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  • I was a slow learner. Or maybe I was just quick to scare. The bike was too much for me. Too much power, too much potential, two many wheels.

    There's some family lore that when I finally got going on two wheels for the first time I lost control and sped down the hill of our street straight into traffic. It would be easy to say this traumatized me. But I think I just didn't like to bike.

    I didn't want to go fast. I wanted to move at human speeds. I embraced my life as a bipedal creature and walking was just fine for me.

    I was 12 when I finally figured out how to stay on a bike long enough to get somewhere. But I wouldn't go far. I vaguely remember spray painting a Canadian Tire two wheeler and re-dubbing it Silver Suzy, I think Suz maybe made it a couple blocks and back.

    It wasn't until my final year of university that I really felt the heat. It was time. All my friends knew it, my boyfriend knew it, my knees knew it and the hills of Halifax were begging for it. And I don't mean that metaphorically.

    Every month Critical Mass in Halifax rallies all bikers of all age, size, and gender. Trikes, bikes and tandems take on the street asserting their existence, celebrating the wind. It's a leaderless message that smiles in every direction. My buddy Tom has set up speakers in a bike trailer. Each ride you hear the low warmth of Nina Simone sprawling over treetops and deep into alleyways. A hundred bells. The story of Emma's day. Thought's about dinner.

    On the last friday of the month I learned that I can live my life in motion.
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