The Latest Improvement to the Quality of My Life in Hauwekan County

I've been pedaling to work the past few weeks. I couldn't afford to fill my tank last time at the pump, so I decided to just make it last. I car up to Cabin Run Park--about halfway--and cycle up through the woods to the Clover Hunt subdivision and connect up with Knotts Road where it widens to four lanes. From there it's probably only a couple miles to work. Somehow, I get there in the same time it takes to drive the whole way.

It's on a bike that I'm most comfortable and assertive. I take the road I need and cars be damned. Front and center in the right lane at the red light at Knotts and Broad yesterday the car behind me sounded his horn, just a little toot. I ignored it. Another toot. Ignored it. Then, a protracted blast. Resisting the strong impulse to signal upwards with a long finger, I compromised with my pride and half turned my head--enough to recognize a dark blue Bimmer--and said, not loudly, but with clear and readable lip formation, "Fuck off!" I braced for a nudge. What I got was, "I'd like to make a right turn," almost entreating. Despite the apparent politeness, my hackles remained bristling, and I replied, with much less comparative civility, "I'm a car, idiot!" When the light turned I half expected (and hoped) to be followed, but was disappointed (and relieved).

My trip up through the woods is pleasant but too short. All of the parking is on the north side of the park, and just a sliver of the park remains on the north side of the only road in. North is the direction to work from here, so I'm in the woods for only a few minutes. Lately, though, I've tried to lenghten my stay there by parking in a closer lot (across the road from the new "recreation center," billing itself as "THE LATEST IMPROVEMENT TO THE QUALITY OF LIFE IN HAUWEKAN COUNTY"--an ironic claim at best, considering it's a wildlife graveyard of blacktop and metal covering several acres) and meeting the trail at an earlier point, but the only thing that ever lengthened my stay in the woods and mitigated my pleasure amidst its beauty was increased along with the distance: Pedestrians. The asphalt trail, about six feet wide, is, understandably, a favorite exercise venue for the folks living around there, and morning apparently the favorite time to be on it. That's just the way it is, of course, but polite philosophy does not temper my annoyance at having to slow down and announce my presence upon my approach from behind in order to pass, or make me feel any friendlier toward the walkers facing me who respond to my "Good morning!" with a tight mouth and squinting glare, as to an interloper or an unwanted new technology.

So I took to the dirt trails that web the park, rutty, rooty, meandering paths never more than a foot wide, rarlely in a straight line and searched for my Northwest Passage. I haven't found it yet. Stottering over roots, twisting around trees, always somehow going too fast and braking too much, I haven't emerged onto the asphalt in the same place twice, coming or going, likely because the immediate object of my attention seems always to be just a few feet in front of my wheel. I've added five minutes to my ride, and haven't had to excuse myself or expose myself to snobbery. I love it.