Touching Green: Week One

I made a commitment to the universe and all its inhabitants to not replace my car for one year after "it goes". I am concerned about my carbon foot print, the load of CO2 I am putting out into the air. As a person who spouts off about the state of our environemental affairs, and believes we all have to do our part, shouldn't I be a person who dares to give up a vehicle? I mean, I am not saying anything big like, "I'm going a year without any vehicle support." or even "I am going a year without a car." I know there will be times I will rent one for a vacation or ride with a friend who is going by. But a commitment, no car replacement, one year. This is officially "Week One":
I had made a commitment earlier in the year to stick with 3 goals this year: job, spiritual growth and work for the health of Mother Earth. So, when I decided I should give up the car, I was thinking that I would be able to have my youngest daughter graduate in May, and then "let the car go". I would simply need to figure out how to manage my schedule in order to navigate those 3 goals with only a bike. I am independent. Self sufficient. Defiant. I can do it! But, as it usually happens with me, things weren't quite so convenient.
My friend John would say, "God stepped in". These are the times I tend to ignore my friend John.
The car decided she was done. Done with me. And done with living. I thought she was clearing her throat as she does when she is about to let me in on some new idea she had for us. But, on Thursday evening, as I pulled into a parking lot for a meeting, the bottom literally fell out: she put on the brakes and kicked back at me, and the scream she made was absorbed as metallic clatter into the bones of my ears, legs, and neck.
I'm not stupid. I couldn't go any further with her if she wasn't willing. I've tried that. It is highly ineffective. I heard--I knew-- our relationship had come to a screeching halt. (Most of mine do, so when everything fell apart, I had the notion to think, "What is that ever-so familar sound?") And even though she was saying, "No more" I was saying my usual, "Just one more try?" thinking and hoping that if I could coax her back home, we could at least wait until morning to discuss this further.
Being ever so mindful to steer us slowly, not to put my foot down , and to ignore how much she was screeching at me, I brought the two of us home. I was cheerful when I arrived, thinking I had accomplished something short of a miracle, when she sat, obstinate, refusing to go any further. "Okay", I said. "You're the boss" knowing darn well she wouldn't want to sit quietly out there in the cold forever.
When I awoke at 5 am, fresh and ready to go, she refused, stuck in the same mindset she had shown the night before. That's okay. I am independent. I can handle this; I will have a day without her. I can do it. Despite her stiffness when I tried to turn the key, much less the wheel, I could not fathom, she had, in fact, died. It wasn't even close to May. Not even close to February.
On November 1st, for the first time in years, I left my car alone. On that day that she gave me a plainitive "No", I pretended I didn't notice and pulled out my Cannondale Road Warrior and rode my bike to work. It is a simple 8 or so mile ride. One turn and then a straight shot. Not too much to worry about there. When I started, it felt a bit chilly and I was glad I wore my windbreaker over my dress shirt and tie. My chest stayed warm throughout the entire ride. By the time I had flown downhill, through the first two miles, my ears hurt. "I'll have to remember a hat under my helmet", I thought. I spent the next mile trying to figure out how I would fit a hat under my helmet.
Then I turned onto the major artery that Indianapolis had specifically built to make it easy for business folk who wanted to live out of town to easily come in to work. That's when the proverbial bike hit the fan. The traffic was heavier than I remember when I drove it. I kept thinking, "Good grief, why is every one coming in to work on the first cold day of the year? And it's Friday?" Maybe they were trying to get to the Sunday Colts-Patriots game early.
There are no such things as bike lanes in Indianapolis. We have the Monon Trail, which is a lovely running/ walking/ biking trail which runs north south through Indianapolis, up through a suburbish villa called Carmel (like car-mul, not car-melle,which would be oddly pretty and exotic sounding). However, the Monon runs in the middle of the city, and if you do not live in the middle of the city it would be foolish to ride it to get somewhere specific. For example, I live on the west side of the city, and I would need to ride some miles out of my way to get on and then some miles back to get off. Meridian Street, which neatly divides the city in half (and serves as the car guzzling artery into the city) is the only street I need. Once I turned south onto Meridian, I need only travel 56 more blocks to end up in front of the door of my work place.
Did I tell you it is dark at 5 am? It is. I was thankful for the NITE RIDE (see ciba.org), which happens every summer in Indianapolis; because I ride that 25 miles through the nighttime of downtown, I am forced to have an annual revamp on a headlight. I am certain if it were not for that, I would have no light. I am not a pansy.
Now it is 5 am, I am cold, traffic is heavy, and it is dark. I turn my headlight to strobe, in order to shock drivers into noticing me. They do. They notice I am in the way. I move over to the right more. I can only go over so far: There are two problems. The first is obvious; I don't want to hit the curb and go sprawling under some SUV from Car-mul. The second is that the right side of the road is full of potholes. They are deep and craggy. I am a little guy. If I fall in I might not get out.
But at least I won't get run over.
I am a problem solver. (That's why I am good at 2 of the 3 goals I have for this year. ) I decided I need to solve the possibility of getting hit. I pulled on to the sidewalk and began riding there. I was a bit frightened, because I could not see well enough to know if there were any pedestrians or folks waiting for the bus, that I might ride into while avoiding the cars. My hope was my strobe light would warn them of me, if not me of them.
However, the potholes on the sidewalk were bigger (and I think deeper) than the ones on the road. They were very difficult to dodge. And my finger tips and thumbs, which were sticking out of my bike gloves, were now hurting in the bones. So, with one hand stuck in my coat pocket at a time, I rotated my hands in my pocket as I dodged potholes, until I could no longer. Then, I was back on the street, pedaling with all of my might survive the traffic and get to my job. Continuously looking behind me for a bus that I could hitch a ride for my bike and me, I thought over and over, "Just get there."
It took me 45 minutes. 25 minutes longer than driving. A hell of a lot colder and more aware of my environment then I have in ages: I needed warmth. I needed to get rid of the sugar low. I needed to sit and mentally regroup. It became very real very quickly what my basics needs really are: I needed my Mommy.
I opened the door to my clinic, and my support staff met me with a greeting gasp. "You rode in on this cold day?" they asked astounded. I couldn't answer. Pounding through my head were these words that continue to haunt me: Maybe I don't have to go a whole year without buying a car...