News

Get the Flash Player to hear this audio.

Click here to download and listen to the podcast later (right-click and choose "save target as").

Listen to more Facts & Arguments podcasts .

The other day, my sister tried to kill me.

She'll deny it, of course, and I'm not completely sure the accusation is warranted.

But I have my suspicions.

I hadn't seen much of her all summer. Growing up, we engaged in the nuclear war version of sibling rivalry, but adulthood and maturity had mellowed us into a comfortable détente. I was pleased to get a recent e-mail suggesting we share a bike ride.

It began with the helmet. She strapped one on to her noggin and, to be fair, offered her husband's helmet to me. I declined.

She never uttered a word of protest that I was foolish to ride without a helmet. I thought later that a big sister looking out for my welfare should have tried to coax me into wearing one. She was just a little too eager to see me set out unprotected.

Perhaps I'd better clarify what I understand as a "bike ride." To me, it means perching on a comfy seat and engaging in the two-wheel version of strolling. Maybe we would see the odd chickadee fly across our path. The scents of the flowers would waft toward us as we drifted onward at a leisurely, Jane-Austen-like pace.

My sister is an outdoors person. She enjoys rafting in whitewater, skiing and hiking in the mountains with bear bells. In her case, the bells serve to protect the bears.

I knew going in to the ride that I would be pushed to the limit. But I felt ready. In the past month I had made some lifestyle changes designed to improve my level of fitness — cutting back to half a pack of cigarettes a day, refusing to supersize meals. That's how low my level of fitness had sunk.

Anticipating I might not be able to keep up, I had e-mailed my sister a couple of conditions. The first was "no hills." The second — like in the movie Fight Club — was a reminder not to forget the first rule.

I ate watermelon for breakfast. I had cunningly arranged for our bike ride to begin around noon. This would allow me to arrive on time for lunch and fuel up for the excursion. Or, failing that, the dining hour would allow for an excuse to stop along the way — barbecue chicken in lieu of more biking.

We pedalled and pedalled and, when relief was in sight, pedalled some more. At what I assumed would be the turnaround point, we dismounted for what I thought would be the lunch break. Not a chance. There was a lightly used uphill trail through the woods that just had to be explored.

I made it a few hundred metres before I had to give up and suggest we head back. I thought dying at her house would be more pleasant and less likely to result in bugs crawling all over my spasming body.

My sister has been happily married for many years. I've come to see her children's survival as a function of their youth and general good health. I have no idea how her husband remains alive, though. The man must have unnoticed superpowers because, from all accounts, he matches her step for step — hiking, rafting, even biking through Calgary's Bowness Park.

There were other signs along the way of homicidal intent. She suggested we go rafting at some point in the near future. I remarked the waters were high and the currents unpredictable. She shrugged that off. I can see now she may have been laying the groundwork for a second attempt on my life should the biking not result in the coronary as scripted.

As we cycled, my sister was nothing but friendly, cordial and enjoyable. We spoke of many things.

I normally offer little information in conversations, a hazard of being a lawyer and knowing that everything comes back to haunt you at some point. But talking during this bike ride was akin to a deathbed confession. I wasn't certain I would have the opportunity to speak again. So I figured it would be best to entrust her with all my latest news and feelings so she would have material from which to draw upon for my eulogy.

I survived navy boot camp 14 years ago. I remember feeling less exhausted after my first day in that organized and concentrated hell than I did on returning from this ride. As we neared her home, we encountered a hill near Canada Olympic Park that should have come with its own Sherpa. I had no choice but to walk the bike up the hill, huffing and puffing but wholly unable to blow anyone's house down.

As I had survived the day, she suggested we do it again the following week.

I accepted. Despite the threat of death, I couldn't let her see me give up and roll pathetically away — beaten, tired and hyperventilating.

Like wine, sibling rivalry only gets better with age.

Gavin MacFadyen splits his time between Calgary and Jamestown, N.Y.

Illustration by >Jeff Jackson .