**Last year, when I was 81 **years old, I bought an e-bike. I had no clue that it would open me up to scorn from across the country. There’s a steep road that I often travel in the Gatineau Hills, leading to a lookout. I thought that my biking days on this road were over, but last fall, when the leaves were in full colour, I rode there once again on my e-bike. Lots of cyclists were present, decked out in lycra shorts and colourful jerseys. When I ventured among them, their noses turned skyward. I was clearly being shunned.

It comes down to a turf war. Since the days of the horse and buggy, people have competed for use of roads, particularly in urban centres. Everyone is trying to get somewhere in a hurry. Paths get crossed, toes get stepped on, fights break out and positions harden. Lawyers are getting involved—another sure sign of trouble. Toronto, especially, is in a tizzy over e-bikes; several hospitals are reporting a spike in e-bike-related injuries. The city even took out ads on billboards this summer, trying to get everyone on the roads to behave and co-exist. Out west, in Banff and Jasper, hikers and mountain-biker types are angry that e-bikes are permitted onto the sacred trails that, until recently, they only shared with grizzly bears and lesser four-legged creatures. When Parks Canada opened up the trails, they received a slew of angry emails, complaining that they were making the trails too accessible.

I biked the traditional way for almost 60 years. I toured the Gatineau Hills on my mountain bike took weeks-long bike trips to the east coast with my wife.* *In 2000, we rode from Ottawa to Halifax, averaging 100 kilometres a day for two weeks, all our gear strapped to our bikes in pannier bags. For years, I commuted back and forth to my office in downtown Ottawa. Even in inclement weather, I got there feeling better, and on the way home, I left my work troubles on the road.

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Age is a funny thing. It sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention, and one day you wake up and you’re old. Biking becomes difficult, and the fire that burns in your internal combustion engine becomes an ember. There was a time when, if someone passed me on a ride, I would dig deep and give chase. As I entered my eighties, I stopped doing that. I took the time to admire the sunflowers in the fields, and I looked forward to the bench by the river. I did the biking part to get to the bench part. The going got tougher and tougher. The wind was stronger, the hills seemed larger, and more and more I found myself saying, “Not today.” The bike sat in the garage, gathering dust.

Last year, my wife and I vacationed in Amsterdam for our 50th wedding anniversary. We rented bicycles to see the town, and I was blown away by how great it felt to ride a Dutch-style bike. It had a comfortable seat, an upright sitting position and a step-through frame. (I don’t know if old dogs have difficulty at fire hydrants, but I can tell you that old men have trouble lifting their legs over bicycle bars.) It was my most comfortable bike ride in years. The brand was Gazelle, a century-old Dutch company—and they also made e-bikes. The seed took root, and when I got home I scoured the ads for an electronic version of my new favourite bicycle. On Facebook Marketplace, I found what I was looking for. The seller told me he was 81 and not using it anymore. I told him I was 81 and maybe I would.

My test drive was an extraordinary experience. When I pedalled, it was like I’d miraculously grown Lance Armstrong’s legs. I found a hill, biked to the top and, in that moment, the fire was back—or at least it felt that way. This was in July of 2024. Sixteen months and 8,000 kilometres later, I love my e-bike. Most of my round-trips these days aren’t much more than 50 or 60 kilometres, but the battery range would let me do 100 if I wanted to. I bike in a rural setting, beyond the city limits of Ottawa. It’s beautiful, quiet and pastoral and, when I compare this experience to the hectic life of city biking, I realize how lucky I am. I have time to enjoy the sights, think about things, let my mind wander. Before you know it, I’ve solved most of the world’s problems (I hope Prime Minister Carney is a biker).

I’m not sure I’d feel the same if I lived in the city. This summer, my wife and I cycled into Ottawa via a series of trails and bike lanes, something I wouldn’t have been able to do without an e-bike. Perhaps it was just an old-age thing, and my younger self could have easily handled it, but the experience was unsettling. I felt like the country mouse out of his element. There was no time for daydreaming downtown. Intersections were chaotic, and even in the bike lanes and paths, I needed to be fully alert to the array of people zipping by: joggers, rollerbladers, scooters and so-called e-bikes of all description. It was not any one thing that bothered me the most, but rather too many things.

Ironically, after that experience, I found myself agreeing with some of the arguments levelled against e-bikes. Cycling, whether electronically or the traditional way, should be a form of exercise. In Ottawa, I saw folks zipping around on scooters and bikes with throttles requiring no pedalling at all. That bothered me—particularly the mopeds that seem to be more motorcycle than bicycle. And they moved fast. Too fast. Some degree of regulation will have to eventually sort these things out.

But the fact remains that I love biking. It’s a physical and mental pleasure that I want to enjoy as long as I am able. I’m lucky my e-bike has allowed me a few more years.