This Monday, I got up early and went for a short bike ride before work.

I managed to hit every single traffic signal I went through on a red light. My bike seat is in need of adjustment. One of the derailleurs is sticking and needs a drop of oil. Oh, and a driver looked directly at me as I signalled a left turn, then tried to drive through me.

It was still a good ride.

There are levels to being an 鈥渁vid鈥� cyclist. I鈥檓 somewhere in the middle. I鈥檓 definitely not one of the super-fit guys zipping about in matching cycling club jerseys, racking up a couple of hundred kilometres a week, training for some regional race.

On the other hand, neither do I let my bike gather cobwebs in my condo鈥檚 storage locker. Lately, I鈥檝e been managing to get out two to three times a week pretty reliably. My rides are mostly short, but I tackle some good-sized hills. I may climb them slowly, but I get to the top.

I got started on this year鈥檚 riding late, after being sick through much of April 鈥� riding isn鈥檛 much fun when you鈥檙e hacking up a lung.

Then when we got our miniature heat wave in May, I decided I had to change my routine.

It鈥檚 been years since I鈥檝e ridden in the mornings before work, sticking mostly to weekends and the odd post-work spin around the neighbourhood.

But it鈥檚 a lot nicer to ride when it鈥檚 15掳 Celsius than when it鈥檚 32掳. So I set my alarm to get me up earlier.

It was a great decision.

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For many, cycling is a group activity, and I鈥檝e done a number of group rides. It was taking part as the media rider in the Cops for Cancer Tour de Valley way back in 2010 that got me into cycling in the first place.

But for the most part, my schedule doesn鈥檛 mesh with others, and my relatively low average speed even less so. Which means I am mostly a solitary cyclist.

But some rides are best savoured alone.

A morning ride, especially looping out by the Fraser River, when there鈥檚 still mist hanging in the air and dew on the fields, is a great way to start any day.

Once you get out of the urban areas, where the early commuters are already busy, the rural roads are quiet and almost empty. You spot more squirrels and rabbits than trucks on some stretches.

For long stretches of time, the only sound is the whir of the pedals and chain, the hiss of your tires on the asphalt, and the birds.

One of the worst things about living this far north is that in the winter, cycling becomes dangerous, not because of snow or ice, but because it鈥檚 dark until just before work starts, dark before it ends. No amount of reflective fabric and LED bike lights are going to make riding through traffic comfortable for me at 4:30 p.m. in December. (Please build more separated bike lanes!)

But in the summer, we get the glorious opposite.

Next Wednesday, June 21, is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. I鈥檓 hoping to go for an early post-dawn ride. It鈥檚 the best way I know of to welcome in the summer.