Glenn Kubish

There is a quiet urge to sociability built into the open architecture of the bicycle. A bicycle is a pre-social media social medium. The bodily encounters invited by the bicycle are the short waves, hellos, peace signs, thumbs ups, quips, good mornings, traded remarks about the weather, nods, salutes, smiles, knowing glances, short conversations and other gestures and utterances that riders share and use to recognize each other as we go by. The openness of the bicycle—no windshield, no doors, no roof—suggests this way of dealing with each other. This sociability suggestion is enhanced by, call them what you will, protected bike lanes, cycletrack, separated bike routes. I call them "humanfrastructure." This is what I mean. I am not alone. I posted the video, which was shot on the downtown Edmonton bike lanes and on the Oliverbahn, a stretch of protected bike lane that animates the central Oliver neighbourhood. People replied. @bpincott from...

If you spend time in Edmonton's Oliver neighbourhood, you know the place. It's the snow-fenced backyard garden just off the Oliverbahn bicycle lane, in from the alley, across from the old Indian restaurant, kitty corner from the tattoo parlour and a block or so from the fence printed with an image of Richard Avedon's photo of Nastassja Kinski and the snake. My friend Myles helps grow the vegetables in the snow-fenced garden. And that would be a wrong way to put it. "We spent all of this year making this really good soil so that things could grow, so we have to give back," Myles said. "Because the seeds don't grow the plants. The soil grows the plants. Everything you see that comes up from the soil is taking from the soil. You have to give back. You have to put nutrients back in." The soil grows the plants. (I zoned out for a second as an Eliot fragment pushed toward the surface. For most of us, this is the aim, something something someth...

Pedalling the Oliverbahn* on a day the temperature reached +12 ° C in Edmonton (two weeks after the temperature anchored down at -25 ° C  in Edmonton) means you can expect to encounter some different clothing decisions. Do you cover your ears? This guy did. Vintage ear muffs, to boot. Jackets zipped up or down? This pair were open to the double-digit day. Vest or sleeves down the arms? This guy didn't chew long over the question. While this buddy bet long on sleeves. In the skins-and-shirts partition, this person chose both.  There were a team of Mr. Ts out there today. * The Oliverbahn is a 13-block stretch of protected bicycle lane west of downtown Edmonton from which the pedaller can observe the human beings of Oliver.

I stop for cranes. In my defence, so does Knausgaard: There were few things I found more beautiful than cranes, the skeletal nature of their construction, the steel wires running along the top and bottom of the protruding arm, the enormous hook, the way heavy objects dangled when being slowly transported through the air, the sky that formed a backdrop to this mechanical provisorium. And, with apologies, so did Sibelius in the Kuolema andante. Cranes with cement payloads stop me on the Oliverbahn. They stop me because skyships are worth stopping for. On Monday, the crane atop the Stantec Tower starts to come down. Necks will crane up. While contemplating things above, these words, to the tune of The Lord's Prayer, came to mind. Sure, it creaks. It is a tribute to those who build. Tower farther That art in heaven Yellow'd be thy crane Thou hauled up tonnes Now will be undone And brought to earth sometime around March 11th. Gift us t...

There is a refrain among city bicycle riders you will recognize. One of the marvels of bicycle riding, it goes, is the openness of the vehicle itself, the windshieldlessness of the vehicle itself that encourages and reminds the rider to connect with strangers and places that are right there. Right there in a way more real than they are when experienced from the cockpit of a car. I sing this refrain every time I live a ride like today's back home down the Oliverbahn. First, there was time to stop and consider the textures of elm bark and boa constrictor skin. A few blocks on, it was easy to get off my bike and offer an arm of help, accepted, to this friendly stranger walking warily from curb to snowy curb. Then a quick hello and muffled conversation through neck warmers with an Oliverbahn rider who said he appreciated the bare-ish bike lane and how they (the pronoun of choice for the City of Edmonton) hit a sweet spot with de-icer applications this season. ...

The "Oliverbahn" is a stretch of protected, treed, life-lined bicycle lane that runs along the north side of 102 Ave through Edmonton's Oliver neighbourhood. There is a lot to notice and consider on the way to and from the city's downtown core. Today, I saw: A neighbourhood that provides space for pedestrians, bicycle riders, bus passengers, motorists, and, with all the stately elm trees, birds. Families awheel. Homes for fans of Hobbiton. Hobbits. Two built for a bicycle built for two. The cool Lord Simcoe apartment font on brick. Trees with bark and bite. Walkers who wave hello. Automobile drivers who wave hello. A boy who says "cool bike" to his mom about me and hears me say "cool bike" right back to him. People on bikes. The 1913 telephone exchange building by Alan Jeffers. Signed but self-regulated intersections that reveal where we're at with each other: ...