Walking for Transportation

As gas prices hover at levels I've never seen before in my driving days, I'm finding that I'm more and more interested in finding ways to get around that don't require me to use my car. Several days a week, I drive to a park and ride lot and catch a bus to work, saving me nearly 60 miles a day of driving. I deliberately chose my neighborhood to live in so that I would have the option of walking to stores and restaurants. But the thing is, giving up the car means giving up convenience, and I still struggle with sacrificing ease of use for a cheaper (not to mention more eco-friendly) method of transportation. The reality where I live is that public transportation is not the most efficient way to travel. We rely on buses here, because the funding for high speed rail hasn't garnered enough public support to get off the ground. Buses are okay, but they have to fight the same traffic I do in my own car, plus the schedules don't always make sense when you're trying to get from Point A to Point B. Then there's the functional aspect: if I want to go grocery shopping, for example, it's going to be tough to carry several bags plus cart home a gallon jug or two of milk, and juggle it all on the bus. It's a whole lot easier to just hop in the car, pile it all in, and drive home.

But I've been thinking more lately about whether it's possible to accomplish some of these errands on foot. Probably the biggest obstacle remains, though, how to contend with getting the items I've purchased back to my house. I've been exploring the idea of getting a personal shopping cart, which would help immensely in transporting the merchandise home. If it's a collapsible version, then I can take it on the bus. I've seen a few around town, and they look pretty useful to me. Problem is, does getting one of these make me a bag lady? :-)

Sidewalk Etiquette

It's one of my pet peeves: I'm out enjoying a walk, making my way along the sidewalk, minding my own business, when I see some people approaching. Sometimes it's a married couple or a pair of friends, or occasionally a group out walking together. Soon it becomes clear that there's not enough room on the sidewalk for all of us. Remembering what I learned way back in elementary school, I move to the right, making sure I'm taking up no more than half of the sidewalk. Those coming toward me, however, aren't moving aside. In fact, they continue to take up the entire width of the sidewalk. I think to myself, "It's common courtesy. Surely they'll make room for me in a few seconds." Yet still they come, headed straight toward me, making no sign that they'll allow me to pass. I look around and assess my options. Road to my right - no, that won't work; I'd rather not get hit by a car or bike today. Trees on the left. Nope, that won't work either, unless I'm someone who likes getting a black eye from an oak. I look forward again - why aren't they moving? I make a futile attempt to make eye contact; maybe they don't see me? They glance my way and return to their scintillating conversation. Maybe if I make myself really tiny I can squeeze by? But no, I'm not a miracle worker (and why oh why didn't I lose those last 20 pounds?). Finally, I turn almost sideways, one foot on the curb, and somehow slide by with only a minimum of contact. I manage a semi-civil "hello" as they pass by, and one glances over her shoulder, looking at me as if to say "where did you come from?"

Fortunately it doesn't happen all the time. But it's often enough that I wonder: are these people that oblivious? I'm no physics major, but even I can figure out that people headed toward each other in a limited space are destined for a collision. It's a giant game of chicken, and I'm almost always the one who blinks. Some days, though, either because I'm irritated enough or just too tired to care, I stand my ground. I move over as far as I can, and then I don't move any more. Sometimes, they move at the last minute. Other times, they bump into me (usually with an accompanying glare). But I feel better somehow that I've stood up for myself (it's the small things, I know). But what I really want to know is, do they honestly not see me? Are they so engrossed in conversation that they don't notice me standing right in front of them? Do they really not know what to do? Or am I the only one out there walking whose parents taught her some manners? Maybe I need to start a safety campaign. I'll print up brochures and bumper stickers, and make T-shirts. Come up with a catchy slogan. March on Washington. Today, my sidewalk; tomorrow, the world. Hmm, on second thought, I think I'll keep moving over - and sometimes muttering under my breath. So if you see someone out there walking who looks like she's talking to herself... well, maybe it's merely a friendly walker who's just had one of these encounters of the too-close kind.