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Friday, March 26, 1999
Carpoint
By Paul Ford
Oh, I am a didactic bastard. What was I trying to accomplish with my mini-lecture on automotive environmentalism?
For 4 months in upstate New York, I lived 3.5 miles away from my job, 7 miles a day to walk. There were hailstorms and thunderstorms, and boiling, breathless August nights, but the mornings could be massive orange, the nights gorged with stars. I was cashless, and alone. I carried my weekly groceries on my back.
After the first 2 of those 4 months, my legs began to crack out before me. I was healthy, and could sing loud, unheard, exploring my husky voice.
If I wanted, I could walk along the stream instead of along the road, or over the hills instead of around them. If I was in a hurry, I rode my bicycle, but I didn't like the way the asphalt blurred below me, the way it constricted my path. I admit I took a lot of rides from strangers and friends, but I turned as many down.
I've never wanted a car. Many people equate cars with freedom, and I see their point; it is freeing to be able to go wherever you want, as long as wherever you want is outside of yourself, and paved.
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