I'm biking to the grocery these days, having learned a route that's both pleasant and safe to ride. Really I'm delighted with it. It runs along a wide and surprisingly lightly traveled residential street, lined with beautiful trees, which pass by in a tall luscious green blur; and past the water tower, which I'm fond of just because I like to think about all that water sitting way up there like a brain that thinks only about water; and past a playground where on a summer's day there are always kids enjoying themselves, running around, climbing, tagging each other, and sliding--otters at heart, I call them, when they're sliding on their slides. There's no exertion to speak of on these grocery trips; the road is all smooth and level. Oh there are a few odd twists and turns, and once in awhile for the sake of safety the route runs in a direction antithetical to the crow's flight; but hey after something like ten calm minutes of pedaling you're there at the Town and Country, ready to buy your comestibles and load up the bike-baskets with them. Sweet and sour. Fruit and milk. Time to get back to Sunnyside.
Why am I so happy to have found the route? Well first of all, I just like to ride my bike. It's painted twilight blue, and it just feels good to ride it--to feel the wind and sun, and to move with that beautiful balanced effortlessness that's the elemental enjoyment of cycling. On a bike, you can feel as balanced and coordinated as a gymnast, without having to be a gymnast. You can feel as weightless and wind-addicted as a bird, without having to be a bird. Then of course there are the political and environmental advantages: the kick you can get out of minor rebellion against the petro-surveillance state, of leaving the car in the garage and yet accomplishing your errands with some semblance of efficiency.
But now I have a confession to make: I didn't find the route on my own. I wasn't even looking for it anymore. My son Soren has the household patent on it, because he used to ride a route similar to it to school and realized that, with a little alteration, it could serve as a route to our grocery too. He noted it all down on a piece of scrap paper for my wife, and she introduced me to the scrap paper, and she and I took our bikes out and followed the directions together, translating them from lines and words on the paper into real movement on the streets of the city. Only then--only after all that--would I believe. Yes there is a route. It's safe. It's pleasant. It's even almost ideal.
Why hadn't I found that route myself? Well for one reason really, and one reason only: I hadn't tried very hard. I mean, I had, once or twice, tried some of the routes that looked most logical on the map. But these just hadn't worked out very well. Either the streets were too narrow. Or the traffic too heavy. Or a motorist hooted at me. Et cetera. And so, having at first not succeeded, had I tried, tried, and tried again? No not at all. No, rather than looking a little harder, rather than seeking out the "crooked ways" that the poet William Blake insisted "are the ways of genius," I had taken my cue from the lazy-bones carbon-saturated culture around me. I had given up on the bike altogether and just taken the car instead. After all, I told myself, it's not so very far, right? After all, what difference could a couple of miles of driving make? After all, after all...
It's sad how easily we give up, and how often. Sad how many possibilities for richness and activity in our lives can bloom in potential only, simply because we're not sticktuitive enough to pluck them into reality. Sad how permanently we get discouraged, and insist discouragement is justified. And live that way. Conventionally.
Enter the young, who--not always, but with some regularity at least--prove themselves to be an able antidote to our discouragement. Maybe younger minds are a bit more flexible, able to perceive possibilities just a little left or right of what's right there in front of them. Or maybe they're willing to try a little longer. Or maybe some of them--my son for instance--just seem to keep their optimism and equanimity with them wherever they go--like a handy Swiss army knife. This blade can love to bike. This blade can draw a map. This blade for sure can find a way to the grocery.
"Here Dad, here's my nomination for a route. You can try out mine."
HB
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