I grew up in a city where the transit fleet had a grand total of three buses. At my young age, rather than applaud that my community had any form of transit at all, instead I found this to be a bit pathetic. I had grown up with rather romantic notions of transit, having watched more than my share of 1940s and 1950s musicals when taking the streetcar, bus, or subway) would feature prominently as the setting where two lovers would meet and then spontaneously burst out into song (Meet Me in St. Louis is an obvious example). Such meetings would not occur if these same two lovers were driving in their single occupant vehicles (unless of course said vehicle were to break down, thus requiring automotive assistance). Anyhow, I continue to hold on to my rather romantic notions of transit, despite having endured (in a number of cities) many a smelly and stuffy bus, navigating backpacks, avoiding ripped seats, trying to tune out and sometimes eavesdropping in on loud and inane conversations, and finally standing and shivering in the cold while waiting for a late train or bus. However, just as often I’ve been able to admire the scenery during long trips (I used to take a particularly scenic route along winding road beside the ocean) or let my thoughts wander idly as I let the train carry me from one destination to another.

So, it’s with a light heart that I eagerly anticipate visiting New York in the next few days to ride on the subway of all subways, to look past any of the dirt and grime and instead live the lyrics of New York, New York. I will be among the people who ride in a hole in the ground.

Having started to make a large number of friends at work, most of whom bike, I’m finding it difficult to say no to riding pretty much everyday. So today as I again found myself riding up the road that goes from the end of the city/beginning of the forest on Fromme, I got to thinking – how many days in a row CAN I bike? It seems like most people around here are trying to get in as much as they can these days with all the great weather we’ve been having. Having recently come here from the much colder climate of Edmonton, I’m wondering why people here ride as little as they do. They seem to be as stoked on riding as I am, but maybe they’re just spoiled and don’t realize how lucky they are to be living here.

Since biking and my life seem to be inextricably linked, I don’t think that this challenge will be all that difficult, other than on days where I’m adventuring in the mountains sans bike (i’m still not sure how i’m going to account for those days, or if they’ll have to be gimmes). Regardless, I think that this will be a fun and exciting challenge and will hopefully help me get a little more creative with both my biking and photography. The more I think about it, the more endless the possibilities seem in this city; for skiing, for biking, for photography… everything.

I’m shocked by how awesome it all is, daily.

Nay, I said. Nay.

I will put my infinite knowledge of the inter (and intra) netz to work solving the problem that’s been haunting me since my arrival in this glorious city – although my internets be free, my torrents be not flowing over. Now normally, this is something I would have immediately spent time solving, but as the weather has been ultra delightful since my arrival and the trails a plenty, I’ve been distracted.

Not tonight. No, my friends, not tonight.

I began my quest with an open terminal window in OS X, hoping that by ping’ing a local institute of higher education that I would be given the information for the router that my pipeline to the outside world flows through. Alas, that was not to be. So I sat thinking, trying to remember how I had easily seen the IP address of the routers I’ve connected to in the past.

“A-ha!” I said, “… I love that band.”

System preferences, Airport, Advanced Settings. Of course. Once I had that information, I browsed to the IP address, sure that whoever would leave their wifi completely open and with the original name, would surely not change their password or logon.

Correct. Fate was with me in this endeavor. No gypsy tears would be shed on this night (or at least not so early in the night).

Admin, “”. Advanced settings, Allow All, port 27232, forward to static IP address. Check uTorrent.

No incoming connection allowed. Tears. Gypsy tears.

Back into System Preferences, “Where have my Firewall settings moved to?”, I asked. Security. Of course. What’s this? I can no longer control ports, but have to assume that OS X has the AI to know what ports every app that I allow wants open? For some reason I think that this might be where the problem lies.

Back into Terminal we go – sudo ipfw tcp 27232 to 27232. Port 27232 open. Still nothing in uTorrent. Hmmm. Maybe it just needs to be closed and reopened?

Great success! Green light, 1.1MB/s down and I could care less what the up speed is. 29 albums and 20 minutes later, we’re rockin’ and a rollin’.

Having bought a loft at the end of a bike trail in downtown Edmonton, I promised myself I’d buy a bike and ride to work, at the U, daily. A few weeks ago when the weather turned sugary delightful myself and two friends headed down to the redest bike in town, the legend that is the store Red Bike. We were there for several hours and were treated to good conversation (with each other and staff), good advice, good prices, and exemplary service but perhaps best of all was the classical music pumping through the speakers. I found the bike shop for me.

Thank you Red Bike. It's not the best picture but it's something.

It’s busy but not unfriendly. The music provides background rather than being the centre of attention. There’s enough stock but not too much stock; you can see the forest, and the trees, and they’re both shinny and new (and some old but still shimmering). The staff is knowledgeable but not pushy. I bought everything I needed to ride to and from work daily. I uglied up the bike to make it more useful to me and as a deterrent for thieves. I bought a helmet large enough for my XXL head, had a bell installed, bought silicon blinking lights, and got little British clips to prevent my pants for getting in arguments with the gears.

I’ve been riding for two weeks now and it’s utterly lovely. Mornings can be cold but it feels good. This morning I had to walk and LRT it and though I enjoy both (walking and the LRT) they pail in contrast to the freedom that a bike offers. The way I see it, I have four more months of glorious riding.

So, in the spirit of the new found ethereal nature of this blog, I present to you, haiku.

The wind in my hair.
A track of mud up my back.
Totally worth it.