Bike 27

On the thirtieth of April, of all days, I remarked the difference between riding in snow and riding in rain.

When it is snowing, the streets are muted, quiet. The blanket of snow muffles the sound of traffic, and everything feels peaceful.

When it's raining, however, the streets are louder than ever. The waterspray is audible, echoing off the pavement, wheel-wells, car bodies, and one feels slightly harried.

It's cold in winter; that's a drawback, but the snow doesn't soak through all your outer clothing and penetrate through your socks to the skin (no matter what the footwear) the way rain does.

However miserable, wet, and cold I was from riding the rain today, I can't say I was happy to greet snow on Queen's day -- when flowers should be blooming.

What a way to end the "spring challenge" month of cycling!

Bike 26

There's something about an evening after a day of rain. When the sun comes out, the mood lifts. The air is peaceful, the beautiful dusk colours streak the clouds, and everything seems to glow a little.

I was expecting to get wet and cold and miserable on my way home from work today, but I was relieved that it wasn't so bad. Of course, I did weave all over Grosvenor to avoid puddles, and when the sound of an approaching car made that seem unwise, I lifted my feet and squealed like a girl to prevent wet feet from a deep, unavoidable puddle.

Bike 24 & 25

Sometimes, I think I had such a good ride. I think, boy, this is wonderful; so smooth and effortless! And then, on the way back, I discover there's a strong wind blowing. It's not that I'm so practiced that it's become easy: it's that I had a tailwind before.

In other news, the joggers are all out in full force now that the weather had turned decidedly nicer. Sunday morning, Assiniboine Avenue is always a favourite, but there were an extraordinary number of them today -- some 6 or 7 groups in just 7 blocks -- crawling over the bike path and all over the pitted street.

Bike 23

A shy lane is not a bike lane, no matter how wide it is. The road allowance for debris build-up has a purpose -- the aforementioned. It's not intended for bicycles to ride in. And I'll thank the Winnipeg city planner to stop thinking otherwise. The Maryland and Harrow bike lanes are not self-respecting roadways for cyclists; they're simply painted lines on the shy lane.

Bike 22

As citydwellers, we so easily become oblivious to the forces of nature in our environment. Commuting on a bicycle helps, but even so, I confess, I'm guilty of missing a lot.
To avoid the nasty ice build-up on the Osborne Bridge pedestrian underpass, I started using the at-grade crossing, and the curb cut is so very nice that I've become too lazy to pedal the few extra feet (and to struggle up the opposite bank). As a result, though I live a block from the river, I've failed to pay any attention to its state. A few weeks ago, I puzzled over the fact that the area directly below the bridges began to thaw while the rest of the river remained snow- and ice-covered. Today, to my surprise, I glanced at the river as I crossed the infamous Sherbrook Bridge and was surprised to see it flowing swiftly, with only a bit of ice encrusted along the banks.

Bike 21

It seems the Sherbrook Bridge not just Mason-Dixon line dividing the chichi River Heights and Tuxedo neighbourhoods from granola Wolseley and ghetto West Broadway, but also climatic line of demarcation. In winter, as I cross it to return downtown, it marks the place where my frozen fingers instanteously thaw.

This morning, it marked the place where scattered sparse snow pellets -- that could be denied out of existence -- suddenly turned to steady soft sizeable snowflakes pelting my unsuspecting eyes. (I'd thought Sunday's re-emergence of goggles would be the last time they'd be called for -- for pity's sake it's nearly May -- but I could have used them this morning. The sun came out and dried it all away in the afternoon, then on my way home, phantom pellets plagued my progress for a while.)

Bike 20

Riding down Sherbrook in winter and early spring feels liking running the gauntlet. New hazards lie ahead with every rotation of the wheel. Cars passing too close, road snakes, potholes, icy ridges, treacherous puddles, buses to dodge. It's so much nicer now with drier pavement, loose gravel notwithstanding.