Carpe Diem

As I rode to work this week, I observed that the world appears to be divided into two types of people. I base this upon the morning demeanor of drivers coming across the vision of a pudgy middle-aged woman, wearing a purple backpack, on a bicycle. I’m sure this data collection and decision making method meet no known scientific criteria, but I stand behind my conclusion.

The two categories are: Carpe Diem and Carpe Complainem. For those who are not as fluent in Latin as myself this roughly translates into the “Seize the Dayers” versus “Seize the Complainters”. (Forgive me Sister Mary Brendan, high school Latin teacher)

The Carpe Diem crowd (hereafter referred to as CD) is identified by the ability to smile and wave, even if it requires the use of medical strength caffeine. They might be talking on the cell phone, nodding to music, tapping fingers on the steering wheel, or applying lipstick, but they shared a similarity in that they seemed to be looking for the first (or next) bright spot in the day. Many a CD’er didn’t wait for me to wave or smile, they started the friendly communication. Not all appeared to be morning people (I’m not). Some appeared to do a double take, “did I really see that?”, but once reassured that they were not hallucinating, they grinned and some shook their head in mock wonder. I believe I may have been the topic around a water cooler or two, “You’re never going to believe what I saw today...”

In contrast, the Carpe Complainems (hereafter referred to as CC) have shoulders that are already hunched to near earlobe level before 8 a.m. When encountering a bicyclist, their first thought appeared to be “road kill”. Road kill wearing a purple back pack. They lean on the horn or pass without moving more than a quarter-inch away from the cyclist. One cheery chap shouted “get on the sidewalk.” I encourage him to read the Kentucky State Drivers Manual, since his current reading doesn’t seem to be bringing much joy to his life. If I dared make eye-contact with a CC’er they quickly moved their eyes to the right or left and stared blindly into space. No smiles. No friendly waves, not even the one-finger type. CC’ers seemed to be bound to their purposeful life…get to the office…get to work…get ‘er done…and - by golly - make sure that no fun is had along the way. If they spoke of me, I imagine it was more like this: “D*** bicyclist slowed me down by 40 seconds on the way to work today. I had to park two extra parking stalls down."

I think they need a purple backpack. I know I feel much better when I wear mine. In the meantime...take time to watch the leaves change color, enjoy a fall walk or ride, try smiling on the way to work, pet a dog (you just can't be grumpy while petting a dog), and Carpe Cheerum (seize some good cheer)!

Stoplights

Stoplights are both an opportunity and an irritation when attempting to commute via bicycle. They require unclipping one’s feet from the pedals, deciding whether to advance alongside the curb along the right side of vehicles toward “the front of the line”, or to wait at the end of the pack and risk not making it through the intersection with the next green light. Stoplights break comfortable cadence, force me out of my cycling-induced subconscious ruminations, and typically mean inhaling plenty of auto exhaust. Weight- or magnet- activated stoplights don’t respond to the presence of a bicyclist, leaving me trapped waiting for a car to come along and trigger the device, or risk running the red-light when cross traffic clears.

So, what’s the opportunity? People watching. Specifically, people-in-cars watching. A parade of glass, chrome, plastic, and metal encased humanity. Men, women, and children in the four-wheeled home-away-from-home and, apparently, multipurpose kitchen, office, and bathroom. You’ve seen it…people eating, flossing, dressing, writing, reading, and applying make-up at 65 mph. And why does anyone think that picking their nose is a private affair when the car provides a 360-degree panoramic view through glass?

As I waited at the cross-section of one of Bowling Green’s busiest streets with my relatively quiet road, the view from my seat was quite interesting. For instance, it appears that the size of the vehicle is inversely proportional to the number of occupants. A Hummer® is unlikely to carry more than one or two passengers, and appears to be the vehicle of choice of young, petite, attractive females. Can you say “man magnet”? Also, the age of any given vehicle does not appear to be related to the age of the driver. What happened to sixteen year-olds being the proud owner of a beat-up old clunker? I see kids who wear Clearasil® and can’t grow a sizeable mustache piloting $40,000 SUV’s, while parents travel in a 1984 Honda Accord held together with Liquid-Nail® and prayer. Also, classic vehicles are back. By that I mean that there seem to be a healthy number of well kept 1970-era Volkswagen beetles on the road. Who doesn’t have a memory, and personal story, involving a “bug”?

As I watched, it seemed that one out every two drivers held a cell phone to their ear. Whether there were other occupants in the car appeared irrelevant to driver-chat on the cell phone. In one vehicle the driver and passenger were each talking on a phone – do you think it was to each other? I wonder if we will soon have a whole new orthopedic injury called Cell Phone Elbow? The sufferer will be unable to fully extend the affected arm due to hours of flexion holding the gadget to their ear. Surgery schedules will be packed with patients scheduled for removal of wireless earpieces that have become imbedded in the ear canal. Twelve Step programs will spring up as cell phone users realize that their lives have become unmanageable and they need a higher power to relieve them of reliance on cell communication 24-7.

Other observations: Compact cars seem to carry groups of three or four, and at least one passenger is unusually tall. Cars carrying large retrievers or labs have drivers who look like someone I’d like to know. Black cars don’t sport bumper stickers. And someone needs to do an infomercial on how to successfully trap a child in their car seat. Personally, I think extra strength Velcro applied to the child’s bottom and the car seat would be a fine start, but that’s just me.

As the light finally turned green, and I huffed and puffed to get rolling again, an old Willie Nelson tune came to mind. So…with apologies to Mr. Nelson:

Mama don't let your babies grow up to be drivers
Don't give 'em new autos and drive them old trucks
Make 'em be riders and walkers and such.

Mama don't let your babies grow up to be drivers
They'll never stay home and they're always alone
Even with someone they love.