My bike ride to work this morning began like it does most mornings; 4:30, alone, and in the dark. The weather was slightly warm, windy, humid and some low clouds. The low clouds reflected the constant light pollution that Houston is plagued with. Normally pollution of any kind bothers me, but at 4:30 in the morning on an unlit trail, any additional light is welcome, whether it is pollution or not.
After passing the waste water treatment plant just west of the beltway,
the trail descends down along the bayou and is thickly tree lined. My mind started to wander and I began to imagine what other people would be thinking about at this point in the trail. Dark, trees closing in on all sides, the sound of the unseen bayou’s rushing waters, the hum of insects, and the rustle of leaves as hidden wildlife scampers away. The musty smell of damp earth and the cool morning air. It all combines to play upon ones basic and primordial fears.
Our genetically ingrained fear of the dark. A safety mechanism, hard-wired into our psyche after millions of years of being the prey instead of the hunter. On an early morning bike ride it has no place. It’s not like a
pterodactyl will swoop down from the sky and snatch us up for breakfast nor will a saber tooth cat jump from a rock outcropping and tear us limb from limb. In our modern day world a fear of the dark has become irrational, but it is there just the same, always gnawing at the back of our minds. We can push it aside but we feel it as the tightness in our shoulders as we grip the handle bars too hard. We sense our eyes darting back and forth, seeking out the unseen danger.
Unseen dangers might also appear as other humans with nefarious intent. Vagrants hiding under the roads ways waiting to jump out, attack, and rob the unsuspecting cyclist. Springing from behind a tree, knocking us to the ground, body bruised and battered. Our cries for help ring empty and hollow in the early morning air. The silent tress our only witness to the dark events unfolding. Beaten and robbed of our bike and various belongings, no way to escape or call for help, we lie alone in the darkness. Pain and fear gripping our bodies as we struggle regain control.
Our fear of being alone and the helplessness that comes with it. We have survived as a race by banding together. Offsetting the weaknesses of individual with the strength of the tribe. Collaborating, working together, and supporting each other we have reach unimaginable heights. Take away that structure, keep us alone and individualized and we once again become weak and afraid. Technology has allowed us interconnectivity on an unprecedented scale, but without it few people could survive. Imagine the dark, unlit trail, the cool wind rushing past your face, then running over an unseen object and crashing, cell phone breaking apart in the chaos of flailing limbs, aluminum, carbon fiber, and rubber. No way to call for help. Alone. Shock begins to settle in as you lay on the cold pavement looking up at the uncaring stars above.
These are the fears we face when riding alone to work in the darkness of the mornings. But these were not the fears that plagued my mind this morning. I was worried about the wildlife. Each day I see birds and owls flying silently through the darkened sky, occasionally a snake slithers across the trail ahead of me, and stray armadillos grubbing for breakfast in the grass and underbrush are a common occurence. But what worries me most are the rabbits. The little, wild, cotton tailed rabbits that in the light of day are cute and cuddly. Not the white furred, pinked eyed bunnies you see in the pet store, but the nut brown, white stomach and tail rabbits. The ones that sit on their haunches, chewing on clover, their log ears standing straight up as you ride by on your bike. These are the ones that make me nervous.
These seemingly innocent creatures fall into three categories of rabbit. There are the rabbits that sit there innocently looking at you. They are aware of you riding by on your bike and watch intently as you go by, but they don’t do anything. They just sit there minding their own business. The second kind of rabbits are the ones that are afraid. They see you coming, standup and look at you, and then dart off in the opposite direction. They pose no threat but their quick reaction always makes you flinch. The third kind of rabbit are the evil rabbits. These are the ones that worry me. These rabbits watch you come down the trail on your bike with the sole intent of running in front of you and making you swerve, or worse, crash. They are intelligent creatures who find humor in the pain and suffering of humans. The lay in wait, their minds scheming, waiting for the next cyclist to come along the darkened trail. At the most opportune moment they pounce, running directly in front of the oncoming bicycle, ignoring the danger to themselves, they startle the cyclist causing them to swerve and crash. Pain is the outcome for the cyclist. Laughter is the reward for the rabbit.
Fortunately for me I did not encounter an evil rabbits this morning. Only the gentle wildlife that means no harm to their co-inhabitants of our earthly home. It was a beautiful ride and I am looking forward to my ride home this evening. The sun on my back as I head eastward down the trail, the warm spring breeze and blooming flowers and hopefully no evil rabbits.
This week the Santa Monica City Council approved the Bicycle Action Plan by unanimous vote and last week the ribbon was cut on a new high capacity Bike Center facility. Tuesday’s vote finishes the long public process of drafting avisionary document, and marking the beginning of the real work of implementation. I am much more hopeful for the full implementation of this plan than the never quite finished bicycle master plan from 1995.
