First, I am ok.
Second, I’m going to share an interaction with a man who spoke to me while I was on a solo ride. End of story. Nothing graphic or physical happened.
So read on if you feel ok about it and please do scroll on by if you don’t feel ok reading my story.
It’s last Saturday, I’m out for a 20 km solo ride in town. The weather is amenable. I was looking to build an easy loop I can repeat during the week.
I leave my home and head up to Cheapside. It’s a great way out of town in my corner of London. Light traffic and a cycling lane makes it feel luxurious. I hang a right onto the road of many names Sanford/Second/Fanshawe College Blvd/Saskatchewan? It really changes names too much.
This road is sinusoidal, gently wandering south with a bike lane. I love it.
As I cruise along I see pylons at Oxford Street. Maybe a detour?
My route was blocked by a fence, equipment and a very large hole. Huh.
I pull over to the sidewalk and assess my options. I’d really just gotten going and didn’t want to turn around. Oxford Street was compressed to one lane with fences and heavy traffic. Neither east nor west were options.
I then see on the east side of the intersection there is a temporary pedestrian crossing that takes you past the construction. I could make this work!
I walked my bike over Oxford, through the fencing following the path and get back onto the original road. VICTORY!
I gave myself a little pep talk as I got back on my bike. As I was about to roll a man called out to me asking if he could talk to me.
He approached me friendly and smiling. He looked about my age. He asked if we could be friends. His accent told me he had lived in other places than London, Ontario so I chalked up the unusual approach as a cultural difference.
I said I was a friendly person and then he asked for my phone number. He stopped an arms length from me and eyed my ring finger, watch and phone mounted on my bike. His hands were behind his back. He smiled reassuringly.
I put my foot on my pedal and declined to give him my number.
He asked if we could go on a date. I said no. He asked if I was married and checked my hand again. I said I was happily married and then pedaled off.
It was weird and off putting. I didn’t feel safe. I was so distracted I missed my turn to catch the bike path and ended up riding west on Wavel.
I was kind of lost but just went with it. I got to Eggerton and remembered if I took it south I could catch the bike path at the bridge.
I eventually ended up in a morass of construction at Wellington St where an older cyclist was shaking his head.
“This may be done in five to ten years!”
I laughed. It did seem like it’s been this way for a long time. I wished him luck as I decided to find my way to Colborne and head home.
I debated sharing this story. I scoff when people ask if I feel safe riding/running/walking on my own. I do. But I’m annoyed that this particular hazard is gendered.
Michel and I spoke about this. We’ve both had moments where people eye our bikes or look like they are angling to cause a ruckus. But he’s never been hit on.
I am kicking myself for being polite and kind. It’s a strategy that can cut both ways. I won’t use it again.
I honestly think I could have handled myself had he gotten closer. I’m 280 lbs of fuck right the fuck off.
He may have been after my phone or my bike. Or me? I remember he told me I was beautiful.
It’s been a rough couple of weeks on the mental health front. I did not need this interaction.
I told Michel about it when I got home. I felt silly not feeling safe. On the surface it was simply an awkward interaction at a moment when I was navigating a cycling route. Michel told me to trust my instincts.
This is the shit that discourages women participating in sport. So my message is not to stay home. And it’s not to expect predators at every turn. It is about recognizing when a situation doesn’t feel right and trusting yourself.
So I will keep riding solo but I won’t be entertaining any conversation from passersby.
