Calgary Biker

There comes a time in every Calgary motorcyclist’s season when you need to start thinking about putting your favourite thing away for the winter – or, for Calgarians, First Winter™. It’s never something I look forward to, but these are the realities of being a Calgary Biker.

At least I’m not a Toronto Biker. Poor souls. They actually have seasons that mean something. Winter lasts, like, all winter. Their upside is also their downside: they have seasons. Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter all in equal measure. Mostly.

So as First Winter looms in Calgary, I’m encouraged and not just a little excited that First Winter will bring First Spring, then Second Winter, which will be sad, but Second Spring will follow. Which is when you’ll see me back on my bike, Christmas shopping in early December.

What the hell are you talking about, Dargie?!? Did you drop your bike on your head?

Not even once, I reply. Calgary sits in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains in Alberta, and we get a quaint and chaotic weather system called a “Chinook.” Chinooks are warm, dry winds that sweep down the eastern slopes of the Rockies, causing a dramatic cloud formation called a Chinook Arch and an equally dramatic rise in temperature. Personally, I have seen a swing of at least 50ºC in an afternoon, from -30ºC to +25ºC.

How much snow was there first determines the level of mucky chaos, followed by a commensurate number of people lying on the ground, dangling off bridge abutments, folded over bus benches, or crawling through the aisles of every local pharmacy looking for Advil to combat their latest and greatest pet migraine.

The cause of Chinook-induced migraines is hotly debated. Some will argue it’s a barometric change so dramatic the mob could use it to crush cars and unalive enemies. Some will say it’s the “fucking wind, jesus, what the – was that a CTRAIN blowing down the street like a fucking tumbleweed?” as they rub dirt from their eyes and dodge city transit, only to get smacked in the head by an eastbound magpie trying desperately to get to its westside nest. I have seen magpies trying to walk to their nests, one feathered wing braced in front of their beaks, hopping half-sideways, only to be swept up in the latest gust and sent pell-mell into any number of Calgarians just trying to survive Third Spring.

I don’t just wear a helmet because it’s the law when riding motorcycles. Sometimes I wear it during a Chinook when I need to get to the pharmacy un-concussed by bird strikes.