On Becoming Biker Girl

Yesterday two friends and I loaded up our bikes in the back of Olive's van, along with theatre tickets, sun protection, bug spray, wallets and water, and headed for the start of the Lynn Valley bike trail to Port Dover. We parked the van at the trail head south of Simcoe, unloaded the bikes, strapped on our helmets and into the trees we went. An old rail bed, the trail is tree-lined for the most part with sun dappling through, and some open spots. We followed the river on and off and I noted benches placed like sentinels along the way.

"Yippee!" yelled Olive from behind. "I love this trail and I love biking!"

I laughed and called an acknowledgement. I was having a wonderful time, too, and liked being with such an exuberant friend to voice what was in my heart. Up ahead, Karen's white blouse blew in the breeze as her black-clad legs pedalled steadily towards Lake Erie. Bump, thud, big stones spun off my tires and pinged to the sides of the trail, which had become very rocky and I could see that someone had taken some machine along parts of it, probably to smooth it out or something but the result was rough. Eventually it was smoother again and we pedalled more easily, pausing to cross roads as we steadily approached our destination. Being an old rail bed, the trail was excellent for bikers as there were no hills, just a gradual descent to the lake.

When we reached Port Dover we pedalled along back streets as far as we could until quite close to downtown, when we had to use a busy street. I followed Olive as she took the middle lane to go straight through at the light. I jumped as horns blew behind us. Olive called out, "He is angry because we are in this lane but we have every right to be here," and she was exactly right. Confidently I pedalled standing up as I followed Olive through the busy intersection and Karen was right behind. We pulled in to our destination, a wonderful hotdog stand with no pop but instead real fruit drinks. After hooking up with Bev, we bought burgers, hotdogs and fries--a filling fat quotient for the day!--and found a shady place to eat.

We walked out to the light at the point, talking all the way, walked back and straight to a lakeside restaurant for a drink. Mmm. That icy cold went down well. We passed a pleasant hour catching up and it was time for the theatre. We saw a spirited and amusing play called Jasper Station by Norm Foster. A musical, it was very enjoyable with poignant stories for each character, people who met by chance in a railway station. I quite enjoyed it.

The play over we headed back to our bikes, still waiting where we had left them beside Bev's car, locked together around a hydro pole. Lucky for us they weren't stolen. Back on the trail, slightly uphill this time, I followed Karen as she set a fast pace. We started at 4:50 and had a 40 minute ride back to the van. Like horses heading for home we poured on the pressure. This time the ride was a little harder, we were going faster, and it was the end of the day rather than first thing. Nevertheless as I watched my watch the time moved steadily on with the rhythm of my pedals and soon I recognized the approach to the parking lot. We made it! I felt good. The oldest in the group, I kept up with no problem at all. Yippee! I love biking with my friends!