My Daily Commute

I came around the bend in morning’s half-light, my two wheels humming their bicycle tune against the paved path. Nightshift had left me bored to exhaustion so that my commute home was a moving trance, my legs pumping their steady cadence as my mind recited a drummer’s mantra;1,2,3,4,1,2...

A hundred feet ahead, just off the path, the dog’s movement caught my eye. Smallish but lean and well-muscled, he turned and locked on to me just as I noticed him. His ears pricked, his face expressionless on his square head. Motionless. “A bulldog” I thought. Good. Could have been a pit bull or some other such nasty breed that doesn’t respect the difference in size and combines fearlessness with tenacity. People and dogs like that scare the shit out of me.

I saw the owner a further 100 feet up the path with his back to me. He was strolling in thought, head down with his hands behind his back loosely holding the dog’s leash. Unaware of my approach or his dog’s location, he was oblivious to the mayhem about to explode.

The dog crouched slightly as a low growl grew behind bared teeth. “Oh shit” What do I do?!? I panicked as best I could. As the dog sprang from his position and sped towards meI fanned my tiny little bell like an old west gunslinger; dingdingdingding. Trying to stop a locomotive by piling pillows on the track would have been more effective. I fought my first instinct - freeze! - but I also knew I couldn’t turn around on the narrow path and get up enough speed before he got to me. I stood on the pedals and went straight at him. Maybe he’d be intimidated by my boldness, maybe I could hit him with my front tire, maybe crack a rib and go blump, blump over him. No chance, he’d seen that movie. When we were three feet apart he leapt over the front of the bike coming straight at my head, teeth bared, spittle flying...

OK, none of that actually happened but I think about it every day as I come around those bends and see loose dogs with unattached owners. None have so much as barked let alone snarled at me. The greatest danger they present is their annoying habit of straying into my path forcing me to slow down and ding my bell. The owners respond to the bell better than the dogs and generally call them over. Even so, with so much time in my own head, the ruminations are as dark as the woods and the mantra isn’t “1,2,3,4” it’s “Lions and Tigers and Bears, oh MY!”

I’ve been riding my bike for the half hour commute to Whitchurch hospital and winter being what it is, I usually have to do it in the dark. The path I take runs along the River Taff and three seasons out of four it’s a beautiful, peaceful prelude or conclusion to work. But winter’s different. In winter the rain is only occasionally interrupted by a break in the clouds and the only light I see is fluorescent. Today it was hail (we’ve had no snow) but the worst conditions are on the those days with squally winds. The wind blows hard here and changes direction constantly threatening to blow me over or stop me cold. With thighs burning and set to the lowest gear I lean into those days and dream of home. Give me Vancouver’s hills and nasty drivers, its rain, its snow, its bike theft and potholes...maybe not. It is, after all, only the winter that challenges my aging bones and cycling is its own reward. Freed from the stress of driving here my mind has the freedom to roam.

When the weather’s nasty it roams to the dark places but it’s usually a powerful time, allowing me to reflect on who and where I am and where I’ve been. It gives me time to make connections between the short stories of my life, looking for the common theme. Sometimes I plan, sometimes I sing. It’s where I imagined writing this....