Cyclists on Robson St. Photo by cabbit via Flickr.

As Vancouver's City Hall proposes another separated bike lane, this time on Hornby Street which currently has just a regular bike lane, the usual bike vs. car debate fires up again. I don't see it as a choice of one over the other; we all have to get along. But as a cycling advocate and addict (and the daughter of another — I like to joke that my father was practically born on two wheels), I'd like to share some ways in which bikes make our city a better place, without getting too much into the anti-car realm here. Certainly thinking of these benefits makes me even more resistant to ever using my driver's license for its primary purpose. The last time I used it was to hand it over so I could test ride a bike!

Please feel free to add your own in the comments.

1. Bikes are the ultimate zero-emission vehicle.

I think we all understand that clean air is vital. Cycling contributes to cleaner air by taking pollution-emitting vehicles off the road. Having fewer cars on the road results in less traffic congestion, which should in turn reduce pollution further. Because bikes require no fossil fuels to operate (let's not get into a debate over what fuels the human because everyone eats regardless of their mode), there is reduced strain on our non-renewable resources. We all know oil extraction has catastrophic environmental impacts even without oil spills.

Bikes are extremely efficient and use less materials. On the other hand, "These 1,300-kilogram metal boxes carry on average one-and-a-half people, approximately 130 kilos — a mere 10 per cent of the vehicle’s weight" (Yves Engler, The Mark) and require 1,860 calories per mile, compared to 35 for a bicycle, according to the WorldWatch Institute.

2. Bikes take up less space.

Whether they're parked in an apartment or on the street, riding on the road or a trail, bikes require less physical space than cars. And when you have more space available, this makes room for more useful and pleasant aspects of a city: restaurant patios, parks, street food, community gardens, street performers, art installations, and so on. A parking space is private space, not public, when a car is on it.

I realised when I left Pecha Kucha (at the gorgeously renovated Queen Elizabeth Theatre), in a hurry to catch my 10:20 bus, that I don't have enough conversations with people about sustainability. I attend events where the hundreds or thousands of people in the room/theatre all have a common interest, yet I go there to absorb information, chat with friends and promptly leave. I can't blame all of that on living in the suburbs with a typically once-per-half-hour bus. But ultimately the result is that the information I gleaned and my opinions remain for the most part locked in my head and I lose the opportunity to learn from others in my community. (And Vancouver being a small city nurses an intimate though often disconnected one.)

Dialogue takes place frequently online, but in my experience it tends to be short and superficial and, while offering participation theoretically to anyone, the reality is that many voices are left out even within our own city. That's where dialogue in person can facilitate those deeper connections that might not otherwise be made. It also lets us communicate visually. (And with that, check out RangiChangi Roots.) An event like Pecha Kucha is available to anyone with $10 and a couple hours to spare. It won't reach everyone, but advertising in offline and particularly free media such as the Georgia Straight (I'm not sure whether it made it to street poles) pushes its reach outside of the—to some degree—exclusive online world. Over 2000 people attended Wednesday's event, a specially-themed "Walk the Talk, Green Your City", which is terrifically encouraging.

It's the day after Earth Day and I'm on my favourite North Shore bus route. Lined by trees most of the way, including a park ravaged in the windstorm of a few years ago and a protected habitat area with beautiful deciduous trees, the two-lane Dollarton Highway can feel like a backcountry road. Certainly in the rear view mirror of my bicycle it can make me pretend I'm somewhere else.

The road was realigned and widened years ago, and I still remember the disappointment and shock I felt in staring at this huge, ugly, wrecked swath where they had pummeled through what I can only assume was old-growth forest. I had forgotten the image until a reminder came today.

Developers have been clear-cutting small chunks at a time to build two-story business operations. They're not the ugliest buildings in the world and they did a fine job of either keeping perimeter trees or replanting, which is more than I can say for most areas. It's a beautiful road, even, as roads go with its remaining forests. I know one treed part is doomed as it has a Colliers sign on it while the trees are still standing. Today I'm distracted by writing a different blog post on my iPod. In my peripheral vision, something has changed. Massive trees and mangled branches are heaped on bare ground where a magnificent, dense group of conifers had stood untouched for decades. My heart cracks open and a knot grips my throat. I'm paralysed for a moment by an aching sadness that becomes a desire to vomit as I pass existing cleared blocks and those currently spared, beautifully lush but damaged. I am overcome; my lower lip quivers and I wonder if anyone else has noticed the abrupt change and felt similarly.

Where we have something so irreplaceable, and that defines space so dominantly, I can't grasp why we destroy it for a mere two-story building, parking lots, a gas station, a puny Tim Hortons drive-thru. We ignore opportunities to decrease our buildings' footprints by building them compact to begin with or replacing old single-story ones with multi-story. There's no shortage of this activity with houses in older neighbourhoods, so why do we treat our commercial spaces differently? Why are these formerly forested areas being developed now? Does anybody give a damn?

A day before the official first day of spring, my friend and I sat down on a Coal Harbour bench after a refreshing, sunlit bike ride around the seawall. He pulled out a sketchbook and pen and started sketching out as many sights as possible, as quickly as possible. That strategy, while energizing and capable of branding more visual memories, is not one I frequently employ. In fact, I hadn't done any kind of artistic sketching for months — not since the fall when my visiting nieces, who are nuts about drawing, inspired participation. So when he tore a sheet from his sketchbook and handed it to me with a pen and a book for my lap, I felt a blushing hesitation, a brief resistance. An unfamiliarity with the drawing tool. Overcome that I was left just with deciding what to draw.

There was a large holly with yellow berries just ahead of me that provided the detail to which I'm addicted. I like to draw subjects as close to their form as possible, so botanical drawings are quite ideal, providing intricate and random shapes. I had forgotten this pleasure, as I had forgotten how much I enjoy capturing light and shadow (as much as I do looking at it). It took me a minute to get back into the swing of it, to have some patience and see it as a relaxing exercise with a tangible outcome. It's so easy to just take photographs and yet if I remember anything vividly it's the image of that holly, in full colour, not the pansies and daffodils I photographed two days later. That sure makes one think about the media we use to write memories.

Digital scan converted to greyscale from original blue ink.

Photo by Szymon Surma via Flickr.

The colour-themed window display changed from blue to a startling black. This was no longer the time for a cheery yellow, or a come hither violet which announced itself in beautifully intricate illustrations. No, it was a display that suggested mourning: Kitsilano's Duthie Books is closing at the end of February.

It is my daily dose of design inspiration on my way to work. The highlight of my short walk after a long bus ride. The surprise, the freshness — what will they think up next? or ooh, they are incredibly clever/thoughtful/creative! and gosh, that must be fun! (Perhaps I'll take a page from their book — no pun intended — and rearrange my own every so often. But I will need more first.) I have enjoyed it day after day for over a year. I have even sometimes wondered if others watch me staring at the covers intently and ask themselves what could be so fascinating. And, as if they knew who was walking by twice a day, the staff put up design books one week and I felt giddy. I cannot think of anywhere else that has helped me discover so many interesting book covers — and potential reads. Design love aside, however, the rotating display is a highlight for many of my colleagues who are as heartbroken as I am to see it go.

I could write about how fantastic last year was for me... or I could just show you. Through my lens, last year looked, and felt, like this.

January

In January, I wrote about what I missed when I did not bring my camera, accompanied by photos taken the next day when I did. Of course, the scenery was altogether different, but no less remarkable. There was still evidence of the bewildering snowfall that lingered an unusually long time.

February must have been particularly grim as I only have blurry shots of a crescent moon riding beneath a star or planet.

March

If you're reading this you might be as last-minute with your holiday shopping as I tend to be. Admittedly my post itself is last-minute. I've done half my shopping and, this year, with each item I've put more thought than ever into what effect each will have on this finite planet. If you're the kind of giver that prefers to give an item rather than an experience, make it meaningful not just as a useful object but as one with the smallest environmental impact possible.

Before I tell you how easy it is to be eco-conscious at Christmas, you might want to know why you should:

• according to Statistics Canada, 900,000 tonnes of garbage is produced between Thanksgiving and Christmas each year
• transportion of gifts that are produced a great distance away, whether it's Califonia or China, emits greenhouse gases that pollute our air and contribute to climate change
• logging of old-growth forests to produce "virgin" paper products releases CO2 into the atmosphere and threatens animal habitat (think of the caribou and the owls!)
• conventional plastic is a petroleum-based product, which carries a triple-threat carbon footprint
• it takes resources and produces waste to make something new and to recycle or dispose of it at the end of its life cycle (which, these days, is often pretty short!)
• that regiftable stuff is better off loved by someone else than being a guilt trip in your closet for you or your kids!
• buying local supports the local economy and friends of your friends
• and more environmental, ethical and health-related reasons...

Ok, I get it. I'll be good this year. How easy is it?

Got a bookstore nearby? A Choices/Capers/Whole Foods? MEC? Independent coffee shop? Granville Island? Main St or Commercial Drive? You can make smart choices anywhere — that includes IKEA. I did not have to go out of my way to get smart gifts for my family. A bit of thoughtfulness and planning is all it takes. And do I ever feel good about it!

Here are some suggestions and tips!