Angles
Once again, some advocacy group has declared April "Bike Every Day" month, a group that obviously doesn't live in Manitoba where fair weather bike riders only begin to think of hauling the two-wheeled conveyance out of the shop part-way through the month.
So numbers for Bike Winnipeg's annual spring bike count were pretty low this sunny but brisk morning.
I learned something, though, and not about the demographics of Winnipeg's active transportation participants.
I found myself tensing up when an approaching person's appearance suggested a life on the street. Thoughts like, "I wonder what it's like to get mugged" reared their ugly head, and, selfishly, "how will I extricate myself from some awkward conversation with someone who may not be fully in possession of all mental faculties?"
On average, these persons of whom I tended to be apprehensive were the friendliest passersby of the morning.
Given my previous post on how I see my choice to cycle as a giving up of privilege, I was struck to my core when the talkative member of a large group of rougher looking pedestrians asked what I was doing. "Counting bicycles," I said. "I wish I had a bicycle -- then you could count me!" he said with a good-natured laugh.
Even in my chosen simplicity, I am drenched in privilege.
So numbers for Bike Winnipeg's annual spring bike count were pretty low this sunny but brisk morning.
I learned something, though, and not about the demographics of Winnipeg's active transportation participants.
I found myself tensing up when an approaching person's appearance suggested a life on the street. Thoughts like, "I wonder what it's like to get mugged" reared their ugly head, and, selfishly, "how will I extricate myself from some awkward conversation with someone who may not be fully in possession of all mental faculties?"
On average, these persons of whom I tended to be apprehensive were the friendliest passersby of the morning.
Given my previous post on how I see my choice to cycle as a giving up of privilege, I was struck to my core when the talkative member of a large group of rougher looking pedestrians asked what I was doing. "Counting bicycles," I said. "I wish I had a bicycle -- then you could count me!" he said with a good-natured laugh.
Even in my chosen simplicity, I am drenched in privilege.
Comments
I often have those same mix of feelings here in the area. 'Oh great, this guy's gonna wanna talk to me again.' (Or, the more often than not, 'Uh-oh, I'm gonna get robbed today.') But then I simultaneously feel I should allow conversation to happen because one never knows how being a neighbour might be divinely used.
Either way, I enjoyed your reflection (as well as the reminder of privilege and humility).