2024 – Carte blanche | Summer is made for takeaway

Well, there you have it. I was already hated for being a pedestrian. Drivers curse pedestrians: they are slow, they have priority at zebra crossings, and they dent cars when they get hit. I was also hated for being a driver: everyone hates drivers, they even hate each other. As if there weren’t enough reasons to hate me, I’ll add another damn good one: I just bought a bike.

So I am theoretically a cyclist. But I want to add an important nuance to this topic right away: a cyclist, in my opinion, is someone who dresses in yellow Spandex to make people believe he has won the Tour de France, who is obsessed with buying the most expensive wheels available, and who shaves his legs to make his daily 50 kilometers a tenth of a second faster.

So I’m not really a cyclist, just someone who owns a bike. (Waiting for it to get stolen, which statistically should happen within a few hours.)

I lived in Pointe-Saint-Charles for about ten years. It’s a neighborhood in the southwest of Montreal known for… well, nothing. There was the Magnan Tavern, but it closed in 2014. When I lived there, I got rid of my bike, for three reasons:

1. I didn’t know anyone who lived close enough to visit them without arriving covered in sweat. And it was a 45-minute drive from the office, almost constantly uphill, with a long stretch on the Rue de la Commune in Old Montreal, made of bumpy cobblestones. No thanks. “What’s that smelly, shaking, panting, wet thing in the corner of the room?” “Oh, don’t pay any attention to it, it’s our colleague from Pointe-Saint-Charles. He doesn’t like taking the metro. It stinks, he says.”

2. Cycle lanes are few and far between. There is only one cyclist around, a shady bearded man on a stolen, undersized bike, returning from the supermarket with a crate of twelve between his thighs and a cigarette in his mouth as he cycles backwards down a one-way street.

3. I almost got a flat tire because a ten-wheel truck was turning into the factory entrance on my right and I didn’t see that I was also waiting for the green light to continue.

4. Okay, okay, I admit it, there’s a fourth reason: wearing a helmet annoyed me because it messed up my striking hairdo.

Now I live in Rosemont. It takes me 15 minutes to get to the office by car and 17 minutes by bike. My girlfriend dreams of us going to Jean-Talon Market as a family and pedaling to Milano’s, and then picnicking in the parks, getting attacked by ants and frisbee players. So I finally gave in.

But it’s incredible how much has changed since my last bike ride.

First, the helmet doesn’t make my hair look as loose, which is defined less by “flamboyant” than by “going bald.” Also, the traffic laws no longer seem to consist of more than a series of optional little tips.

Considering the number of times my dog ​​and I have nearly been hit by a bicyclist running a red light or stop sign, I understand that stopping is optional, and perhaps even forbidden? I recently saw a father pressure his son, about 8 years old, both on scooters, to cross the street at a red light because there were no cars. The son, reluctant and stressed, eventually followed his father, apparently very proud to pass on such a masculine quality: putting himself in harm’s way for nothing!

A while ago a cyclist stopped at a stop sign to let me pass and I am sure she will never forget my surprised face. Billy barked at her, convinced it was a trap. It was just the exception that confirms the absence of rules.

So I join the group of outlaws. Give this new pickup cyclist a warm welcome!

I’m kidding. For my safety, I stick to bike paths as much as possible, which I share with an eclectic group of course: helmetless electric BIXI riders, hostile old men on dangerously silent scooters or large, decorated tricycles, distracted couples in love on scooters, professional joggers (for whom the asphalt of the sidewalks is not suitable for their ankles as top athletes), lost pedestrians, clowns on unicycles and fit grandmothers with walking sticks.

I think I’ll be driving mostly in the green alleys. Watch your tomatoes, I’m coming!