I have rides that could be labelled ‘dubious.’ 

But to me, they are the opposite. 

Trustworthy and certain. 

There is no way I could describe the routes in words. 

It would be impossible. 

Nobody would know where I was talking about. 

Nobody would know what I was talking about. 

A drone would lose me. 

Strava would freeze. 

A phone would lose its signal. 

But for me, it is straightforward. 

I know exactly where I am. 

I know exactly where I am going. 

I know exactly what lies ahead. 

Sure, the odd turn here and there. 

Knowing you can get through a few ‘dead-ends.’ 

Going right instead of left. 

Turning at the top of a hill. 

Going through an industrial park. 

Riding in between two houses. 

A little gravel. 

A dirt road. 

Beautiful, fresh pavement. 

I never initially set out for the route to be like this. 

But this is the route it has become. 

Anyone riding with me would say we were lost. 

But I am not. 

I know exactly where I am going. 

Nobody else does it this way. 

But this is the way I did it the first time. 

And that first time was a great ride. 

Why fool with it? 

I have done it countless times now. 

It is locked in my head. 

The right at the house with the blue curtains. 

The left at the barn with the red roof. 

Go straight at the intersection with the bent Yield sign. 

Ride past the kids playing hockey. 

…And a stop at the best-stocked Depanneur outside of Montreal. 

‘Lost in Translation’ 

Insert radar screen emoji here. 

‘There is another way to ride.’