First Snowfalls

Last night we had our first snowfall of the season here in Ottawa. Although daytime photos of freshly fallen snow are more beautiful, this snow will probably be gone by morning. Still, it reminds me of something I once did as a kid.

In Timmins, I attended Earl Miller Public School for my formative years. There was a trail that started not too far from where I lived, that went through the bush, over a small creek, and eventually came out near my school. If you were on foot, you could get out right at the school. But if you were on a bike, you would have to shoot past the school and loop around about a block. On more recent visits, they’ve remedied that in addition to adding all sorts of extra playground equipment, but that’s not this story.

Anyhow, during the early and late months of the school year (and school went through almost all of June back then), I would bike these trails to school and arrive with my legs pretty well caked with mud. I learned something very important from mountain biking as a child: always have a spare set of clothes. The trails were fun. There was one spot, just around a corner, where it would drop quickly, and then there was a big climb on the other side. If you weren’t paying attention, you would hit the exposed root and flip over your handlebars as the wheel caught.

Anyhow, I was a little late to get up one morning. My mom had already left for work, as we had long become accustomed to  (that wasn’t bad parenting back then, apparently it is now). My brother went to a french immersion school across town, and always rode the school bus. I usually had the option to walk or bike to school, though apparently there was a bus that could pick me up only a couple blocks from my house. We would never remember said bus until January, when we ceased caring.

So given the choice to walk to school or bike, I naturally did what any kid would do: slept until the last possible minute and then biked as quickly as my little legs would carry me. Well this particular morning, the joke was on me. It had snowed the night before, so there was a thin layer of slush on the roads, and snow throughout the wooded trail. Weather patterns are really different today from even 18 years ago, so I’ll go ahead and tell you it was still September.

So there I am, standing just outside the door to my house, locking it up and thinking words that kids in public schools aren’t supposed to admit they know (and I’m sure many kindergarten students today would have been able to show me up for my sailor talk of grade 5). I hopped on my bike, strapped on my helmet that I wore religiously along that back trail, and headed out.

The sidewalks weren’t too bad. A little slushy, a little wet, but otherwise passable. When I finally entered the trail, it was a lot like trying to follow a mud trail after a few days of rain. My tires sank and slid in the mud and slush. By the time I made it to school, I was covered head to toe. I cleaned off my helmet using the outside tap meant for the gardening hose, entered via the office doors, waved my muddy hand and gave my whitest smile at the secretary, and then stepped straight into the washroom to get myself cleaned up.

When I finally was all cleaned up, and warmed up by the hand dryer, I came out of the washroom, got my late slip with the note “had to get out of muddy clothes caused by the ride in” and headed in to class. The ride home was equally messy. My brother and I always got home before my Mom, again that was normal then, so I got myself cleaned up, cleaned up the mess my footprints created, and then used the big sink downstairs to handwash the mud off my clothes.

Did I hate handwashing mud off clothes? Probably. I probably hated it a lot. But it was a heck of a lot better doing that, than listening to my mother complain about it, and tell me that I couldn’t bike to school anymore. I loved biking to school.

While I was behind those handlebars, I had control. Kids don’t feel like they are actually in control and truly free very often. For me, when I was on that bike, I was truly free. That’s why I still love biking today. Every time I go ahead and start peddling, I get that rush of freedom with the nip of the wind on my face.

I’ll handwash mud out of my clothes any day, just give me my bicycle.