Three Things from Edmonton podcast — Episode 76: stopping, skin in the game, new old stories

So the noticing equipment doesn’t completely seize up, here are approximately three things I noticed that made me happy or grateful, notwithstanding everything else, of course.

                       

1. Stopping 

For all of the good things about moving in the city by bicycle, and the list is legion—fresh air, exercise, smelling home cooking when you pedal by a house with a working kitchen, being under the sky, the stars, the clouds, in the snow and the rain, smiling hellos to strangers as they pedal by, primo parking by your table at OTTO, propelling yourself, not having to pay 5 bucks a gallon, and so on—the prime good of getting there by bicycle is how easy it is to stop on the way. Stop to talk, stop to listen, stop to look. 

“Hey, that’s Mrs. K,” Auntie Shelagh said as we pedalled by the boys’ elementary school teacher walking with her daughter and husband. Back Shelagh flew on the 142 Street service road to say hello, catch up on news and say thanks. 

A few days later, pedalling over the Groat Bridge, I heard what for me will always be the unmistakable sound of a TV news editing suite on Remembrance Day. The skirl of bagpipes was being manufactured by a Scottish pipes and drums band rehearsing in the trees. I stopped. The magpies stopped. It was bracing stuff, and mesmerizing, too, watching a drum leader twirl the stringed mallets over her head before bringing them down on the thunderous beat. 

In Strathcona, I saw a water bowl for thirsty dogs set out at the front of a house. It sat on the grass next to a white crate on which was printed the black words "Stick Library for Dogs." I pedalled by until I couldn’t keep pedalling by. I stopped and went back and read the rest of the printing: "Strathcona Branch, Take A Stick, Leave A Stick." The crate contained a jumble of thin tree branches for dogs to bite into and carry home. A library branch. Inside, I howled. 

When I am driving an automobile in the city, I am most aware of stopping when I have gotten to my destination, when I have gotten from point A to point B. On my bike, there is an alphabet of experience between A and B—for the stopping. 

2.  Skin in the game 

It’s been raining percussively in Edmonton lately.

The sky has unloaded its precipitation with such force that I am not sure what my senses are reporting. The rain and of hail hit the streets in such a  blur that it all seems to be erupting from the pavement and not being fired down from above. While in that trance, and not sure what’s up and what’s down, I feel the sky has momentarily fallen to earth. To the surface comes the real question: do I keep riding my bicycle as normal in the rain?

For the negative: No! Wet clothes are a drag, it’s cold, it’s slow. I have to dry down the bike to prevent rust. Better to take the car or bus. For the affirmative: Yes! It’s beautiful to be outside in the elements, to feel rain on my face. The weather is the only wild that’s left in the city. It’s weird, but, the quicker I surrender to the weather, the freer I feel in it. 

I have decided for the affirmative, aided by a recent, belated insight: my skin works in the rain. The skin on my legs in the rain is impermeable and breathable. I can wear shorts and go without socks in the rain on summer rides. I don’t need to spend time or money on whatever fabric purports to do what skin already does. 

Going with shorts in the rain is also a way to say thanks to Deano, who I worked with at Global Edmonton, for uncovering the truth. He’s a great news videographer who wears shorts in all weathers. I’m beginning to see why. It’s simple: it’s simple.
 

3. New, old stories 

When you’ve been married 33 years this August (mid-August, I will have you know) one thing is certain: you’ve heard each other’s stories. I know that Auntie Shelagh used the “swordfish” password with Sheryl to get into a private party of strangers in Banff. She knows I was part of a scheme using mirrors to communicate the correct answers in my Chem 30 final. Which is why what happened as we pedalled the 119 Avenue bike lane last week was, honestly, pretty cool.

 
As we passed a big house on the corner, Shelagh, surprised, said. “That’s my grandparents’ house!”

We doubled back and found a park bench across from the big house. Shelagh described the entranceway with its French doors, the shape of the kitchen, she talked about the cousins she stayed with in the  house, and, memorably, why she was bathed in the kitchen sink instead of the giant claw-foot bathtub. She was that tiny of a six year old. It was powerful to consider not just that those new-to-me stories happened in the house but that the house they happened in was right there across from us, separated by only an asphalt avenue and a river of time.

Thanks for being out there, friends. 

Three Things podcast, episode 76: https://podcasts.apple.com/.../three.../id1550538856... [5:55] features the bagpipes, the rain and Auntie Shelagh’s sink story. The music is original—composed and performed by Edmonton pianist Brendan McGrath. The end bells are courtesy Slavo Cech—artist, humanitarian.