A Love Letter to My Bicycle

I'm not the most active person. Anyone who knows me, even just as an acquaintance, knows this as fact. I am huffing and puffing by the time I get to my office on the third floor. I have a handful of my favourite delivery places on speed dial, one of which is a block away from my house. I have been known to Skype-chat with friends a 20-minute TTC ride away. Even saying the word 'sports' makes my nose wrinkle involuntarily (oh hey, so does writing it!).

But there was a time, my first summer living in Toronto, when I decided to try being a bit healthier and my first step was to invest in a bike. Nothing fancy, just an old bike I could commute with and save on bus fare. I began trolling Craigslist, and within days, I found him—my red CCM in shining armour.

Because I am frequently impractical on matters of style, my trusty steed is a behemoth steel roadster bicycle from the 70s. He is so monstrously huge that when I called to inquire about the ad, the nice man selling him nervously cleared his throat and asked my height, because this is not a girl's bike. This is a man's bike. I am nearly 6', and I have to swing my leg up higher than my modesty would like to get over this puppy. Not only is he big, he is HEAVY, weighing at least 30 pounds. Or I don't know, heavier. I'm bad at judging weight. Regardless, it's not the most practical bike to drag up and down a porch daily.

However, I knew we were meant to be together, and I took the subway out to Bloor West Village, paid that nice man selling him $180, and rode home on what has been the most terrifying bike ride to date. It had been at least three years since last riding a bike, I had no helmet and had never rode in a city before, and NOTHING prepares you for the hills out by High Park, especially not at rush hour. But we survived, I was undeterred and from that day, a bond was forged.

Goliath + me 4 evah

I attached a red milk crate to the back rack, named him Goliath, and we had many summer adventures together. We went to the Toronto Islands, we drove through torrential rains, and we would fly home along quieted streets from the movie theatres downtown, my heart racing from the action on screen and the pounding of my heels. I would pack him with groceries for the week and peddle down my neighbourhood streets slowly, toilet paper perched on my lap and bags from each handlebar. He never judged me for how many bottles of wine I was carrying, no! I was able to take stairs two at a time and never be winded when I reached the top. I was wearing shorts under all my summer dresses. I was navigating the drama of city driving with ease, helmetless no less (sorry mom). I was A Cyclist! (I'm sure I smelled great too.)

After one inseparable summer, I started settling down with a man. A man who does not know how to ride a bike, and a man who is very generous with car rides. We spent the winter getting to know one another and growing fat, and then summer came around again, and I was lazy.

Guilty as charged: I was so lazy! I rode my bike every now and then, but the magic was gone. We weren't BFFs in the same way anymore. I was out of shape, and I lived farther away from everything, and biking wasn't as convenient, and I didn't put in the time or energy to keep him spruced. So summer passed again, and then another winter.

Life on a porch is not kind to a bike. Rust takes over, and spiders start building homes, and leaves curl up crisply in its nooks. But lately, I realized I've been missing my old adventures, with the sun on my back and my body feeling strong. I've missed understanding my city in a symbiotic way, and feeling independent from a schedule, and working up a good sweat.

What a difference steel wool makes!

So I have a plan: I'm getting the band back together. Rehearsal started this weekend, with a bit of time, a little good old fashioned elbow grease and a heap of steel wool. I removed the heavy old milk crate and will replace it with a lighter, more sturdy option. I wiped off all the dust and grime, and today I'll be picking up some aluminum polish. Suddenly, Goliath's looking better than ever. I took him on a little spin around the neighbourhood, and again I felt that old thrill in the open road.


I'm going to take him for a proper tune up before I get started in earnest, but I'm excited to start riding around the city again. I know it's not going to be easy, working up to the level of fitness I was at before or to the speed I prefer to cruise at, but I know it's worth it. I know my body wants me to, my wallet wants me to, and I know Goliath sure wants me to—it's been too sad to see him grow old and tired from my neglect.

Let's do this, old chum.

OUR SONG: