It Was Not Always My Hobby

Starting a new life in Canada brought one challenge after another, and transportation soon became one of the hardest. Public transit was expensive, and I was living on social assistance. With so little income, I needed to find work. As a government-sponsored refugee, I had spent most of my first-year learning English. I was far from fluent, yet I knew enough to begin looking for an entry-level job. Beneath that practical search was a deeper need: I wanted to prove to myself that I could build a life in my newly adopted land.

In March of the following year, I began to look for a job in earnest. I was willing to do almost any kind of work, but I carried one hope with me: if possible, I wanted to serve in the nonprofit sector and help people in need. That hope led me to my first job, working overnight at a women’s shelter run by the Salvation Army. The shelter was near the Junction in Toronto’s west end, relatively close to the rooming house where I lived. Finding the job gave me a sense of purpose and gratitude, but getting there would test me in ways I had not expected.

Because of the way the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC) routes were arranged, travelling to work required two buses and a subway ride, and I had to repeat the same long journey home. My shifts ran from 11 p.m. to 6 a.m., including weekends, and, at the time, the subway did not operate early on Sunday mornings. On those Sundays, the trip home could take three hours or even more. After caring for others through the night, I would begin an exhausting journey across a city that still did not feel entirely mine.

After several Sundays of listening to me complain about the difficult trip home, my housemate Brenda Freeman lent me her bicycle for a Saturday-night shift. The difference felt almost miraculous. The ride was faster, simpler, and safer: instead of spending hours in transit, I could travel each way in less than half an hour. For the first time since arriving in Canada, I felt that the distance between where I was and where I needed to be was something I could overcome through my own effort. After a few trips, I began saving for a bicycle of my own.

When I told my housemates about my plan, Brenda soon brought home an old Raleigh racing bicycle that had clearly seen better days and offered to sell it to me. I bought it without hesitation. Later, I realized that I had overpaid, but it did not matter. It was the first bicycle I owned in Canada, and to me it represented much more than worn metal and broken gears. Only three speeds worked, and the rest were beyond repair, but those three speeds were enough. The bicycle gave me something precious: control over my own movement and a growing sense of belonging. At the time, people did not even wear helmets, let alone reflective gear, yet it felt safe to bike at night. The cold was a new variable. Thus, every night, I tucked my pants into my socks, put on my winter gloves, and zipped my spring jacket over my sweatshirt. Then I took my new-to-me bicycle out of my room and began pedalling toward my first job.

The night shift had some privileges that the other shifts did not. One of them was access to the garage, where the garbage and recycling were stored. That was where I left my bicycle until it was time to go home.

At the time, I was thirty-five years old and had just begun cycling. Soon, I was cycling everywhere—not only to work but also to almost all my activities. Winter was going to be a different challenge, but for now it was wonderful to have such independence. At first, my legs complained about the effort. After a few months, however, my cycling skills became second nature, and within a few years, cycling was my main form of transportation, even during winter. I even became an advocate for urban cycling.

Over time, cycling grew from a practical solution into a lasting part of my life. When my family entered a new stage, the bicycle also became a way for us to travel together.

A few years later, my wife and I bought a house in South Riverdale, a neighbourhood in southeast Toronto. Since we were bringing together children from our previous relationships, the house needed to accommodate eight people. Buying it limited our ability to afford a vehicle, so we decided to travel with the children by bicycle. Living relatively close to downtown and the Beaches, cycling became our main form of transportation. When we travelled together, we had a system: my wife rode first, and her children followed her from oldest to youngest. My three children rode behind them in the same order, and I brought up the rear of our single-file line. At traffic lights and stop signs, I rode to the front and waited until the last child had crossed. Then I returned to the end of the line. The system gave us a sense of safety.

For many years, we neither had nor needed a car. Whenever we needed one, we rented it. Cycling was our main form of transportation.

What began as a necessity became my favourite hobby. For many years now, I have not needed a bicycle as a means of transportation; instead, I ride for pleasure.

Cycling is my most important hobby. It is not only a way to exercise; it is also a reminder that, to stay balanced, one must keep pedalling. I do not cycle in winter anymore. Now I wait for cycling season so I can feel the air on my face and the illusion of freedom on the amazing paths the City of Peterborough has developed.