It was a regular Thursday in June, and I woke up feeling suddenly compelled.

Compelled to do something. To do something spontaneous. To do something that would feel summery and empowering. Something that would make me feel happy and free. I needed to move, I needed to be in motion. But I didn’t have the means for motion readily available. And then I knew. I knew what it was that I needed. I needed wheels, man. Sweet wheels. A bike!

But this feeling I was having, this compulsion, was a feeling of ACTION. It was not a feeling of research and reviews, and second-guessing or doubting. It was a feeling that needed INSTANT GRATIFICATION. So, to market to market I go. To the treacherous digital halls of the Facebook Marketplace!

Unsurprisingly, there were, and still are, quite a lot of people looking to unload practically new, barely ridden, bikes near me. I found a listing for a women’s Supercycle (estimated retail value $159.99 at the local Canadian Tire) for a hundred bucks just a 6 minute car ride away. I messaged the seller, heard back almost immediately, and setup a meeting to test ride that very day. All before 9:00am! Blindly following your compulsions is peak productivity. Next, I told D that I was heading out to the bank to get some cash in preparation for my purchase that evening. He was startled by that, because he is not the type to be led by compulsion. He is the type to undertake significant researching and reviewing before even considering a purchase of this magnitude. “You’re just going to buy a random bike, one you know nothing about from some random ass person on the internet?” Yes, yes I am. And I’ve never felt more ALIVE, darling!

After work, after daycare pickup, after a quick dinner, my dudes and I drove out to meet the seller. And the transaction was completed with nary a bump. Seller passed me the bike, and while I hadn’t ridden one in over 20 years, I confidently swung my right leg up and over it, planted my foot on the pedal and puuushed myself forward. It was easy. Like riding a… well, you get it. And I was happy. Happy to pay $100 for a used bike that I felt fated to acquire that day.

So I paid the man, loaded up the Supercycle, and drove it home. Yayy! Now I can have the exquisite thrill of riding a bike any time I want. The freedom to cruise. The freedom to fly! Oh shit, hang on a second. I can’t just go riding a bike through my mean suburban streets. I don’t have a helmet! Shoot. Plans temporarily delayed… To Walmart!

I bought a helmet, a water-bottle holder, and a bitchin’ bell. Once Woody was tucked in for the night, I set off on my first real bike ride in over 2 decades. And it was GLORIOUS!

45 minutes of pure joy. Well, not pure. There were some struggles uphill. Some burning in my sorely under-utilized, middle-aged, desk-worker quads. But there was a feeling of rightness about it all. This is what I needed, this is the action, the movement, the motion my soul was seeking. A new hobby to throw my whole self into. A new obsession to set my heart aflame. A small thing, for me, that helps me shed the stresses of the day and clear my cobwebbed mind while reconnecting with a long dormant athletic part of my spirit.

I stopped for a hydration break at a park close to home and sat with my endorphin high a moment. I looked out across the park, and watched the people whose lives were also put into motion on this cheerful summer evening. My people, my comrades in motion. People playing tennis, joggers, kids on the jungle gym, dog-walkers and casual strollers. So cool to be part of this. As I geared up for the trek homeward, I dubbed this summer My Summer of Cycling! Then I rode home, the happiest I’ve been in recent years.

And I’m happy to report that this hobby, this new found obsession, not only blossomed this summer, but took root. I fell deep into the world of cycling. It didn’t take long before I was hitting up Walmart and Amazon on a routine basis to get myself more cycling essentials… phone holder, padded shorts, bike lock, bike lights, many many water bottles and different water bottle holders until I found the perfect one. After that first ride, I’m not gunna lie, my ass was really hurting! Thus began the search for the perfect pair of cycling shorts. And the inevitable detour into butt butter buying. Yes, butt butter. Look it up if you’re not familiar with this, as I myself was not, but you can butter your ass before a long riding session to save yourself some painful chafing downstairs.

And then, after a few arduous rides on my shitty Supercycle, as it had been affectionately nicknamed, I got curious. About other bikes. Maybe now that I liked cycling so much and was getting out on the roads four times a week, there would be a better bike out there for me? Something more suitable for my increasing quad power and accelerating abilities. A girl can look.

So I circled back to D, and his incredible powers of research. I implored him to use his skills, to look into this a bit for me and help me figure out what kind of bike I should buy, you know, IF I was feeling inclined to make such a purchase. D said he’d give it a try, but quickly came back saying he felt ill-equipped to help with such a task. There are fucking billions of bikes and options, an overwhelming plethora of choices. And D is not a cyclist, he has no knowledge to draw from in this sphere. So, back to square one, doing my own research. Blah. I’d rather lay down and die than do thorough research. I remembered that our realtor, a cool dude we liked and stayed in touch with, had maybe mentioned mountain biking before. I texted him, and he loves a good gab so he called me up right away and we had a lengthy chat about cycling and all things bike. He gave me some very helpful information to use as a starting point and some key talking points I could use with bike shop people to get what I needed.

I spent a lot of time looking at cycle shop inventory online, drooling over the possibilities. I found a few local shops with good reputations near me and scoped them out. Had a great conversation with a cycle nerd at one shop, and test rode some different types/makes to see what felt good. I had narrowed my search down to some very promising prospects, and mid-summer seemed a good time to buy with lots of sales.

Then finally, I decided. Once decided, I pulled the trigger. I bought ANOTHER BIKE this summer!!! A gorgeous Norco XFR 2 Step-Thru in turquoise! Take a look at this beauty:

Oh, be still my beating heart! How I love this bike! The difference in ride between this beautiful piece of engineering and the shitty little Supercycle is insane. My first ride on Norco Neddy was 20km of bliss. At one point, it felt like I was gliding across the pavement as if it were ice, practically skating; the precision and ease I felt beneath me as I pedalled was incomparable to any other bike I’d ever ridden before. I came home practically insane with joy, revelling in a biker’s high beyond my wildest dreams. This bike and I, we became something out there on the road. We fused together, as kindred spirits in sport. I for you, and you for me, and never shall another tear us apart.

I used to be annoyed by the people I’d see cycling up the backroads, clogging the lane with their ambitions and livestrong wills. I’d be driving impatiently behind them, swerving into the other lane to pass when no oncoming cars obstructed the way. “Lance Armstrong dickheads”, I’d say to D as I passed them in a huff. But now, I admire them. I aspire to BE them! Every time I see someone on a bike I’m checking out their rig, wanting to see what they’ve got. Curious about their configuration.

I’ve learned quite a bit about bikes and cycling these past few months. I got an app called Strava too, so I can track my stats. I love making maps with it and seeing the paths I’ve woven through the surrounding neighbourhoods. I’ve been pushing myself harder, going for longer and longer rides. Sometimes I’m so in the zone out there on my bike, I think I’ll never stop. I’ll just go until I can go no mo. But then the sunlight fades, the bats come out, the streets become dark and perilous, and I just have to head home. To tuck my bike away safely in the garage and chug a big quenching glass of chocolate milk.

I’d put a collective 474km on both of my bikes from mid-June to Aug. 30th. I’d been improving in both pace and distance. I started out doing casual 30-40 minute pleasure tours around town. That quickly shifted into 90-minute sessions putting pedal to the metal; exertions of body and mind that made me feel like a mighty road warrior! I was working my way up to a 30km ride, when my riding abruptly came to an end because I fell. A rite of passage for any rookie cyclist, I suppose, but a shitty thing regardless. I was in the zone, going too fast and feeling too fierce, and then in the blink of an eye I was toppled in a heap on the side of the road. I misjudged the path and turned too quickly onto a broken stretch of unforgiving asphalt. Had I been a fraction of a second quicker, I might have steered myself to a safer stop in the soft grassy ditch. But alas, skin met pavement in an unfortunate and painful scraping fashion.

The result being my first experience with the dread pirate Road Rash!

One leg took the brunt of it all. My elbow was bonked too, but luckily I was wearing long sleeves that morning, so minimal damage there. And by the way, I ALWAYS wear a helmet. Helmets are cool, helmets are the thing to do. Any impressionable readers ought to know that. Always wear a helmet my darlings!

And so, yet another research project darkened my door. How do I deal with road rash? Do I go to the hospital? Surely, not. ‘Tis only a flesh wound! Thankfully I wasn’t too far from home when I fell, so it was a quick toot home and I limped in with my new project. This was a rare Saturday morning ride, so Woody was up when I came home. He saw my leg and his eyes widened in horror. He said “are you going to die, mum?” with worry in his words. I laughed and said “No, buddy. Don’t you worry. Mum mum had a fall, but I’ll be fine.” He watched in wonder as D helped me wash the debris from my leg and patched me up. We didn’t have very good first aid supplies on hand, so it was kind of a ridiculous looking combination of gauze and 8 different sized band-aids holding back the mess. I took to the cycling forums yet again and learned about wet wound healing and a magical product called Tegaderm. I ordered a roll online and got by on more random ass band-aids for a day or two until it was delivered.

And what a game-changer Tegaderm is! I was able to slather a healthy glob of Vaseline across my abrasions and cover with Tegaderm and a bit of medical tape on the edges to seal in the moisture. In about two weeks time my leg was looking really good.

And now almost one month later, it’s just about completely healed. There are just a couple of faint scratch lines left. The time it took healing from my wound was an unexpected setback in my cycling journey, but I couldn’t risk another fall on that leg. September has been a maddeningly beautiful month too! But it’s okay, now that my road rash is fully healed, I’ll make time for a couple of peaceful jaunts in October before Norco Neddy has to get tucked in for his winter hibernation. I’ll do it for the pleasure, not for the glory. Next season will be about setting goals and smashing them. Conquering the road yet again.

Looking back on it, My Summer of Cycling feels like a stroke of brilliance, an essential need for the soul summoned by a repressed subconscious desire for a break from my mundane suburban routine. I’m so grateful for that strange and sudden compulsion that struck me upon waking, one otherwise unremarkable June day.

I can’t overstate how good it feels to get out there on my bike and explore. To pump my legs and push myself a little harder each ride. To make playlists that motivate me and elevate the ride. To spend some quality time with me, in motion.

What a summer it’s been! And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go ask D to research something called “peloton”?