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| I raise my right hand to try my best to not ride in a car this year 2005. In this diary I will try to explain why and how. June 21 In a week and a half we will be flying in to the city where I lived when I was a teenager. I was living there long ago, and that is where I made up my mind. I made up my mind, first soft and then firm, that I was never going to drive. I made up my mind walking along a busy street side by side by angry traffic. Or I made up my mind riding the town's small city bus system and watching the cars swing big passes by the bus I was riding out of hatred, out of impatience. Or maybe I made up my mind while riding my bicycle between the cars, on their territory, in the places where they spread out their fists, their hot choking breath. Or maybe I made up my mind sitting in one place and thinking about the big metal monsters and how they were chewing up the world. Or maybe I made up my mind while lying in sleep while the radio of my thoughts played back the song of responsibility. I do not remember the exact circumstances, but at some time and in some situation I made up my mind when I was 13 or 14 or so that I would never drive a car and I would stick to that six shooter idea with my life. I made up my mind despite the obstacles, maybe even in spite of them. I made up my mind despite the monoculture in my part of town, or maybe because of it. Because in that town, the car way was the high way, the car way was the only way, the car way was the way without question. The sun shined down on the asphalt roads and there was the path that the human mind rolled on. The sun shone down, but not on the sidewalks, which never were there, which never were even contemplated. The sun shone down at all the driveways which were the only ways, which were the way, the truth, the light in that burgh. The sun shone down at very few walkers, at so many drivers, because that was what there was to shine so brightly upon. And then there was me, and I was a little different, but you cannot always tell by just looking at a face or hands or clothing. Because cars, like television, usually go so fast that you have to see everything, you have to see it all at once, in which case you see only types and not things, I made a partial reckoning of the details I noticed in my bicycle ride yesterday morning. I noticed the patterns of twigs and leaves on the street. They had been knocked there by the rain the day before. They made a pattern on the street, like text of some kind, like a language that was trying to tell me something. I watched the squirrel run across the telephone wire, leaping as if it were hard ground. I saw this looking down, I saw the projection in shadow on the street. I noticed the hand gesture of the man standing up on the construction truck. The gesture was not necessarily meant for me, but I noticed it, and I wondered at its significance. I noticed the tentativeness of that driver, slowing down in the middle of the street as if she was not sure of what she was doing, and maybe even a little guilty. Perhaps she was questioning her entire action, her entire carhood, car-ness, and having her first car doubts. I noticed how I stood up on my bicycle pedals as I approached the railroad tracks, so I could use my knees as shock absorbers for the bumps. I noticed how the sun made everything seem so perfect and gorgeous, from the flowers to the houses, from the lawns to the sky. I noticed how the shadows tempered the severity of the salt and pepper streets, how they made it seem not quite so bad. I noticed how it seemed like only after I stopped exerting myself, only when I reached my destination and stopped riding did the heat and sweat catch up with me and my face turned into a dripping sponge. I noticed how I prefer the beautiful in-between to the dog days of summer, which seem to have fallen down hard on us. Yesterday morning I had one of my migraine headaches, which left me queasy for the rest of the day. I was slightly living both inside and outside of my own experiences, still responsible, but sometimes floating out to see things more objectively. When I biked from place to place, I only noticed that I got to my destination. I was downtown to do a short video shoot in the morning, and then I did not know what I was doing. So I rode my bike a few blocks, and then got on the train for a ride – a ride for the sake of the ride, a ride to just go. It was not like a joyride in an automobile, in which case I would have been burning new gas to go the nowhere I was going. Instead, I hopped a ride that was already riding. I entered the open doors and took a back seat in the air conditioning and just kept my eyes open as some of the world went by me. I watched the people get on, and I half listened to some conversations. I was there, but I was also somewhat not. I could fit into the place by merely being there but not too loud about it, not too much. As the train was moving, I debated inside my head where I should get off, or where I was going at all. I wanted to have some lunch, but would it be at this place or at that. I made up mind several times, I made up what there was of my mind to make up, and then I switched it for the sake of switching. I eventually got off at Lake Street, when the group of girls behind me said, "Lake Street, that's the bad part of town." That's when I stood up and moved to the door as the train rolled up to the platform. After lunch at a Mexican restaurant, I got back on the train, waiting low on a bench as other people towered over me. I got on a car covered with advertising, and watched the world go by me thru a mesh of dots. The dots played back and forth like a gyroscope, and kept me from seeing things, an intentional multiple blind spot, but I filled in the gaps. They made the proper vision to match my reluctant queasy post headache mind, and I could sit back and just live some tired. After the brutal heat of yesterday, it be will be a while before the house cools down. A rain is trying to fall. That will help, but it could make my work commute this morning a little wet. Last night I rode my bike tot he Walker Art Center to see the write Paul Auster, to hear him read and talk about his writing. I could have waited in the long line to have him sign a book, but I went out to my bicycle to ride home instead. I was thinking about our poor furry cats who needed me to turn on an air conditioner so they would not fry from the intense heat inside and out. I live to regret. I regret things all the time. As my feet turned the pedals, I regretted that I did not stay to stand in line to get something signed. As if a signature mattered that much. My mind went back and forth on this as my feet went up and down. People are shooting at other people from their cars. It is easier that way than stopping to stick your neck out in the pure world. They are sitting back in the artificial seats on the anti-forward fluff and popping their guns out the roll down windows and pop pop a shot or two and maybe they hit somebody or maybe they just do not. That car is that gun. They share the same hard lizard skin. That gun is that car. They have the same last name and a common mother. The car gun is the gun car, they both like to shoot things up when given a chance or a free day. The cun is a gar, they both do not kill, but people kill with them, at least that is the old tired saying that chapped lips know, that thin empty lips recall when they do not have anything else to say because they just know how to flap, and not how to spin themselves around a bigger issue, a bigger lip excursion. The cars and the guns like to get together for jamborees, for random killings and explosions. They both are so loud, which means the neighbors sometimes call the cops. But the cops drive up there with their cars and guns and join in the fun, so no silence is golden. It is just a hoedown dance, car and gun staring each other in the headlight barrel eyes and when they kiss they make an electric spark, a spark plug shot, and that is true love when you are talking cars and guns. The cars and the guns both like to think they are on top of the world. They threaten the natural order with their streets, which are also firing ranges. Their targets are always the innocent, not always, but a lot, and that is why they need that speed. They both like to make holes in things, sometimes in guts and sometimes in neighborhoods. Watch their harsh and terrific dance steps, watch their mating dance that leaves so many dead. Watch them curl their trigger fingers around their big chrome grills, watch them fire out the whole skeedaddle. Today marks the one year anniversary of the opening of the Hiawatha Line light rail train. Yesterday, the second phase of the Midtown Greenway, a bike/walking trail that will hopefully someday have a transit component, had its grand opening, and I was there. There are some alternatives that are springing up, coming slow, coming after so many years of car-only infrastructure, coming to this car-clogged city. There are some alternatives, and it makes me feel like I matter too to see these investments open and to see people celebrating them. At the Midtown Greenway Phase II opening yesterday I was one of the few media present. I had the only video camera, as far as I could tell. Elected officials were there to give speeches and to cut the ribbon, and neighbors were there on their bikes or on their feet to try it out, to celebrate it by letting it move them. There were musicians out and standing under the bridges, drummers, guitars, an accordion, a violin. There was lemonade and cookies. There was painting and bicycle decorating. The trail was finally opened, even tho one section of it is a construction bypass while the Chicago Avenue bridge for cars gets built. At least you can go the whole route now, from the Hiawatha Line train to Uptown and beyond. You can sail thru the old freight train trench, you can go as fast as your bicycle will take you. It is a great way to get across the south side of town, it is just a great alternative, green and shady and full of gardens, a great alternative to the asphalt death of car infrastructure. I looked up at the trees and houses. I looked down at the narrow asphalt trail lined with green, and the new small trees and flowers. I looked under the bridges at the people hanging out so high up in the girders. I looked around as my bike tires rolled the afternoon, from stand to stand, listening to music and just being there with my camera. It was a new kind of world, down in that trench where there were no cars. It was safe and it was beautiful, and we should be running as fast as we can to spend our time in that kind of world. A little car wake up call happened at one of the few trail crossings at a street. Some bicyclists were going slow, enjoying, and a car came along and honked its horn at them. That driver was so rude and so heartless. Her face was so locked in a grimace of hate and frown. If only she could get out on a bike or on foot and join the green, that might make her smile, might change her body chemistry from hate to love. I took a train ride just to ride the train. I rode the train yesterday because it was the one year anniversary of its opening. I noticed no commemorative events. I did not see any such thing at the stations or on the train as I rode. The train is now a part of our local culture, and it was full of people who were using it for real transportation. People had their suitcases and were going to the airport. Many people took the train for a trip to the mall or back. People got on and off at all the neighborhood stops, and at the park, or for shopping. They were taking it home from the Pride festival, or from the jazz festival. On the trip down to the mall, for I rode it all the way, I drew these people, or I tried to draw approximations of the faces of the riders. I drew cartoons of the faces in the crowd. I looked up and down and drew my pen on the paper, on page after page of my sketchbook. I tried to see what their stories were as I drew the faces. I wondered what their stories were as I drew their noses and their jowls. I could not guess, but I could draw circles around the surface, and thicker lines, and thinner ones. The guy sitting beside me kept looking down to see what I was drawing. He looked down even when I was not drawing to see if I had started. Maybe he was wondering if I was going to draw him and his wild electric standing hair. He did not ask me about my drawing. He got off the train at the VA hospital. Maybe he was a veteran going for a checkup, or to visit a buddy. On the trip back to downtown I videotaped the trip out my window. I held the camera down low and shot the ride looking up. The lady who sat next to me glanced over at me and my camera now and then, but she did not ask. I saw the subtle changes in the landscape from one year of train running. I held the camera to shoot the trees up high. I remembered this ride on tape, something I do every few months. I set the shutter speed high, to get the right flicker of rails and image. I was sedate on this ride compared to the rides I took one year ago on this day when I could not contain my enthusiasm. Well, I actually probably did contain my enthusiasm. But a year ago I was so excited by the rush of opening day, from the crowds and the sounds and my own pale need to collect as much as I could on video. My main camcorder let me down and disguised most of my taping with big squares that hid the meaning and took the sound away. I ended up with only a small part of my shooting but still made the most of it for my first On Transit show. A year has gone by, and there is promise and there are hard times on the transit front in this town. I am proud to live here in the city with the smooth yellow trains but still a little concerned at the total transit picture. I am very concerned in my neighborhood, where it looks like transit service will drop markedly in the fall. I do my best on foot and on bike. I do my best riding bus and train. After the train ride I hung out at the jazz festival and listened to some music. Then I had to hunt down my bus stop. Detour after detour made me walk quite a few blocks to find an active bus stop, and when I caught the bus and was riding I went by many stops I could have waited at had I walked a block over, but not as many blocks as I walked in total to find the stop I did find. I was completely ignorant about where to catch the bus, but once I got inside the air conditioning felt really good, and soon I was back home. Some heavy rain fell yesterday. They dropped the water so you could literally see the walls of it. Hail fell for a while too, spheres of ice that thudded on the roof. The water built up like lakes in the street. The water dropped so fast that it had nowhere to go but to make a crowd. It could not go down because of the flat dry impasse of the street. It had to go sideways and seek out the storm sewers with gravity to guide it. I can see that my little rain garden overflowed at some point, or maybe at several points, but it seeped the water down, it sucked up gallon after gallon that fell down from my roof, it sucked the water into the earth. It did its job, like the streets did their job, they did the job that they were built to do, keeping the water from sucking into the ground. I rode my bike home as the rain was falling. I had groceries in my panniers, and my food got somewhat wet too. With only a block left for home I felt the first ball of hail on my bicycle helmet. Thank goodness I had the helmet, or else my head would be smarting from such a direct hit. I rode the last block home as fast as I could and then I quickly fished my keys out and opened our garden shed. I rolled my bike into to its usual parking spot and I stayed in there too, in the shed, crowded with the tools and bikes and the low roof and I watched and listened to the rain with the shed door open. The rain fell like a mini monsoon. I watched it fall so solidly from the shed door. I heard it pounce, so many all at once, on the metal shed roof. When it slowed down just a little I made a run for the house, which was just a larger version of the shed. I could still see the rain and hear it. This morning, the world is calm and the streets are already dry. You can tell that it did rain from the dark dirt in the garden and because the fence wood looks much darker. But the streets are already ignoring it and making their flat so the cars go fastest. The cars are the ones pulling down the bird calls, they are the ones doing most of the ignoring. I think I am a cautious bicycle rider. I believe I find useful stable objects to chain my bike to when I get to my destination. I think I know how to turn the pedals round to make my movement out of my own strength and guts. I think I know which way I am going, and if I do forget, I can stop and rethink my route. I think I have a helmet on my head, like the head on my shoulders, to protect my head in case of accident or fall or collision. When I walked out of the post office and stepped up to my bike, something was terribly wrong. There was nothing in my hand, no strap hanging there in my fingers. And I did not see it locked to my bicycle chain. My bicycle helmet had vanished. I was not carrying it and it was not on my bicycle. Sometimes I lock it to my chain and leave it there, but it was not there now. Sometimes I hang it from my handlebars as I chain up my bike. Then I usually take it in my fingers and carry it with me, but sometimes I have left it hanging there and it is unsecured and it has always been there when I got back but someone could take it so easily and just walk off with it. Maybe this is why my helmet was nowhere to be seen or felt. Maybe I left it unsecured and somebody took it. I went back in the post office to check. Maybe I left it on the counter when I went up to the window to mail my things. I looked from a distance, but I did not see it on the counter. One of the post office staff asked me it I was looking for something. I asked if I had left my bicycle helmet here. The clerk said no. She did not see it. But one of the customers standing in line pointed to a desk. I had stood at that desk checking for something before I stood in line. Now I remembered that. And now I saw a bicycle helmet on that desk. It did not quite look like my bicycle helmet; it looked alien because it was separated from me. But when I went over to pick it up, it was once again mine, it looked like mine, it felt like mine, and soon it was back on my head and I was riding. My summer schedule: If it is clear I bike If it rains, I bus If I am feeling a little foggy, I bus If I have a little transportation, I bike If I have more transportation, I take mass transit If I want to be alone, I bike If I want to be with others, mass transit If I want to ride the train, I train If I have a load to haul, bicycle plus bicycle trailer If I am going less than a mile, I walk Or sometimes I will walk for longer trips I have bones That can take a step That can spin a pedal So I use them I wait on the corner For the bus If I have a book or magazine The corner could be anywhere The storm comes thru And it has a nasty cloud face But it wipes the sky clear So blue for this morning If the bus is late I have to wait If it is running on time I am perfectly fine I lock my bike To the nearest empty pole And that is the amazing Kind of parking I can notice the line of light If I am close to the pavement I cannot ignore the world If I am in it Like a pedestrian The wind at my front Makes my ride a little blunt The wind at my back Keeps me quickly on my track It is all about the motion If it is yours, it is emotion. |
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