Driving three blocks to work is hard to defend. Believe me, I’ve tried. I try to avoid arriving at the same time the bicyclists do but should that occur, I drag a big cardboard box from the back of the car, pretend it’s heavy and lug it to the door, making it seem like a legitimate waste of energy. When someone offers a helping hand, I admit to having arm flab that needs tightening making carrying heavy things desirable. “Want me to carry your bike inside?”
This summer, as I tugged the now karmatically dead lawn mower out, I was forced to actually touch my bike. How I used to love that thing. She’s a beauty, born in the 80s and from France, making it very cosmopolitan indeed. Nice gel seat, goofy little bell and toe clips for when I want to face-break the finish ribbon at the next charity event I ride for. I was sure Madame Sarkozy’s grandmother must have had one just like it.
Baby boomers need a transitional bike if we are really going to make this “cut gas use” thing work. We need seats made by Laz-y Boy, maybe with a back on them. Pedals don’t need to move in circular motion, do they? It would feel much more comfortable to have them just push down, like the motions of pushing in the brake, accelerator pedal or clutch. Helmets that look more like over-the-head-driver’s-seats would be nice. Maybe a little wiper across the front and map holders over each ear. The security one would feel could possibly make up for the undoubtedly ridiculous summative look.
Since the green grim reaper shopping bag arrived, I’m finding myself feeling guilty about everything environmental. It’s not consciousness, it’s good old fashion fight the feeling, dander getter upper, push my heels in guilt. It’s the first in the two stages of imposed change acceptance. Have patience for those who may take a little longer, who don’t even separate clothes colors before they wash much less differing kinds of plastics. Remember, green is not a primary color. Give the rest of us a little time; time to separate the blue of the past with the yellow of the future. We’re trying.
Rest easier, knowing that feeling guilty is the first step.
