Back in the Saddle

by Angela Sanford

Long before I had a driver's licence, there were bicycles.

They were simply part of childhood—circling the dooryard with family and friends or riding around the occasional campground. By my early teens, they had become my primary mode of transportation, carrying me to friends' houses or to the local store for a pocketful of candy.

I remember saving money from babysitting and selling ice cream so I could buy my first speed bike – a 20-speed bicycle. Once I had it, I rode it everywhere. I regularly took it to work at the ice cream stand and, on early summer mornings, all the way from East Noel to the Lower Selma, where I worked at the museum.

One ride, in particular, still stands out. My sibling and I pedalled the Northfield Road to visit my friend, Lisa, in Upper Kennetcook. Afterward, we stopped at Hanes' General Store before making the long ride back to East Noel, arriving just in time for supper. By then, we were completely exhausted. Looking back, I'm almost more impressed that we made the journey without throttling one another than I am by the distance we covered that day.

Fast forward a few years, and Santa brought me a new bicycle—this one better suited to the back roads of Hants County. It replaced my aging 20-speed, which had somehow survived being run over by a truck years ago.

This bike wasn't about getting me to work anymore; it was about taking our sons on adventures.

Those rides weren't always without excitement. One ended with a trip to the IWK after our oldest son wiped out just a few feet from our driveway. Thankfully, it was nothing more serious than road rash, although it made for a very long evening waiting to see a doctor.

For a long time, it seemed bicycles had almost disappeared from our roads. Aside from occasionally crossing paths with Steve White and his cycling companions, it was rare for me to see teenagers using bikes as their primary mode of transportation.

This summer, though, it feels as if bicycles have made a comeback—at least here in East Hants—and I couldn't be happier.

It's wonderful to see bikes scattered across front yards again, kids gathering in the village with nowhere particular to be, and locals—not just tourists—enjoying the freedom that comes with two wheels.

Not long ago, I watched a small group of boys using a local parking lot as their personal training ground, endlessly practising catwalks and tricks while I waited in a nearby drive-thru.

Before leaving, I pulled over to chat.

Judging by the way they greeted me, they were clearly expecting a lecture. They were courteous, yet cautious, waiting to learn if I had come to chase them away.

Instead, we swapped stories about our own bicycle triumphs. Before long, their guarded expressions gave way to excitement as they proudly shared tales of tricks mastered, close calls, and favourite rides.

Eventually, I did offer one piece of advice.

I reminded them that helmets belong on heads—not hanging from handlebars. I told them I hoped I never had to drive by and learn that an injury could have been prevented by simply wearing one.

What I didn't tell them was that I've known people who never made it home from similar adventures. Some lessons are better shared gently.

Truthfully, I don't enjoy wearing a bike helmet either; I don't particularly like wearing one on my SxS, for that matter. But, I know their value so I comply.

It's been four years since my last bicycle adventure. Dan and I decided one afternoon to spontaneously ride out to our camp on Colbert Road and loop back home—our first ride after a long hiatus and with no warm up of any sort. That ride was supposed to be the warm up for a longer journey I wanted to complete that summer.

The ride itself was wonderful.

The next morning? Not so much.

Neither of us walked with anything resembling our normal gait.

Since then, the bicycles have mostly collected dust in the shed, quietly waiting for the day we decide another "great idea" sounds like fun, – with no attempt to complete the original journey I had in mind.