My favourite places in town are where the people are. They gather and chat, smiling — they say, “Hello!: “Hi.”
I catch myself with the biggest grin, pedaling along and waving at other cyclists passing by.
I call my bike Freedom Machine.
As I go, little chants develop on the breath.
Uphill: I am capable, I am independent, I am strong, I can.
Downhill: I am free-wheeling, smooth rolling, flying by.
In winter: I am wind-kissed and weather hardy, here I go.
In traffic: I am steady, I am here, I am in the now.
I never complain about parking. I couldn’t tell you the price of gas.
I can tell you if it is sleet or snow outside, and whether you should wear a sweater.
“Claim your space,” a friend once told me as we rode along a busy highway. I remember those words when I take up a whole lane to ensure my visibility and safety. The cars behind slow or move into the other lane. But the roads are for sharing even if they weren’t really built that way.
“If you don’t claim your space, who will do it for you?” my friend said. I don’t plan to live my whole life defensively, but it is a good point.
Every morning of the school year, I waved to three girls waiting for their school bus on the corner. “Hi,” they’d call. “Hello!”
As the seasons changed, I’m sure I noticed them grow taller.
When they were huddled up in cold, a ring of my bell would perk up their hooded heads. One time as I passed, lights flashing in the dark morning and a balaclava tuque covering my face, one of the children called out, “Are you police?” “No. I’m a teacher.”
I wonder if those girls want to ride their bikes every morning when they’re big. I wonder if they know they can.
Kristen Carlson
Red Deer