Edited by: Veronika Potylitsina
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Dear Toronto,
My love letter to you begins in an unusual way. Often, lovers do not begin their odes and other dedicated prose with a declaration of hostility, but at the beginning of the summer of 2017, I hated you. I hated you with a venomous passion reserved for that smoker who will not walk three feet away from a public entrance to fill his lungs with noxious chemicals and couples who eat each other’s faces in the middle of Queen’s Park and (last, but certainly not least) the patriarchy.
Let me be crystal clear: I was a different person at the time when the very mention of your three-syllable name would make me seize up with rage. I hadn’t yet fallen for the concrete cycling paths that line your skin, nor the sharp scent of hotdog stands and falafel trucks that tickled my nose as I biked by. Instead, I was a commuter—yes, that dreaded word that conjures memories of a darker time. Every day, I spent two hours locked beneath you in a metal caravan of suits and sweat. Amongst the sea of vacant stares, your vibrancy was replaced by the hacking cough of a businesswoman much too sick to be going to work and the mob mentality of fifty people pushing their way out at St. George Station, only to repeat this cycle on their next train. Toronto, you are not a pretty sight down under.
However, our tale does not end in the depths of your smelly, sweaty pits. It only blossoms from there. Much like an enemies-to-friends romcom, our story had yet to reach its climax—which rolled in sporting two wheels and a sturdy handlebar. As I began cycling through you, I was greeted with long, winding paths hugged by swaying willow trees and Frisbee-catching dogs. The wind in my hair, I pedaled by beaches and beachgoers; long stretches of water dotted with rowing enthusiasts; and finally, the heart of the city where the hustle and bustle of the street folk was beautified by the reflection of the sun’s warm rays. After my first cycling commute (though the words seem oxymoronic), I too had my Clueless moment. In front of an admittedly inferior fountain than Cher’s and in the unfortunate absence of trumpets, I realized with a jolt: “Oh my god, I love Toronto! I am majorly, totally, but crazy in love with Toronto!”
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Alas Toronto, we’ve reached the end of our saga. A very wise man, Ian Somerhalder, once told me that, “Every love story must have a catalyst.” Though I disagree with the majority of his career choices (The Vampire Diaries? Really, Ian?), this rings too true. I am eternally grateful for the two-wheeled metal contraption that brought us together and I cannot wait for a lifetime of cycling through you.
Love,
Megan Pham-Quan
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Note to reader:
Toronto has an extensive bikeway network of 563 km and you truly are missing out if you don’t seize the day and explore it. In the letter, I talk primarily of the Goodman/Waterfront trail that stretches from Etobicoke in the west to Scarborough in the east. If you are looking for a slice of the urban excitement that attracts people to Toronto in the first place, there are plenty of bike lanes in downtown Toronto, including long stretches along Bloor Street West, Richmond Street West, Adelaide Street West, Wellesley Street West (through central Toronto), and Sherbourne Street.
If you don’t have a bike, that’s not a problem! In the past few years, two bike renting companies have set up shop in Toronto. Bike Share will allow you to rent bikes at one of the 200 stations located around the city. You can take as many trips as you would like while the pass or membership is still active and once you are finished, you can return the bike to any station. Dropbike incorporates smart bikes with a tire locking mechanism that does not involve a mass bike station. You can rent both for reasonable rates.
Happy riding!