I was really looking forward to my dentist appointment. The adjustment to my nightguard would be pain-free; but more importantly, I would enjoy a long ride across town on one of the city’s traffic-calmed commuter bike routes to get there. I hadn’t done a good spin on it since before I’d left for India a year ago. When I returned, I worked from home and – you’ll only hear this from a cyclist – I no longer commuted as much as I wished. I was curious: had traffic changed while I was away?

I set out in golden autumn air that shimmered off storefronts selling felt hats and pumpkin spice lattes. One foot on the road, one foot on my pedal, I waited for a green light at a busy intersection. A coal-gray Pathfinder pulled up along side me at the white line.

“Hey, hello,” called the burly driver across his girlfriend in the passenger seat. I peered into the open window of the SUV, not quite sure what to expect.

“Just so you know...” he motioned to the roadway on the other side of the intersection, “I’m going to pull up ahead of you when the light turns green, okay?” He smiled, and I gave him a thumbs up and grinned back.

I coasted down to where the road intersected my turnoff, made a little manoeuvre to switch roads and this time waited for a green light with a fellow cyclist. She wore a white blouse, brown skirt and a white helmet. We both pushed down on our pedals when the light turned green, and she flashed me a smile and said, “Beautiful day for a bike ride, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!” I called after her, “A perfect bike day!”

I continued pedaling westwards and slowed at a four-way stop to check for traffic. A fellow on a department-store bike blew past, noodled a wobbly track stand and creaked on. Others pedaled behind him as if the stop sign and intersection didn’t exist.

I joined a clump of cyclists and winced as they turned without signaling, drifted the wrong way around traffic islands, and ran red lights. Some rode too close to slamming car doors, and others skimmed past pedestrians on zebra crosswalks. A woman rode by in the opposite direction, her helmet on backwards. A man thundered through a hospital zone in his highest gear.

The road sloped downwards, and I came to a stop behind a silver sedan at an intersection. It had nosed past the stop sign and now rested on top of the pedestrian crossing. A woman with a white cane waited patiently on the corner then – not hearing the car move – called out, “Thanks for giving me the right of way!”

Sunlight streamed through hand-wide maple leaves, and the street was quiet except for the creak of a dry chain and the chirp of a pedestrian crossing signal.

I leaned around another traffic circle and watched a small-framed woman step off the curb. She held a street map in front of her as she walked into the middle of the residential roadway. She paused without looking up and I steered wide to her right. Then she whirled around and started back to the curb.