All I want for Christmas is an AAA bike lane.

Not a latte with extra foam (although… um… yes please). Not a new scarf. Not even one of those wildly optimistic day planners’ notebooks that promise clarity and work-life balance in the same week. What I want are All Ages and Abilities bike lanes—ones that actually live up to the name—stretching the options my family can use every single day.

I say this as an oft-burgled bike owner, a parent of three kids, with a carless household by choice (and by pocketbook). We are deeply invested in low-carbon living, but more than that, we are invested in getting everyone where they need to go alive, upright, and in reasonably good spirits.

Shopping, at least, is easy. We’re one block from Vancouver’s famed Commercial Drive, which means I can do nearly everything on foot or by bike. I own what may be the sturdiest grocery cart in East Van. At this time of year, I am essentially strength-training in public—hauling frozen turkeys, sacks of potatoes, and the occasional ill-advised eggnog-to-be-spiked along and up the many steps that separate our house from the street. My back muscles are thriving. My carbon footprint is modest (or at least “modest-er”). It’s all worth it.

What feels less festive is the thought of putting my kids on bikes in the cold, dark, rainy months of winter and sending them onto routes that technically qualify as bike routes, but only if your definition of “safe” includes “good luck out there.”

Painted lines are not protection. Sharrows and shared streets are not infrastructure. And asking children—or seniors, or new riders, or frankly anyone who isn’t feeling invincible that day—to mix it up with fast, heavy traffic is not what AAA was supposed to mean.

AAA bike lanes are the difference between cycling being a niche activity for the bold and becoming a normal, everyday way families move through the city. They are wide, physically separated, intuitively designed, and boring in the best possible way. They don’t require courage. They don’t demand vigilance bordering on paranoia. They simply let you get from school to work to play without your heart rate spiking for all the wrong reasons.

When those lanes don’t exist, I feel… grinchy. Which is a tendency I actively try to resist, especially at this time of year. I don’t want to be the parent who says no to independence, no to biking, no to the freedom that cities promise when they are working well for us. I want to be the parent who says yes—to mobility, to confidence, to kids learning that the city belongs to them too.

But it’s hard not to feel like the villain when the choice is between safety and sustainability (and, well, quite a lot of walking in the rain). When the message seems to be: We support cycling, as long as you’re brave enough. When the infrastructure whispers, This is really designed for cars—but you’re welcome to try.

The thing is, AAA bike lanes aren’t a luxury item. They’re not decorative tinsel (remember the 70s?) on a transportation system that already works. They are core civic infrastructure, as fundamental as sidewalks or streetlights. How we make climate-friendly choices realistic, not heroic. 

So yes, this December I’ll keep hauling groceries uphill. I’ll keep locking my e-bike like it’s a priceless artifact. (P.S., it is). I’ll keep choosing low-carbon routes whenever they are available and safe.

But if I could unwrap just one thing this Christmas, it would be a city that finishes the job—creating a connected network of true AAA bike lanes like the gorgeous ones that run through Downtown Vancouver; that lets families ride without fear, guilt, or grinchiness.

Because the best gift a city can give its residents isn’t more encouragement.

It’s infrastructure that works to make us and our loved ones safe.