People walking, running or cycling early Sunday mornings are typically very friendly. Exercise in the coolness of the morning with the brightness of sun and blue sky seems to lend itself to feeling good and whole, and there is a trust in others that comes from sharing an experience that affords ready smiles and good morning greetings.

I enjoy riding my recumbent bike down the multi-use trails. I sit up on the bike so I can easily make eye contact with the people that I meet and they often are already looking at me, noticing my bike. They often comment by saying “nice bike” or something similarly positive.

Kids say, “cool bike” or “sweet bike.” I have often been stopped and asked questions about my recumbent, like is it hard to ride, how it is on hills, and did I build it myself? It has led to “getting acquainted” conversations with people who I sometimes encounter again on the trail. The greetings take on more familiarity.

There have been interesting exceptions. There are the people who are ambulating along with earphones that are totally out of touch with their surroundings and engrossed with the tunes they are hearing.

There are the skate boarders who are well advised not to look up with morning greetings as they go zooming precariously down the grades.

There are the elite cyclists with the “lean” look on their face that flash by without any particular sign of noticing anyone else on the trail other than to consider them slow moving obstacles. They do not seem to be in the spirit of “sharing the trail” or the morning experience for that matter.

Several world-class cyclists competing in the Triathlon World Championships here in Edmonton once passed me. One man looked down at me and commented that my recumbent looked like a “poorly repaired bike wreck.”

Obviously all the parts are not where they should be compared to his very high performance-racing bike and he deemed it necessary to tell me so. I suppose it was some kind of social interaction.

Like the time a fellow pulled up beside me on his mountain bike. He asked why I was riding “something like that” in a challenging tone of voice. I commented about the comfort of the bike hoping that would satisfy his lack of curiousity and he would be off, leaving me to continue enjoying my ride.

He did not want to let it go. He said in no uncertain terms that bike manufacturers “should leave good enough alone” apparently referring to what he was riding. I could see he was working up a major judgmental head of steam. I made a sharp impromptu turn on to another trail and left him to continue his rant as his voice faded into the distance.

I have been asked other questions lacking in curiousity and interest like, “What is that contraption?” and “Are you crippled?” I often wonder about those people and their level of tolerance and inclusion for anything they do not understand or that is out of their experience.

Or that simply do not live up to their level of arrogance. I remember skiing at Sunshine Village near of Banff many years ago. I am not an avid skier. Buying my own ski equipment never seemed worth it. I could rent equipment much more cheaply.

I also did not have fashionable ski wear. So imagine me on the slope in a bulky toque, Pillsbury Doughboy down jacket, heavy mitts, and blue jeans with obviously rental skis, boots and poles. I guess “ski nerd” might be fitting, but what did I care.

There was a line up at the chair lift. The customary thing is to call out “single” as an invitation to any others skiing alone to ride up together rather than wasting the space by riding alone.

A man fitting the description of “hot dog” was at the front of the line in his full regalia of expensive ski gear and matching fashion statement. I am sure he passed no full-length mirrors or ponds of calm clear water unnoticed.

In a booming voice sure to attract attention to himself, he yelled a commanding “SINGLE”. Me, who was skiing alone, and being a responsible citizen and wanting to follow the rules of the slope, immediately replied, “single here,” before anyone else.

The hot dog was not expecting me to be his traveling companion up the hill. Not with the number of fashionable and attractive young women in the line.

I started poling towards him. He gave me a look of total contempt as he scanned me from toque to skis. I almost laughed. I could imagine his anxiety over the prospect of being seen with someone who was hardly the perfect image of a skier he was determined to portray.

I felt a little sorry for him, as he turned abruptly, hopped on an empty chair, and rode up alone. Clearly, he had not yelled “single” out of a desire to be a responsible citizen following the rules of the slope.

I ended up riding with a couple of friendly young women who apparently thought someone in such humble attire must be quite harmless and certainly not trying to impress them. I could see the “hot dog” hurriedly swooshing down the hill, probably in hopes of better luck next time.

There is something refreshing about sharing that Sunday morning experience with other people who make it no more than it needs to be. Just exercise, fresh air, a friendly and inclusiveness attitude.