This afternoon we made a quick run to Safeway to collect stuff we'll need for supper tomorrow night. (A work colleague of Amy's and his family are coming over.) I punched the destination into my iPhone and it responded that a bus would be at the bottom of the hill in seven minutes. We collected shopping bags, strapped on our sneakers, and headed down the hill. The bus arrived right on time.

Ten minutes later, we were moving through the store while I calculated the return trip bus’ arrival. Fifteen minutes.

We were not interested, then, in shopping, picking around through each aisle to see what might strike our fancy, but simply in getting the stuff that we knew we needed. That took all of five minutes. We strolled (I know, I’m over-using this term, but the lifestyle of the carless becomes a strolling one) to the bus stop on the corner where we had a few minutes to chat and iPhone our email before the bus arrived. Hopping on, we were quickly at our destination. Three blocks later, we were home.

Amy had an appointment this morning at nine, and her internal clock had apparently not recalibrated to the carless world. Still in the shower at ten minutes ‘till, she asked me if I wanted to run a few errands with her. She was heading to the other side of town after to ... shudder ... shop. I declined. She apparently made her appointment, which was a ten minute walk away, as she called me an hour later to explain that she was, marvelously, on the other side of town, heading for her target shop.

She arrived back home a couple of hours later, having gotten some decent walking in, with a bag filled with just exactly what she was looking for. Oh, and no parking or traffic-wrangling was involved.

On the way back from the grocery run, Amy remembered that our guests tomorrow said that they favored wheat beer. Since we live in a virtually dry town, a run to the liquor store is a two mile walk. Oh, and would I mind taking back the video on the way?

Humidity’s hovering at around 70%. I’m sweating through my belt! I decide to take the bike, though I’ve lost the key to the lock. I stop first at a local bike shop and find a ten buck good-enough bike lock. Then coast (mostly) to the video store where I return and replace. Then I coast down to the Metro station, where I recharge my Metro fare card and walk over to the liquor store where I find some wheat beer, stuff it into my knapsack, reclaim my bike and coast down to the library where i find three must-reads, stuff them into my knapsack, too, then coast to within a half block from home. That last half block is a twenty eight percent grade, ... I walk the one-speed bike up that ... but otherwise, it was downhill both ways.

Of course, I’d sweated through all my clothes by the time I’d arrived back home. So what? So freaking what? I’d made the circuit without once jockeying scarce parking. I’d not blown an ounce of carbon into the ethosphere. I’d been free for the entire excursion, powered solely by ... me ..., and I’d spent no more time than I would have spent in a zoom car.

Now I’m confused. There’s no place in this vast metro area that I could not get to powered by public transportation, my fifty year old bike, or my own two feet. The car takes longer, drives me mostly to distraction, and costs a lot more. How is it that I didn’t recognize this before?

©2012 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: Car-less