Anyone in the know when it comes quadricycles in the GTA has heard by now that (after 32 years) the Toronto Island Cycle Rental is going out of business.  Just this past week I read that they would be selling off their inventory -- including over 40 quads -- over the Easter weekend.

On a whim, I decided we had to have one!

I mean, really, who wouldn't jump at the chance to own a little piece of Toronto Island history?  And hey, we live right on the lakefront cycle path -- what an opportunity!

Even the kids were game to contribute a significant chunk of their own money, and once I had convinced my partner and our family friend that we'd be able to actually get the thing home and not get stuck and kick it into the lake after the first km pedaling back, I began planning my strategy.

Easter weekend begins on Good Friday.  Lots of people off work; there was bound to be a line-up!

After a bit of googling, I discovered that there seemed to be some sort of a pre-sale the Sunday before, weather permitting, from 2-4 p.m.  I vowed to be there promptly at 2 p.m., cash in hand.

I knew that the older quadricyles that were 4-seaters were going for $800 - 1000, and that was our budget (there was also a handful of new ones, a year old, for $3000, but that was too rich for our blood).

The Early Bird

Imagine our surprise, then, when we arrived at the ferry dock an hour beforehand and were greeted by the sight of multiple disembarking passengers already riding their "new" quads off the Wards Island Ferry (winter schedule still, no Centre ferry yet) and into the city!!!  

How had these people found out about the secret pre-sale and snuck their way in early?  Outrageous!

Undeterred, I led the way onto the boat, the dog (we had elected to bring her along) eagerly sniffing to the air beside us, delighted at the unfamiliar but not unwelcome smell of adventure.

Hope Fades

Alas, as we got off the ferry at Wards, we observed an additional quantity of the much-coveted rachity old machines now belovedly being pedaled by their jubilant new owners, and my heart began to sink.  Maybe we were too late, I worried, doing some quick mental calculations about what we had seen, and how many -- roughly -- I knew there to be for sale.

My fears were confirmed when I chatted with a single rider in a faded canopy-covered two-seater who pedaled slowly past me down the way as she confirmed that the only rides still being peddled up the path were three of the newer 4-seaters at $3000 a piece, and several single bikes.

Having come this far, we marched on towards Centre, where my informant's facts were tragically upheld.  

After looking longingly at the $3000 machines (there were only two left now), and briefly considering a splurge, I defeatedly slumped onto a bench along the path across from the bike shop, next to my partner and our doggie, and watched other hopefuls equally disappointed as they eagerly approached the stand and then became aware that their whimsical dream was not to come to fruition today.

Lunch, Playground and Ferry

By now, the boys had also arrived on the Island (they'd come down and met our friend after a morning commitment elsewhere in the city), and my partner, our dog and I walked back along the path towards the Wards Island Ferry Docks to meet them for a quick stop at the pirate playground and the picnic lunch we were supposed to have enjoyed while pedaling back on our new and unusual treasure.

We then joined other early spring island visitors for the ride back to the city, quadricycle-less, but $800 richer than we would have been, had our venture been "successful".

We took some comfort in knowing that at least the dawg had fun!

Some might say we dodged a bullet, and I agree that after the initial excitement of riding with friends around the neighbourhood bike path, a quadricycle would likely have become an underused toy, challenging to store and maintain.  

​But I would be lying if I said I wasn't just a wee bit sad about not getting one!

A constant battle this year is my indecisiveness about the most effective and efficient way to commute to and from work.  Although I’m living and working within the same public transit system now (TTC) whereas last year I had to take two systems (TTC and MiWay) to work, I am finding my commute more frustrating than ever.

I know many people blog about the horrors of public transit, so my tale of woe is not a new one, but I do feel compelled to add my voice to the milieu.

Car-free by choice since 2013, I get around largely by public transit or bicycle, supplemented by the occasional rental car or Uber (pool, where possible).

Benefits of Public Transit

In theory, I love to ride the bus or subway: Not having to fight (or pay) for parking downtown affords me the freedom to read the paper in the morning on my way to work, often while enjoying a leisurely breakfast on the go.

My current commute consists of a 16-minute bus ride from Lakeshore to the subway, a 20-minute subway ride downtown, and a 10-minute walk down Bay St to Wellesley.

In theory.

Not all Roses

I blogged earlier this fall about the horrors of the Toronto Transit System, which I had not ridden with any regularity for some years until this this past fall.

The new normal in Toronto now seems to feature crammed busses and streetcars, delayed trains, rude operators and fellow passengers… the latter in particular drive me bonkers, especially on days when I can’t get a seat, and have to spend the better part of my commute pressed up against strangers I am not particular interested in snuggling with preceding or following a long day of work.

(Not) the King of Bedside Manner

One driver in particular stands out recently… notoriously underserved by public transit, our busses in the west end are often jam-packed during the morning ride to the subway.

On one such bus the week before last, the driver had apparently decided he’d had enough with people not moving back of their own volition: After a few rude barks at us to indicate that he was not moving the bus until everyone was behind the white line, he simply stopped communicating altogether.

Several passengers who tried to get on at stops after mine were glared down when the driver stopped the bus and opened the door, or were told flat out that there wasn’t any room on the bus, when they attempted to climb the steps anyway.

One poor gal had to guess why the bus wasn’t moving after she got on (I and a few of my fellow passengers explained that the driver was -- albeit not the king of bedside manner -- well within his safety rights to wait until everyone was behind the white line and out of his line of sight before moving the bus forward).  She then squished as far back as she could and made herself skinny so the guy could drive on.  

He thanked her for her efforts by yelling at her for having not yet paid her fare, which in the stress and uncertainty of being able to board at all, she had not yet gotten around to.

I considered myself lucky on that trip for living so close to the end (start) of the line; at subsequent stops, Mr. Crankypants just kept driving through, leaving large swaths of morning commuters shivering, stranded and confused on the cold sidewalk as a full but not unsurmountable bus drove right on by.

This sort of nonsense sometimes prompts me to pursue alternate routes, such as the Queen Streetcar for example.

An Unlikely Apology

Riding the 501 Streetcar is a fascinating study in humanity. If you were a writer looking for inspiration to compose a memoir about the human condition, an hour spent on this route, pretty much any time of day, any day of the year, would not disappoint.  And you wouldn’t even need to look out the window to find fodder for your work!

From randomly raving lunatics to obnoxious, beer-swillers dispensing uninvited advice, to inconsiderate idiots who crank their music way too high (or don’t use headphones at all), it’s never a dull moment on the Queen Streetcar if you’re looking for irritation, that’s for sure.

But the scene I became enmeshed in last month while desperately seeking an alternative route to the crowded subway ride home was of a genre I’d not experienced before.

It started with some bulky-looking fellow complaining generally about people’s cell phone use, and their unwillingness to engage with one another, preferring instead to succumb to the tiny screen in their hands.

Now, while in theory I may share this dude’s opinion, in fact, it is none of his (or my) business what people do while riding public transit, so long as they are not imposing on someone else's rights.  Certainly they are entitled to their relative privacy, and have no obligation to engage with strangers if they don’t want to.  

So, when the guy’s general commentary became personal, I chose to get involved.

The perpetrator attempted to engage a woman nearby who was minding her own business, just texting on her personal device. When she ignored his unwanted advances, our uncouth friend continued to beleaguer her, shouting, “hey, you!” rather obnoxiously.

​By now, several people had begun to shift uncomfortably in their seats; the poor "offender" with the cell phone was doing her best to ignore the guy and continue her texting.

At this point the guy said loudly, “Hey, bitch!"

When no one came to her rescue, I leaned sideways over my fellow passenger and seatmate, turned to the guy, and firmly told him, “Okay, you know what?  That’s enough, you need to stop!”, to which he replied, “What’s your problem? I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to this bitch”, and gestured towards the bitch with the phone.

With adrenaline coursing through my veins (perhaps more out of anger that no one else was standing up to this jerk, than that he was a jerk in the first place), I stood up and retorted that the word he was choosing to use was offensive, and that -- as a woman -- I was not interested in hearing any more of this sort of nonsense from him, and that he needed to stop immediately, thank you, and sat back down.

When Stupidhead retorted that no one else seemed to be bothered by his language, since no one else had said anything, another woman commented loudly that she didn’t like it either, and had wanted to say something earlier, but hadn't been sure what to say.

The neanderthal then quieted down, but a few stops later approached me as though he were going to attack, and I felt my heart pounding in my throat in a way that only the prey approached by the predator can understand.  As it turned out, though, he was getting off the streetcar, and wanted to apologize!

“Eh, thanks, eh?” He mumbled to me, “Figures not a single man said anything.  Had to be a woman!  Thanks for speaking up.”  He further muttered, and wished me happy holidays before disembarking!!!

After the intitial incredulity passed, I rolled my eyes and turned to see how the gal with the cell phone was faring, but -- determined to survive the ordeal with her personal dignity intact -- she had done a great job throughout the whole affair of just isolating herself from everything and everyone around her.  But I did make eye contact with another woman across the aisle, who just shook her head in disbelief.

Like I said, never a dull moment on the 501 Queencar.

Old, Tired and Run Down

Although that heading could describe me, in fact I selected it to summarize our city’s once-great public transit system, which is another con of commuting by public transit in Toronto.

Views like the one captured in the photo below are not uncommon on the TTC; leaking ceilings, ripped out floor tiles and/or giant sections of walls -- not to make things bigger, better or newer by design, but to manage critical conditions and various stages of disrepair, apparently in the moment, as they happen…

I often compare our first world system to the “antique” and also over-crowded but very affordable public transit system we experienced some years ago in South America and laugh ironically to myself when I realise theirs was better!

I cannot begin to count the number of times I've had to text my partner and/or kids to advise that Mommy would be home late -- yet again -- due to some sort of subway delay.

The aging, mechanically questionable, run-down system, combined with the equally questionable folks who seem to make up an inordinate percentage of the ridership (we didn't even get into any great detail on my favorite topic: Jerks who insist on blasting their pop music too loudly!), and the daily delays make me constantly on the quest for an alternative method of getting to work.

One such way has been my bicycle.

In order to protect my co-workers from my post-workout stench, I bring a change of clothes on mornings when I ride in, and supplement my sink wash up in the office washroom with baby wipes and deodorant power from Lush.

Inspiration Along the Way...

Another reason I enjoy riding in to work is that I get to see a lot of things the average car or subway-dweller misses due to speed or being underground. 

One of the things I love most about my morning ride in, when I do it, is the sunrises.  My Instagram acct will attest to the fact that I am frequently mesmerized by the pastel rainbow enroute downtown, especially along the waterfront during the first half of my commute.

Sunrises aside, however, there are art installations (both human-created and naturally occurring) and lots of wildlife.  I also like to feel the breeze on my face as I cycle, so long as it isn't too strong!

But...

Speaking of strong breezes, sometimes the headwind can be so powerful, it doubles my commute time (yes, I am old, and fat and slow to begin with; strong wind from the north east is not helpful in the morning!)

The main downfalls to biking for me are never having a chance to just sit around and read the paper, and being "stuck" when I am sick (case in point; I got a virus of some sort just as the holidays started, and have not felt well enough to bike since then!)  I'm also not crazy about the bike locker in my building, which is in a dark corner of the parking garage, and adds 10 minutes to my morning commute.

Ultimately, there is no one way for me; I'll enjoy reading and relaxing on public transit while raging inside about the guy two seats over who insists on watching a video without headphones and becomes aggressive with I politely by firmly ask him to turn off the volume (even though I am well within my rights to do so, according to section 3.23 of the TTC bylaws), and eventually become so fed up that I will ride to work the next morning on my bike, but then be desperate for a chance to sit and read the paper and eat a bag of cheezies in peace, so will leave my bike locked up at work and ride the subway home and get frustrated with the constant delays over the next few days, so will end up back on my bike for a bit... and so it goes.

After a month of not riding due to my idiotic insistence on pouring hot water onto my leg at work, and the resulting second-degree burns that significantly impacted my mobility for an extended period of time, I enjoyed my first ride in to work again this morning.

Despite the crisp air (Brrr -- when did winter suddenly hit?!) and the mild discomfort from the rubbing on my still-present leg scars as I rode, it felt very good to be on my bike again.  

My month of sitting around with my unclothed leg elevated and airing out or covered in various creams had not done much for my physique, and I chugged along at rather a lethargic pace.  Nevertheless, I managed to make it to the top of the Sunnyside bridge without having to do the walk of shame, and even stopped to snap a few photos of Kermit overlooking the tracks, expressway and hospital where I was born before continuing on for the second leg of my hour-long ride.

Further downtown, I managed to avoid the temptious Krispy Kreme at the corner of Bathurst and Harbord by engaging in some fancy side-street cycling to get myself to Queens Park, Wellesly, and eventually, my office building, where I locked Kermit up safely and dragged my sorry ass along with my pannier upstairs to wipe down and change clothes, and eat my morning oatmeal (Confession: Four fifths of a bag of gummy hearts preceded that meal -- they had real fruit in them, though, along with the carnuba wax, pig guts and whatever other horrid ingredients make them slide so smoothly and flavourfully down my gullet and into my eager belly!)

Another advantage of riding my bike over taking public transit or even Uber pool this morning was the control I had over how I began the receptive auditory part of my day: Instead of listening to some moron's horrific electro-pop leaking imposingly out of his headphones and into my sensitive ears on the bus, or suffering through the ubiquitous pop music that the vast majority of Uber drivers insist on playing while driving, I enjoyed my newly downloaded Bach violin sonatas and partitas while pedaling, as performed by the illustrious Lara St. John.

The logistical importance of my return to biking was confirmed for me at the end of the day, when -- after having finally managed to escape the office on time so that I could get home in time to cook dinner for my kids and help one of them practise his instrument as promised -- I found myself on the westbound platform of the Bloor line, waiting while yet another train pulled slowly into the station, pausing briefly to open its doors more as an exercise than anything else (since the subway cars were so packed that not even the most aggressive riders could elbow their way in), and pull s-l-o-w-l-y back out of the station, leaving a miserable crowd that included me on the platform, wondering when, precisely, our $3.25 mission might be fulfilled.

I soooo have to increase the number of rides I make!!  (I had left Kermit locked up because I plan to ride home from work another day this week, having wanted to ease back into the cycling routine.  Stupid move, as I soon discovered.)

Riding in today reaffirmed for me my belief in cycling as a single solution for multiple problems: Riding increases physical and mental health, reducing a society's collective obesity, depression and stress, and therefore, heart attack risks.  It also reduces our carbon footprint by eliminating the need for cars in the daily commuting sense.  And plus it's just kick-ass to bike commute, especially in winter.

Really, why wouldn't everyone just get on their bike and RIDE?! Do it -- I challenge you.  Ditch the car, and ride your bike.  Seriously, it will change your life!

​For avid cyclists, it's no secret that finding the ideal fit in a bike takes time and experience. When I was lucky enough to have Silver bestowed on me by a generous friend a few years ago, I was still new to commuter biking, and not entirely sure that new, sporty steed was the right fit for me. Nevertheless, I rode it to work weekly, and rode around elsewhere, too, trying to get a sense of what it was to feel truly comfortable on two wheels.

Fast forward four years, and I knew for sure that I needed a longer frame and a more aggressive geometry.  My partner and cycling muse, a long-time bike commuter and former Can-bike instructor with the city of Toronto who currently rides 40 km a day to and from work on one or the other of her two bikes had also been urging me to consider drop bars, which I was not previously ready for, but which I had finally become more open to. 
​
And so, on a recent summer day, we replaced Silver with Kermit*, an Instagram-worthy touring hybrid with drop bars and fancy new disc brakes.

Our first stop after introducing the two to one another was to take Kermit and Stevie geocaching, which we did along the Lakeshore last Sunday.

Sam Smith park afforded the first new cache we'd found in those parts in a while, and Stevie and Kermit waited nicely together in the cedars while their humans went hunting around in the dirt, eventually finding the cache and harrumph-ing at the silly jokes listed in the logbook.

After returning the treasure to its hidden home, we continued a little further west, along the waterfront...

Bikes locked up to one another and the slat of a gazebo, Tats began digging around on the beach while I pulled out some sustenance and set up shop on a lpicnic table nearby.

We did not get to lunch for very long, however, as Stevie's owner was determined to find one final cache before taking Kermit's owner to a little Austrian cafe on Lakeshore for "Kaffee und Kuchen". (Well, tea, in my case.)

And so on we rode, further west still, and leaned Kermit and Stevie against a tree one final time.

Once more Tats went tripping along the beach with her GPS while I snapped a few pics for the blog before joining her in the hunt.

All three caches on the list signed and logged, we hopped back on Stevie and Kermit, and headed back east a little, to Sugar for my Honey, to enjoy the promised cake and tea, and have a conversation in German with the owner there.

Still tweaking a few little details on Kermit (I think a slightly longer stem would be helpful), but overall, loving my new ride, especially the drop bars!!

*Naming my bikes is a habit I picked up from my partner, who had adopted the practice long before we met, from a cycling friend of hers.

To the rude driver who impatiently honked me while turning up behind me at an intersection this morning as I was biking into work:

 realize that your smog-coughing climate change machine carries you down the street a little faster than my trusty, two-wheeled steed carries me, but the last time I checked, the highway traffic act applies to this tax payer the same as it does you, so chillax, exercise a little restraint,  have some patience while I avail myself of my legal (albeit somewhat slower) right to travel on the same roads as you, yeah?

The world won't stop turning on its axis if you get to work at 30 seconds later than you usually do because you let a cyclist turn ahead of you without honking at her!!

Some readers will remember the introduction of Sneakers, our family's new dog, earlier this summer.

In an effort to help Sneakers burn off excess energy (a tired dog is a happy dog!), we try to get her to the leash-free park at least once a day, in addition to walks around the neighbourhood.

Because we don't have a car, and because the dog park is a little too far to walk for a puppy who is not yet fully "loose-leash walking" trained, Ms. K decided to take Sneakers in the trailer attached to the back of her bike.  Sneakers wears a harness, and this harness is clipped in two ways to keep her safe (and the rider stable!)  Then Ms. K heads out of the parking lot and down to the bike path, which leads directly to several nearby leash-free parks.

On the weekends, the boys come with us on their bikes, and we all go together as a family, but during the week, Ms. K usually takes Sneakers on her own after everyone else has left for school and before Ms. K has to go to work.

It's very funny to see Sneakers' furry doggie head sticking out of the trailer, and it's great exercise for the rest of us to go to the dog park, too.  Sneakers loves to play fetch, though she also enjoys just finding a big stick and chewing it in the cool grass!

And now, a little Math:

If Ms. K bikes to the dog park and back every day, how much "mileage" (how many km) does she add to her weekly bike-mileage count?  (The dog park is 3.1 km away from our home.)

Pedaling a dog to the park builds strong leg muscles! The bike trailer alone weighs about 21 lbs, and there are about 5 lbs of bedding, water bottle/bowl and dog treats in the trailer, along with the dog. 

Last week, Ms. K took Sneakers to puppy training classes at Petsmart.  While there, she picked up a 30 lb bag of dog food, which she put in the trailer, along with the dog! The trailer has a weight restriction of 120 lbs, and with Sneakers and all her stuff in the trailer, they were 9 lbs under the limit.  How much does Sneakers weigh?  How do you know?

The last time I was hauling dogs to the leash free park was when I owned a hatchback.  With Sneakers, the rules of the game have changed:  I'm car-less now, and TTC only allows pets during "off-peak" hours, so we had to get creative... Tats attached a trailer to her bike, and the dawg rides harnessed in, while admirers stop to point and smile and snap photos.

In this fashion Sneakers travels to the dog park, to puppy training and other locations around the city... when she is not riding the bus or subway, that is!

Having ridden my bike all over Toronto for the last ten years, I've had many critters run, fly and waddle across my path. Cats. Dogs. Squirrels. Raccoons. Ducks. Geese. As of yesterday, I can add another species to the list: a Vietnamese Pot-Bellied Pig. Yes, pig.

I was riding my bike home on Royal York having dropped off one of our kids at his rock-climbing class, when a pig nonchalantly trotted across the road, stopping the few drivers and pedestrians who happened to be around in their tracks. People were laughing and taking pictures, but no one seemed to be calling OSPCA or Animal Control, which I found surprising. I would have done it, but my phone is currently sim-card free, so it cannot make calls.

I couldn't leave the poor piggie all alone now! 

And so I followed her.

That proved a challenging task, for the pig had no respect for property boundaries and, despite being pot-bellied, was able to fit through considerably smaller openings that I, especially since I still had my bike with me. At one point I lost sight of her, but a passer-by, having inquired whether I was "looking for a pig", directed me back across Royal York, to the back yard of one of the triplexes whither the pig had apparently decided to wander.