Rush Hour.

It was about 26 degrees outside, which would have made it a beautiful day, but I was stuck in my car. The traffic was so heavy that it fought for every step forward and the exhaust was thick and burning in the dead heat. I was sitting on a whole pile of stress and energy, having just left a hot busy kitchen with tempers running higher than temperatures and I was all wound up in all the wrong ways.

I've written a lot about how my temper skyrockets when my patience is tested, and nothing seems to test my patience like heavy city traffic. My gas gauge was low, and getting lower when I hit the 25th Street Bridge. 10 minutes into the crossing I was starting to panic thinking that I might not have the fuel to get across. But I made it across, swearing and sweating, and I made it home and the energy of my kids and the mountain of housework still to be done was almost the last straw for me and I felt myself close to snapping. I was more wound up walking in the door to my house than I had been when I'd left work half an hour earlier.

That was about a month ago, and it was the day that I decided, "F$#@ this shizzle, I'm not driving to work anymore unless I absolutely f%^$#n' have to!"
Since then I've been rolling on the old Norco Charger. It's been a blast. It takes me about 15 minutes longer in the morning, but I get to work with more energy, calmer and with a clearer head.

One of the uber hottie girls at work saw me on my way out of work the other day, carrying my bike seat and she asked, "Do you ride your bike here every day?" and I said "Whenever I can." and she said "Wow that's impressive!" and I was feeling pretty damn cool on my way to unlock the Charger.
Then it occurred to me that maybe it's only impressive because I'm so damn old. A lot of the young guys bike, and it's not really all that impressive. But then I thought, "I work 12 hour days and it's pretty physical and high energy draining work, so f*&^%n' ay it's impressive!"

So today it was 4:30 Friday afternoon and the traffic was already backing up when I saddled up ol' Trigger and blasted off through the parking lot.
My first moment of triumph and glee hit before I even left the parking lot. A line of cars was backed up in the lot, waiting for a break in the traffic flow to get on to Circle Drive. I bunny-hopped up on to the sidewalk and blew past them, the sun shining and my own slipstream keeping me cool in the heat.
I crossed the street illegally, cutting between bumper to bumper cars filled with sweating suffering commuters and I cut off of Avenue C to the quiet stillness of Avenue B.
The trees grow old and tall in Mayfair and the leaves fall in rivers of sweet smelling gold that snake along the sidewalks and along the curb and when the wind blows they make a sound like rippling water, if water were made of wood chips and crystal.
I purposely sliced through the dry crackling leaves just to hear the crunch, a sound like paper ripping and I ripped them, a big tear exposing pavement where my tires had cut through in 16th gear and climbing.
I alternated between sidewalk and road, depending on what kind of jumps the driveway or road offered, and maybe it's a sign of the pounds that I drop every time I drop gears to take a bridge or a hill, but I seemed to getting a lot more air today than I've been able to catch in a long time. The soft suspension of the Mazarocchi forks makes it tough to get a good jump with the Charger, not like I would have been able to on the old Bush Pilot in GP, but today was good.

I cut over to Idylwyld a few blocks before 33rd, tearing through the gas pump islands at the 7-11. There was a line of cars fueling up, and I had a little vision of the gas pump dollar total rolling backwards, putting money in my pocket with every mile I pedalled instead of sucking it out.
I looked at the traffic jam and thought of all the fuel being burned, and all of the negatives that go with exhaust, and then I thought of all the fuel and calories that I was burning by biking, and I thought of all the positives, increased oxygen, decreased stress, improved longevity, better circulation. The old trees lining Idylwyld lean over the sidewalk low and heavy, and I got the sense that they were pretty happy with me pumping out CO2 instead of exhaust, and I was pretty happy with them pumping out oxygen and when I passed the lower branches I'd give their leaves a friendly high five and they'd wiggle back happily.

Meanwhile, blood pressure was rising in the cars that I left grumbling at idle with their discontentment. Biking in rush hour is more fun when you can gloat, so I always make a point of doing a flyby past the worst of the traffic.

The intersection of Idylwyld and 33rd was sheer hopelessness for anyone in a motor vehicle. The vantage point offered by it's altitude showed an endless line of clogged traffic in every direction.
It worked perfectly to my advantage. I weaved in and out of idling cars, crossed with enthusiastic disregard for the traffic lights, and hit the long 33rd St. downhill towards city center.
(Note: Sometimes I elect to cut across Idylwyld at 38th, and head for the cemetery. Nothing inspires a guy to better health than acres of prematurely dead. And nothing feels quite as alive as being alone with the sound of your breathing and humming tires on a sunny day while other people are losing their mind stuck in rush hour.)

I cut quickly across 2nd Avenue, into the Technicolor canopy of City Park in Autumn, and I rolled down the streets that I taught my oldest daughter to ride her bike on, past Kinsmen Park, where we were one of the last families to play on the old playground and one of the first families to play on the new playground, down past the sewer smell that everybody knows comes out of the dry storm drains towards the University Bridge

Now listen...not everything about traffic is bad. In fact, there is one thing about rush hour in Saskatoon that completely restores my faith in humanity and goodness.

When you're coming on to the 25th Street Bridge in Saskatoon, off of Spadina, people take turns. There is no other city in the world that I can think of that takes one of the busiest central intersections in the urban core, and leaves it completely uncontrolled, relying on public goodness to maintain order. And it works. It's the ultimate example of anarchy at work.
I didn't wait to take turns. I bounced across Spadina without stopping and hit the bridge.

Here's the thing about going uphill against the wind on a bridge. It's a bit of a challenge, and in me it brings out the same thoughts that running does.
I realize that one day I will be unable to bike up a bridge, whether because of weather or age or illness or whateva, and I remind myself that I should be grateful for the moment that I have. The next thing that I think of when tackling a big hill, is that it might be hard today, but if I push myself to the limit and just get through it, my body, my stamina, my will, all of it will be strengthened, and tomorrow that hill will be just a little bit easier because of that.
Then I view it on more of a macrocosmic scale, realizing that I will have other battles in my life that will be uphill, and against the wind. When that day comes I can go into that battle with a mind and spirit trained to submit, or I can go in with a mind and spirit, trained, experienced and adept at tackling a challenge.

In the interest of brevity let's skip ahead. 10 minutes later, and I'm home, having outpaced most of the traffic. I come into my house breathless and thirsty, but enervated, energized, refreshed and happy. My kids and my wife have smiles for me and I have smiles for them. If one were to take an analysis of me, they would find an increased oxygen level, stronger muscles, lower blood pressure, and a higher degree of general well being, not to mention several hundred dollars more in my bank account at the end of the month.

Rush hour is a different kind of rush for me.

The pic is just some random guy, found it on the wurlwhyweb.