Trees can be a cyclist’s best buds, in so many ways. They
provide shade along the roadway, they tell you which way the wind is blowing
and how much, and they can even block a nasty headwind. Just the other day, in
fact, battling a stiff southeast clipper on the way back from Alberta Beach, we
lucked into some roadside groves of aspen trees that provided the perfect wind
guard. The effect was remarkable, if short-lived.
(For mountain bikers, the cyclist-tree relationship is a
little more complicated, I think. Trees create many of the best trails and
provide essential technical features but they can also hurt you and wreck your
bike. For road cyclists, however, trees are almost always wholly a good thing.)
And that’s not even counting the aesthetic benefits of
trees. They’re beautiful, at any time of year, constantly changing, sometimes
smell great, and, I would argue, have a soothing, therapeutic effect on anyone
in their immediate presence. If you’re in need of a pit stop on a bike ride,
pulling off under a tree is always a splendid idea.
This particular tree in Edmonton’s west end is actually too
close to my house to serve as mid-ride pit stop. But I ride past it almost
every day, and even after thousands of passes, it can still take my breath away
on a spring day, like today, when the blossoms are in full explosion. When my
kids were little, my wife and I would walk them down to this pocket park and
the boys would clamber all over the low branches. It’s a perfect starter
tree—accessible, smooth-barked, with horizontal spots for hanging out. It came
to be known as the World’s Best Climbing Tree. We don’t visit the WBCT as often
as we once did, but a few weeks back we stopped by, and our teenage boys got
right up into the branches, just as they did in those long ago days.
Some trees have a certain magic about them, an old power that
fosters relaxation, reflection, imagination, and even regeneration. The WBCT is
one of those trees, and as I sit here under its branches writing this, I can
feel its ancient energy reminding me that everything grows, blossoms, and eventually sheds its leaves.
With that counsel from a good
friend, I hop back on my bike and continue riding.
When I was younger, my sisters and I would clamber all over "the monkey tree" in Morden Park. This huge tree lay flat on the ground, whether from wind or lightening, I don't know. But in spite of this it was still alive and every year it continued to turn green in summer. We'd spend hours climbing the tree, sitting in its branches, and sipping our Mr. Mistees from the nearby Dairy Queen. I'm not sure which town counsellor or park administrator decided to let the tree remain even after it fell, but that wise decision provided generations of us Morden kids with a most wonderful hangout and fond memories galore.
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