Free of family domestic duties in my fifties, I decided to get a bike that I’d enjoy pedalling along the Rideau Canal and Dow’s Lake in my free time.
Although I hoped for a congenial relationship with my new wheels, I realized that I had developed a profound fear of falling as I entered menopause.
Certain of falling if I dared to lift my second leg to the patiently waiting pedal, I simply couldn’t get the darned leg to cooperate.
I ended up pretending the new bike was a scooter, using it only on a secluded nearby parking lot as the world grew dark. The handsome two-wheeler lost its appeal and I sold it.
Today, here in Victoria, I’m surrounded by bikes. Many are electric. Helmeted, well-dressed cyclists whiz confidently along clearly marked pavement as I cruise online and in shops trying to decide whether a three-wheeler, a walker or a wheelchair would be most suitable for an octogenarian whose lifestyle is no longer all that active. My self confidence has deteriorated too!
To Hell with more wheels! I’m going to get a Handy Dart bus pass membership!