed. Talk about taking the wind out of my sails when it comes to dissing pick-up trucks!