After Further Review

Looking for Bill . . .

2011-09-23T17:00:00.004-05:00

A few months ago, shortly after acquiring an iPhone, I was summoned by a call from an unfamiliar, and wrong, number. Short history here: I rarely answer these calls. If you don't know me, I have not given you my number; why are you calling?

Well, this day was wonderfully sunny and mild, for a February. I decided to answer Mr./Ms. Wrong Number.

Me: Hello . . .

(The perp was female, possibly 55-60, with a Pacific islander-type accent, which made Bill sound like Bee-elh.)

WN: Bee-elh?

Me: No Ma'am, this is not Bill. You have the wrong number.

WN: Oh-k-a-a-ay. [Click]

Now, under normal circumstances that is how a wrong number chinwag goes, right? Both parties speak, both parties realize it's an incorrect number, and both parties (usually) seek the best way to end the call.

It is rare the same mistake is repeated. Not on this day. Not with this tenacious bulldog.

A few minutes later, ring, ring goes the phone. It's the same number.

Me (becoming mildly perturbed): Hel-low . . .?

WN: Bee-elh? Ees thee-ce Bee-elh?

Me (morphing into Tommy Lee Jones' Ranger Roland Sharp character from the 2005 film, Man of the House: Nooo!, thee-ce ees not Bee-elh . . . [Click]

Being as the reading on my POM (Pissed Off Meter) was steadily accelerating, I decided to make this caller an address book entry. Do not ask me why, maybe the stars were aligned just right, maybe I should play a combination of the numbers in the lottery, I don't know. It just seemed the prudent thing to do.

Anyway, a few keystrokes later, and the number, (615) 884-6158, was officially in my Contacts as Wrong Number.

In short time, however, the phone rang once more. I snickered to myself while reading the name, Wrong Number, and answered . . . locked and loaded; bring on the bear.

Me: Heh-LOW-uh . . . .

WN: Bee-elh, ees thee-ce Bee-elh?

Me: Nooo!, thee-ce ees not Bee-elh . . . [Click]

So that shut up the Insidious Inquirer, right?

Uh-Uh! A few days later, the phone rings once more. It is another unfamiliar number.

Me: Hello.

WN: Beel-elh, Can I spee-ek to Bee-lh?

Me: No-o-o-o, you cay-en't spee-ek to Bee-elh . . . [Click]

Thus, Phone Number 2, (615) 275-9921, became part of the address book entry.

And that is the way the story drifted along, in the utopian dream world called Perfection.

Ah, the piece and quiet, the serenity from the everyday cacophony of life. Yeah right! Several months passed and the scenario was repeated once more.

I am sure Ms. Wrong Number, who is probably a sweet little lady with a husband, a lap dog, a compact car, and a white picket fence that guards her petunias and roses, is as exasperated in looking for Bill as I am in not being Bill. Maybe one day she will find him.

In the meantime, should I screw with her mind?

Me: Heh-LOW-uh, theece ees Bee-elh. Why have yoo naht cawl me . . . sweet-haht . . .

Hey, Fatso! Yeah, You!

2011-05-01T12:45:00.005-05:00

Obesity: No matter where you go in this country, especially in the Deep South, you are going to encounter what is fast becoming the most horrific health crisis in history. Yet, it seemingly marches along, steadily picking up steam; statistical numbers rapaciously skyrocketlng with each passing year. And no one seems to have a clue as to how to mount a counter-attack. If the great Chinese war strategist, Sun-Tzu, were to be summoned from the battlefields he now roams, one look at the enemy and he would turn in flight, screaming in fear as he sped past Saint Peter, escaping back into the safety of his present domain on the other side of the pearly gates. The enemy over there are probably a wee bit skinnier; perhaps even a tad emaciated. But they were slim pickings to begin with when they were alive; nothing drastically changing in the few hundred years their souls have roamed in eternity.

Obesity: Though a cousin to Fat, with more than a few like characteristics (enough to ensure the family connection), it cannot be confused as a fraternal twin, and passed off as easily dismissible. That is because one can be a tad pudgy and still maintain a fairly healthy lifestyle. Look back through history to the time when modestly nude paintings were high art and you find both men and women depicted with a tad more curves than 1960's model Twiggy ever dreamt of having shape her skeleton. Pudgy, yes; grotesque, decidely not.

And once one crosses the point of no return, the line in the sand, or any other designation of pop culture drivel that screams Major Fail, only a miracle of, no pun intended, gargantuan proportions can bring them back to life as most people enjoy. Few can make the turnaround like Jared Fogle of Subway fame.

Obesity: Socially, the person afflicted with the disease suffers a ostracization twice as devastating because obesity transcends gender, race, ethnicity, socio-economic stratum or any other quantifier of modern life. Haters across the board can scream singular epithets at folks all day. But add obesity to the mix and you have a double-whammy for the victim of such demagogic slander.

Now those of you who have seen my slight frame might view me as a hater, or at the least, given my build, ignorantly unsympathetic. You need to know that I have first-hand experience on the subject.

The paternal heritage I have been blessed to have, comes from strong Scotch-Irish stock, mostly growing up on farms and having the residual diet of the lifestyle. We are talking hard-working, earthy people, on the go every day with pre-dawn chores being interrupted only for breakfast. Mid-morning chores would resume before taking off a bit of time for dinner, that being the moniker long ago for the mid-day meal. Then the afternoon chores would commence and they were capped off with a weary supper. The work was arduous and the meals were hearty. But the metabolism spikes offset any issues even though the cooking was laden with cholesterol favorites. Still, until this nation matriculated from the Agricultural and Industrial eras through to the Technological explosion, that was okay. People were hefty, maybe a bit pudgy; but not, by definition, obese.

My dad, once standing tall at 6' 2", on a sturdy 250 pound frame, has now been shackled with the illness of obesity. Does he share in any cause to the encroachment of the malady? Yes, he does. And I will not cut him any slack on the faults because he knew better than to allow the affliction to body slam him to the canvas of life and pin him down for the count.

Granted, he had to have the DNA, the uniqueness of cellular combinations, that would predestine him, potentially, for the disease. One day he's working like every other 24-hour period in his seventy-plus years, allowing for some gradual slow-down as the clock winds in an easy progression toward retirement. The next day, metaphorically, he starts picking up health issues quicker; slowing further as the metabolism gears down, he begins to pick up a few more unwanted riders on the journey.

The next thing he knows there is a life filled with taking twenty-eight (28) pills a day to combat high-blood pressure, diabetes, and now renal failure. Added to that are finger pricks to check sugar levels, followed by the requisite insulin injections and a new bestest buddy, the nitro cream patch.

He cannot easily, if at all, gather the strength, or balance, to rise from, or recline to, bed. The same goes for using a chair or couch in which to sit; they are not designed for people encroaching, and literally zooming past, 300 pounds to easily use. He cannot, as well, stand for long periods with his strength just not being there anymore. Let's not forget the recent indignity of hygiene matters.

But this diatribe is not about the giant of a man I grew up adoring, if wondering at times whether I measured up to his standards. This is about the collective body, again no pun intended, of a society scooting along like a train on a track approaching a seemingly eternally deep ravine . . . a chasm now sans a bridge to provide safe crossing.

We are no longer a fat nation . . . we are an obese nation. And it has to be curtailed, one body at a time.

It is not an easy task to undertake. How in the heck do you look at someone, who is on that ride, who is maybe 30-50 years old, and implore them to either lose weight or face consequences no one should be facing in this day and age? How do I, with my gaunt appearance, warn that someone of the impending dangers of obesity?

It is a quandary that I am powerless to answer. It is a conundrum that the masses of high intelligence will not be able to devise a plan to countermand the onslaught.

To paraphrase Galileo,"You cannot teach a man anything, you can only hope to direct him on the wisest course."

This course, folks, needs a helluva number of directors.

A Hell of a Life

2011-04-26T21:27:00.001-05:00

Walter Breuning died a few days ago. By all accounts he was a simple man who lived a simple life. But he did so for one hundred and fourteen years.

Before going further, look at the number once more: One Hundred and Fourteen.

He lived a hair over thirty of those years in an assisted living facility, and nearly another quarter century as a widower of the late Mrs. Agnes Breuning (with whom Walter is once again strolling along with in the valley of still waters after that 54-year separation). But he was apparently still very active, at least mentally, until the very end. Along the way he picked up a few insights that are worth expounding upon as careful consideration for how we all should live our lives.

On Change:
Embrace change, even when the change slaps you in the face. "Every change is good . . . I think every change that we've ever made, ever since I was a child — 100 years — every change has been good for the people . . . My God, we used to have to write with pen and ink, you know, (for) everything. When the machines came, it just made life so much easier."

Keep in mind that Mr. Breuning was a 50-year employee of the railroad . . . as a clerk. We are not speaking of Walter Breuning, CEO, whose ground-breaking innovations during his tenure carried an industry from Point A to Point B.

Mr. Breuning, after his career had ended, saw the industry shunt along in a mindless limp, following the pathways forseen by Harvard economist, Professor Theodore Levitt, in his paper on Marketing Myopia. That is, when an industry fails to see its potential outside of a narrow scope, it eventually dies, whether theoretically or in the literal sense.

Mr. Breuning watched many friends lose their positions, and perhaps their pensions as well, because the industry failed to embrace change. The majority of those friends probably died embittered at the thanklessness of the corporate executives and their short-sightedness on making channge work for the industry. But Walter Breuning championed the concept around change. Look where it got him . . . health and happiness for 114 years.

Yet, how many people do we all know (some of us stare back at those people in the mirror) who wring their hands and tremble at the thought of trying something, anything, that is new or unfamiliar. I used to be that way about some foods, or social interaction. Some people are that way with computers or electronic technology of any kind. "Oh, that is too complicated. How do you play music on that tiny thing called an iPod?" "The same way generations went from vinyl discs to 8-Track tapes to cassette tapes to compact discs." Change is good!

And how many of those people who fret over change deny themselves of a long life? A helluva lot more than the one who lived to be 114 years old.

On Death:
"We're going to die. Some people are scared of dying. Never be afraid to die. Because you're born to die."

Here was a man who seemingly cheated the Grim Reaper for a long, long time, albeit in an unspectacular fashion . . . just going day-to-day, putting one pants leg on at a time, putting one step in front of the other. But he did it for 114 years.

Years ago when my Mother turned 40 I overheard her tell a cousin that it was "the darkest day of my life." I was 13, and remember thinking, "And the alternative to turning 40 is . . .?"

Mom, who for years has followed my Dad around like a lap dog, is now a mindless soul of 77. She has not excercised her brain for quite a few years and depends on my Dad to tell her what she cannot do, implying she is not smart, or capable, enough.

She is a Christian woman whose eternal destiny is secured by her faith in Jesus Christ. Yet, if asked about death, she would probably cringe and begin to harbor thoughts about dying as if she were one of only a few persons who will ever die.

On a Healthy Diet:
Eat two meals a day. Mr. Breuning said his good health was due to this strict diet.

"That's all you need. How many people in this country say that they can't take the weight off? I tell these people, . . . 'Get on a diet and stay on it. You'll find that you're in much better shape, feel good.'"

But here in America, especially in Beans-and-Cornbread Country, we shovel more food down our throats at one meal than Mr. Bruening did in two meals . . . then we add one more meal and usually a midnight snack.

How in the hell are we supposed to maintain a healthy weight and high energy for many years with that extreme gluttony--a characteristic that is highly frowned upon in the Bible.

And how many shortened life spans result from the grandiose gorging? One man lived to be a lucid, lively 114 years old by avoiding that demon. That man was Walter Breuning.

Work as long as you can:
"That money's going to come in handy. Don't retire until you're darn sure that you can't work anymore. Keep on working as long as you can work and you'll find that it's good for you."

With this nugget I take a half exception . . . but only one-half. I believe work is the life force that keeps the American ideals going strong. It pushes people to do their part, and a wee bit more. Then someone else picks up the baton and does the same.

But that doesn't mean we should, at some point, not consider backing off and exploring more options. I am not talking about quitting a career, retiring to a couch, and wait for the drooling to start.

Nothing says you have to slave 40 hours a week until the day you cannot slave any more. But you should continue meaningful living until the day you die.

There were two more ideals that he did not leave the interviewers with a quote: One was to maintain a simple life. Another was to eschew the myth that owning a home is part of the American Dream.

The two actually go together in a way, although I imagine for most of Mr. Breuning's working life the idea of home ownership was more palpable than the travesty created by the current financial products industry.

Still, considering that Mr. Breuning owned only a small parcel of land briefly around the onset of the Great Depression, being a renter did not stop him from a long and healthy life.

How many strokes or heart attacks or aneurysms are caused when people get too involved in keeping up with the Jones to keep up with their health? How many suicides can also be attributed to such fallacy. Let's not begin with the slow-death diseases that eat away at people silently for too many years until it is too late.

I'm not suggesting that Mr. Breuning had all of the answers, only 93.5 percent of them. And even if someone can live such a life on the fringes of austerity, there is no guarantee that Mr. Reaper won't push them out if front of a bus before they turn 40.

But what a great beacon Mr. Breuning gave us to use.

Too Late to SMiLE . . . It's Already Been Done . . .

2011-04-23T21:00:00.003-05:00

Brian Wilson was SMiLE-ing in 1967. Then his SMiLE turned upside down . . . for over thirty years. Then he began SMiLE-ing again in 2004. Now the Beach Boys old record company, Capitol, wants to SMiLE as well.

*************************************************************************

The Summer of Love was upon us in America. The year was 1967. Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys were fresh off the mega-hit Good Vibrations, and all was well in the World of Wilson. Sort of . . .

Brian, long since retired from the rigors of touring, was busy at home exploring new ideas and concepts to take the Beach Boys to the heights of pop music, sharing the pedestal with a few Lads from Liverpool.

Meanwhile, the rest of the band, Mike Love, Al Jardine, and the younger Wilson brothers, Carl and Dennis, after doing live tour auditioning with a plethora of artists to take Brian's spot on the road (one of whom was Glen Campbell), had long since settled on Bruce Johnston. Bruce, formerly part of the duo, The Rip Chords (with Terry Melcher, better known as the former owner of the house at 10050 Cielo Drive), would remain off and on a Beach Boy for much of his performing career.

The band was raking in the big bucks and capturing the hearts of many; the young ladies were going gaga over the handsome hunks in Pendletone shirts, and the guys were jamming to the hopes of one day owning a real fine 409. The boys returned home, expecting to hear the masterpiece ensemble that Brian, now hailed by west coast music cognoscenti as a genius, had toiled over seemingly non-stop.

What they heard, to their ears, was a mass of gibberishly cacophonous garbage; bits here, pieces there, but nothing that sounded like a cohesive production, and certainly not Beach Boys material. As well, the Capitol suits were not so thrilled. Everyone had expected Brian to keep them rolling in sunny Southern California sounds designed to keep the masses happy, and the cash registers ringing.

But Brian had matriculated to a world deep into creative experimentation, heavily influenced by the chaotic anger that was swallowing the 1960's youth culture. Adding to that mix was the flowering drug landscape where many brain cells of the elucidated would vanish in the wispy clouds found on high-flying acid trips, leaving their owners with barely enough sense to even drool like bored bovines, as they slipped into their golden years. This was becoming Brian's World, and his creativity was steamrolling along.

In time, the 'masterpiece', which was to be called SMiLE, was scrapped. The final blow came near midnight on July 11. Brian led an entourage to a local radio station, KHJ-AM. In his hands was the followup single to 'Good Vibrations'; in his eyes was the expectation that the DJ would halt all playlists and give the single, 'Heroes and Villains', an entry into the pop music cosmos unrivaled to that point.

But the DJ on duty acted impersonably cold and shunned the opportunity being presented. Only after frantic begging by the ragged retinue to call his boss for permission to break platter-spinning protocol, did Jimmy the Jock acquiesce. Coupled with the 'SMiLE' debacle, that massive 'Failure to Launch' would send Brian into a shell he would not escape for over thirty years.

The band would suffer as well, never quite reaching the previously known halcyonic days of their early twenties. The revenues would continue, but eventually the band would splinter over and over again, yet not to the point of disbanding.

The years passed and the two younger Wilson's would perish; Dennis in a 1983 drowning accident, Carl succumbing to lung cancer in 1998. Mike, Al, and Bruce would keep the band afloat well enough to see chatter of a 50th anniversary in 2011. But eventually Brian would go his own way and not, at least technically, remain a Beach Boy.

Then, in the early part of the 21st Century, an amazing thing would happen. Brian, after years of struggling to regain some of the magic that had now been lost for three decades, resurfaced with a new band; clear-headed visionaries who saw him not as a saviour to their own meager aspirations, but as the icon of pop music who was not quite ready to give up the ghost.

The SMiLE project idea was rekindled and completed to mass critical acclaim in 2004. Touring resumed with the new band, and a new set of fans flocked to shows, watching their parents (and perhaps grandparents) rock out to a blissful experience.

Another project, That Lucky Old Sun, sprung forth in 2008 and was even better than SMiLE. Then while the iron was still glowing bright red, Brian added his touches to a project honoring the Gershwin's, George and Ira, Brian Wilson Reimagines Gershwin.

Brian Wilson's World was once more rotating on a properly angled axis.

*******************************************************************

Now, nearly four-and-a-half decades later, Capitol has decided that the long lost tapes they banished to LP Loser City are finally worthy to be released. The project, when it finally hits the streets later this year, will be called The SMiLE Sessions.

Really, now . . . the company wouldn't back the original when it could have set the pop music world on its ear. They panned it so badly in marketing and advertising support that one would have thought it was the initial release of a discombobulated bar band. And now they want to bring it out from the catacombs for the world to enjoy?

Sadly, music aficionados across the globe are making it known that this is a groundbreaking announcement, one that will finish the job on Brian Wilson's coronation as the pre-eminent pop music genius of the 1960's. Brian Wilson himself is in the throng of partiers hailing the news.

But I question why is it being released now, and not in 1967? Why, when Brian Wilson's star was equal to, or burning brighter than, that of McCartney and Lennon, was it not released to sink or swim on its own merit? And I question if it would be released had Brian Wilson permanently faded from the music scene in the 1970's? Would it be more than Geraldo Rivera fodder for a lost treasure music television production if Brian had not risen from the ashes like a great phoenix bird and once more stode the carpeted aisles of adoration and approbation?

Maybe . . . maybe not.

And while I don't necessarily agree with Brian's approach of embracing the release, I will give it a listen. Because it will be good. And because Brian Wilson deserves the right to rake in a portion of the proceeds before riding off into the sunset on the rock and roll horizon.

I am only saddened that three who gave it thumbs down will share in the receipts and that two will have to enjoy its success while living in Rock and Roll Heaven.

HB 1007 and SB 1171

2011-03-08T23:40:00.002-06:00

There is a new bill, HB1007 (and it's cousin, SB1171), ready to hit the floor in both the House and Senate chambers at the Tennessee State Capitol this week. This much-needed piece of legislation in front of the 107th General Assembly will finally begin to address more stringent penalties for folks who wish to drive their fossil-fuel fortresses with a haughty sense of impunity for the laws of highway safety followed by the rest of the state's motoring society.

To the untrained eye, this action may appear almost as an inconspicuous afterthought to more pressing matters in front of this assembly; issues such as health, education, or fiscal propriety. It is merely an amendment to several sections of existing law found in Tennessee Code Annotated (TCA) Title 55, Chapter 8. But the strength it potentially brings to the entire Act should be heeded by every motorist in the state.

As introduced, [it] broadens [the] requirement that drivers exercise due care to apply to bicyclists; enhances penalty for certain traffic violations that cause serious bodily injury or death.

One might be tempted to view the cycling community's endorsement of these bills as a bit self-serving. That is true, but only to a small degree. While it is encouraging to finally begin seeing some respect towards a cyclist's right to safe transit on the state's roadways, let us not forget one thing: Cyclists have always had the right to the road. But we have rarely had the respect of those rights by the law enforcement and justice communities.

This despite numerous incidents, cited in writing, that have rendered an untold number of cyclists battered and bruised; sometimes maimed and killed. As well, the clock would expire if you placed a year-long timer on someone to start counting the number of incidents that have gone unreported because cyclists have simply thrown up their hands in disgust with the justice system. When you throw in the numbers where a few Patrolman Billy Bob Bierbali's have refused to cite drivers, either due to ignorance of, or outright disdain for the law, those annual tallies might outnumber the straightline distance in miles from Memphis to Bristol . . . multiple times over.

This bill should go a long way toward changing the attitudes of policing agents and the honored folks who don the judicial robes in our state. But had these two bastions of public safety and welfare been doing their jobs to a greater degree of excellence, or perhaps without being bought off by cash-flashing perpetrators, we would not need to start seeing the word bicyclist in black and white legalese.

But take a wee closer look, my friends. This language does not only apply to a motorist's diligence in protecting the backsides of the Spandex Saddle Sodalists (though some more often refer to us as Sadists, and a few, quite unkindly I might add, consider us to be Spawns of Satan).

It says . . . no wait, why don't you take a click and read it for yourself.

And after you have seen just how far-reaching it goes to apply to everyone, so that more folks than a few cyclists may benefit, just remember to thank, rather than spank (as in with your front bumper), one of us for being on the frontlines of helping everyone have a safer experience on the roadways of Tennessee.

Happy Trails . . .

Completing the Streets: A Simple Discourse

2011-03-06T15:00:00.004-06:00

As gasoline prices continue to soar, Americans are beginning to feel the pinch enough to desire an understanding of the intricate nuances of multi-modal transportation options. One of the key concepts emerging at all levels across the nation is called Complete Streets.

Two simple words that on their own merit are innocuous:

Complete, having all necessary parts, elements, or steps.

Streets, thoroughfares, especially in a city, town, or village that are wider than an alley or lane and that usually include sidewalks.

However, paired together and people, especially folks who do not have engineering or planning backgrounds, begin to sweat. The heart rate soars, the throat becomes scratchy, the breath comes in short gasps. I know that first-hand. As a bicyclist who wants the rights of the road extended to me (and my breathren) I am in favor of policies that incorporate safe passage. But, the idea was daunting. After all, if it is a concept germinating in minds of educated people with far more time to consider it constituents parts, it has to be more complex than this dumb old country boy bicyclist can comprehend, right?

Not exactly . . .

The paradox stems from the fear being both easy and hard to see. It's easy to envision because any time talk starts about infrastruture changes in the road building and maintenance theatre, John Q. and Joan X. Public sees gargantuan dollar amounts and massive interruptions on the horizon, although usually in the opposite order. "Why are we doing this project?" questions first arise after the couple, and many more like them, begin falling prey to the traffic delays that seem to occur primarily when they are behind the wheel in the project area. If John and Joan are of the fiscal mindset, they will soon discover the project is costing tax dollars they fork over. If they cannot see where the project benefits them, and immediately I might add, they begin to voice objections.

Conversely, the fear is diffcult to understand because the idea is so simple, sometimes not as costly as one might think, and extremely beneficial in both the short- and long-term. The only groups who seemingly do not benefit from a Complete Streets initiative are the auto and fossil fuel industries and the associated child enterprises. I say seemingly because only the most myopic proponents of these transportation resource gluttons do not consider how all transportation components can operate more efficiently if all are allowed, and encouraged, to operate together.

In short, there will be better resource climates for all when all are allowed to operate in the same comparative climate. It is often, though, a tough battle to fend off the more powerful commercial sectors whose real catalyst is GREED.

The National Complete Streets Coalition is the place to find a greater understanding of the concept. But it is basically summed up as the official mandate to plan and engineer streets to include all facets of multi-modal transportation options within the body governed by the proposed area. That is, the federal government can have a policy, but the states don't have to follow it on their 'private' roads. Likewise, a state can enact a policy, but a city doesn't need to adhere to it on roads they govern.

One of the most misunderstand precepts is that the policy will be the same at all levels. That is a false idea, but highly favored as propaganda by the Bastardians of Avaritia set. Even within cities of a like size, whether or not they are in the same state, the policy should be what all people in that area need to see as viable transportation options.

Complete Streets all begins with a vision . . . and a vision should be the property of the people, not the select few.
Complete Streets specifies that a road covered by the policy includes all users. That means pedestrians, bicyclists and transit passengers of all ages and abilities, as well as trucks, buses and automobiles.
(Sadly for operators of single-digit horsepower riding mowers who insist on taking their prized vehicle down to the local Bubba's Beers and Butts for noxious refills, it does not include you.)
Complete Streets covers all road projects, including new and retrofit projects, provisioning for design, planning, maintenance, and operations, for the entire right of way.
Complete Streets does not say that a body must do these things today, in an otherwise tight public funds fiscal landscape (Again, be mindful that the B of A lobbyists will be shouting this falsehood from rooftops . . . and probably FOX News). It just says that when things are done, they must be done with all users in mind.

So the next time you hear the term Complete Streets being considered in your community, county, state, or even the nation, perk up your ears and get involved with the process. And even if you do not believe the action or idea benefits you today, think ahead to the future: It might benefit your children and grandchildren.

Here's the Pitch . . .

2011-03-03T23:45:00.002-06:00

. . . There's a high fly ball . . . deep left field . . . back . . . back . . . and it's out of here . . .a game winning homerun for the Nashville Sounds at the Sulphur Dell.

Fact or Fiction?

Well, right now it is a wee bit of fiction . . . but soon, if some folks in Metropolitan Nashville decision making circles are making the right swings at the plate, then the Boys of Summer will once again be rounding the bags right where they ought to be . . . in the original home of Nashville baseball history.

Sulphur Dell, nee Athletic Park, long since gone from the local diamond scene, was where the Nashville Vols, the primary occupant, plied their trade for close to 60 years (officially the "Vols" mascot was adopted in 1908, the same year that legendary sportswriter Grantland Rice bestowed the Sulphur Dell name on the park). In its heyday, the grand ole gal saw the likes of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Mickey Mantle play exhibition games in Nashville and take their whacks at the short porch in right field, a part of the Dell that was legendary on it on merit. Not only was the fence a mere 262 feet from home plate (Casey Stengel once bragged that he dragged a bunt for a round-tripper), it was also severely sloped upward to the fence, which made for many a defensive nightmare. Speaking of the fielding nine, Christy Mathewson, Warren Spahn, and other Masters of the Mound whiffed more than a few baffled batsmen in similar exhibition games.

And while the Vols were more often miss than hit on having championship squads (although they did win Southern Association or Dixie World Series titles thirteen times in their history), many future stars of what Crash Davis would call 'The Show' in Bull Durham, had a few cups of coffee in the city while making sweet sounds on the sandlot, some even years before the city became famous for the real sounds of strummed strings in the Mother Church of Country Music.

It's location, bordered on the north by Jackson Street, the south by Harrison Street, and flanked by Fourth and Fifth Avenues was easy to arrive from almost any point in the Nashville vicinity. Of course, in those days much of what Nashville knows today as a business center still had many residences within a few blocks stroll. Many of those homes were owned by folks of prominence; none of today's gargantuan manses in suburbs far away existed back then. And investing a leisurely afternoon enjoying America's Pastime was as popular as taking a ride on the calliope, or having a picnic, at nearby Shelby Park in once trendy East Nashville.

Today, where the ballfield, once likened to Ebbets Field in Brooklyn, stood so proudly is nothing more than a parking lot for state employees, a state building known only as 'the data center', and a bike/ped aggregate path meandering over to Bicentennial Mall State Park and the Farmers Market. And often you have to share the path with some of the city's derelict populace.

In the 1970's professional baseball returned to Nashville after a hiatus of a baker's dozen years, but with a stadium farther away from the downtown area. In those days, the words urban revitalization would most likely be met with contempt and sneers. Few people thought downtown Nashville, in the buckle of the Bible Belt, populated by quasi-hayseeds, would once again be a vibrantly voguish mecca. Garish maybe, but certainly not populated by many in the style-setting crowd.

As that change has occurred though, and as a few more cultured pearls have begun to call Music City home, signs of life have sprung forth like the daffodils of Spring. And with that rebirth, folks have desired more options on ways to part with their hard-earned discretionary funds.

So now Nashvillians have the chance to do as many cities have done; to build a quaint little ballpark that will spur development along the Jefferson Street corridor, accentuating the progress found across the way in Germantown and Salemtown. One city councilman has gone on record as saying that Nashville can create another Oriole Park at Camden Yards, which is located in Baltimore. And while no one can easily forecast the day when Nashville will field a major-league baseball team, the city really would not need such a level for baseball to succeed on a large-scale.

Baseball, while long ago being eclipsed as the top spectator sport in America, is by far the sport where people gather as much for the overall entertainment factor as they do for the outcome of a favorite team. And with the playing season being mostly in the warmer months of the year, folks won't mind parking a few blocks away, walking to the game, and then to a favorite eatery, perhaps to dine al fresco.

As well, with a neighborhood park, you have lots of people living nearby. Coupled with the new emphasis on multi-modal transportation, game attendees arriving to the proposed destination by car will be fewer than at the current Greer Stadium in South Nashville.

Is this a done deal? No. Should it be a done deal? Yes. Probably it will be more palatable to the fiscal curmudgeons if as few public funds as possible are invested. Many of these myopic malcontents still think former Mayor (and a recent two-term Tennessee Governor), Phil Bredesen is the devil's spawn for having orchestrated the LP Field and Bridgestone Arena deals. But there should be something for the city to gain from it's primary tenant, the Nashville Sounds, having a first class joint to call home.

Still, even better would be guarantees that the investment will be a source of pride to the burgeoning North Nashville communities whose local councilmanic leaders have laboriously toiled in frustration waiting for their moment to bask in the spotlight.

Yes, the deal should be done . . . and soon!

We Really Have No Idea . . .

2011-02-24T23:00:00.000-06:00

A few years ago, while still married, I was in a couples bible study gathering. The subject of discussion was the very real possibility that my generation would be one of the first to raise our children, and then become primary caregivers for our parents who, as they aged, would most likely spend their last years infirmed, but not succumbing to a quick demise. I gave little thought to the subject. It was almost impossible to understand because both of my folks were, at the time, still active and showing few signs of slowing down. Dad was in his early-to-mid sixties; Mom was closing in on beginning her seventh decade of life. As well, my personal struggles with depression had recently found me contemplating the unthinkable. Even if I pulled everything together, it was not conceivable for them to need to depend on me for their care.

As the first decade of this century was starting to wrap up, both of the folks began to acquire issues. Dad was battling High Blood Pressure, Diabetes, and a nasty bout with Lyme Disease. Mom was slowly slipping into that halcyon state of Alzheimer's Disease. Still, things were okay even as 2010 saw me having to temporarily move in with the folks. My house, a casualty of the May 2010 Floods, is undergoing renovations that have lasted, as of right now, almost a year. As the days progressed, I began to see first-hand the slippage of their faculties. And now, where before I might go two or three days without seeing the folks, it was a new matinee double-feature every single day.

As 2011 dawned, Dad awoke feeling ill and decided he needed to go to the hospital. Off we went and things were never the same. He came home nearly three weeks later, obstensibly to recover from Congestive Heart Failure, Diastolic Heart Failure, Kidney and Lung issues (despite never having smoked a day in his life). Personally, I felt quite strongly that his doctor, sensing nothing could be done in the hospital that could not also be done at home, sent him home to die. But, I digress . . .*

Even in the best of circumstances, a man with no medical training cannot foresee the complexities of being a caregiver. Without sounding chauvinistic, I feel that the maternal instincts of a woman prepares them to be more intuitive with the art of care. But no matter who is the primary caregiver, all of a sudden, you are forced into planning medicine schedules, doctor visits, and mealtimes (perhaps even the diet itself).

Unfortunately, with Mom's burgeoning condition, we three Nichols' lads (my Dad, my brother and me) were already having to be on high alert. When Dad's situation was added to the mix, it was twice the fun with none of the laughs. Mom had to be coached through most tasks where thinking through steps were a requirement for success. For example, after meds she often asks two or three times within the span of 15 minutes if she has had her, " . . .Uhm, . . . uh, you know that thing I do." Recently, after I had prepared both of the folk's doses, I looked around to see that Mom had taken Dad's meds. Thankfully, it was nothing that could kill her . . . but, as he was on a diuretic, she did make a few more, uh, visits to the facilities during the night.

Don't get me wrong, I am appreciative of having this opportunity. If for no other reason than to be able and say, "You were there for me . . . so I'll be here for you." It is an honor, not an obligation. And, I suppose, it would be a Utopian existence for our lives to be filled with happiness, laughter and, at the very least, peaceful feelings all the way to the end, with no undue stresses on anyone to be our caregivers, if only for a day. But this is what life gives us. And nothing but being there and experiencing it first-hand can prepare someone for the responsibility.

*Initially, I had drafted this piece in mid-January, a few days before Dad was taken back to the hospital for a longer stay. He almost died; his body was weakened by the renal failure, his spirit weary of the fight. This time the hospital discharge, which was on February 8, a stay of nearly two weeks, was a transfer to a assisted living facility for rehabilitiation and continued Dialysis. A few days ago, my brother called his doctor for some advice and, while speaking to the Physician's Assistant, swears he heard the doctor's familiar voice in the background, "Steve Nichols, is he still alive?"

Maybe my observation was valid after all.

Oh, and as of today, Dad is almost ready to come home again. Unless a relapse occurs within the next twelve complete rotations of the Earth, he will be walking out of the facility, not being wheeled out on a gurney.

Resolving Conflict

2011-02-18T21:50:00.002-06:00

If you come at me with your fists doubled, I think I can promise you that mine will double as fast as yours; but if you come to me and say, ‘Let us sit down and take counsel together, and, if we differ from each other, understand why it is that we differ, just what the points at issue are’, we will presently find that we are not so far apart after all, that the points on which we differ are few and the points on which we agree are many, and that if we only have the patience and the candor and the desire to get together, we will get together.

Carnegie, Dale How to Win Friends & Influence People. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1936.

President Woodrow Wilson first uttered this sage advice nearly a hunfred tears ago. It sums up a logical equation to resolving conflict in any walk of life. Since first reading the words while in my thirties, they have had a profound effect on my thoughts any time I ponder conflict resolution opportunities. For example, in the war brewing between Cyclist Nation and Non-Cyclists, I see it as yielding important lessons—for both sides.

(By the way, President Wilson was an avid bicycler.)

First, let’s consider the basic question: Why are Cyclists allowed to ride on any roadways not categorized as limited access, regardless of whether a non-cyclist deems the road safe?

We are allowed to do so in Tennessee because of a state law, TCA 55-8-172 (also known as The Bicycle Protection Act of 2007), which says we have that right; a freedom as unalienable to us as owning a firearm is for another person. Although that law does not guarantee that non-state roads cannot be restricted, often enough public outcries by cyclists sway and defeat any action by local lawmakers to establish such archaic and backwards into the policy fabric of their charge.

But why must there be two warring sides to the equation? As the late Rodney King once said after having been the poster child in the fight against really stupid police action, “Can’t we all just get along?”

Sure we can. All it takes is cyclists and non-cyclists coming to the table, sitting down opposite of each other and saying, “Let’s work out our differences.”

To be fair, there are many misunderstandings from faults of ignorant cyclists. Not criminally belligerent cyclists, mind you, just those few individuals who really haven’t taken time to understand the law, their responsibilities to the law, and how to marry the two every time they saddle up for a jaunt on America’s pathways of freedom. It isn’t rocket science and it won’t qualify them for a Nobel Prize. But the understanding of these laws should be a requisite of not only enjoying the opportunity to ride the roads but also the very right to ride the roads.

Likewise, there are also ignorant automobile operators on the flip side of the coin who must do the same. Again, for the most part, these automobile operators are not criminals, although a few have intelligence quotients that might be construed as such.

Why should both sides share this responsility as a condition of enjoying America's roadways? Because it is America, home of the brave, and land of the free. And the roads belong to all of us.

Do Cyclists Pay Their Fair Share of Taxes?

2011-02-17T21:40:00.003-06:00

I was doing some research a few months ago and came upon the Cyclists Bill of Rights (CBR), a document that was penned by the Bike Writers Collective, a Los Angeles-based peoples voice consortium-type group. In the process of making sure that no copyrights would be violated by posting any part of the CBR, I came across a phrase in the document’s preamble that stated, “. . . cyclists are considered to be the 'indicator species' of a healthy community.” Upon Googling the combinations of the phrasing, indicator species bicycle fair share taxes, I was led to several articles that touched on the above post title question.

It is a fair and interesting question. And, should anyone of Cyclist Nation be queried on their thoughts, having a solid answer would at least quell the cacophony of non-cyclists (whose vocal minority would readily lash out in anger over sharing their roads with cyclists) and provide us all with a bit of blessed silence. Yet, it may also be an exercise in futility to direct an answer of the inquiry to those folks. Give an idiot a voice and you give them an avenue to express their lack of intelligence.

The answer, although it could be dissected and discussed in many ways, is relatively simple: Taxes, regardless of their intent, are taxes; and any single tax dollar collected, regardless of the taxing authority, is no more, or no less, of a tax dollar than any other tax dollar.

Skeptics might counter with some argumentative drivel about highway taxes being different and use the rationale that they are more user-fee related than other taxes. But the supporting documentation is so easy to understand that it can be used by a blind man to shoot holes in biases the strength of a wet paper bag.

Cyclists who own and use an automobile

Although I own a KIA Sportage, as a cyclist I intend to hit the roads for an average of thirty-five hundred bicycle miles per year over the next twenty years (to attain a personal cycling goal). My cycling intentions do not eliminate the fact that a portion of my taxes will go to fund federal, state, and local road projects (or given the notorious history of public graft, pad the wallets of corrupt highway politicos).

Cyclists who do not own or use an automobile

Even if I did not own a car, I still use public transit for the brunt of my daily commute and have no qualms at using the same venue for non-work related travel. The principal source that fuels public transportation budgets are General Fund tax dollars. Where do those tax dollars come from? The primary sources are sales taxes, privilege taxes for entertainment purposes, and professional privilege taxes that are masked within a service fee (such as for dry cleaning, medical services, etc.). Residents of Metropolitan Davidson County proper can add property taxes to the stew.

(I’m using this municipality as an example since a) it is the closest major metropolitan center to me and, 2) such municipalities are where you will find the greatest number of non-auto owning cyclists, unless you consider a city like Davis, CA, which has more bicycles than cars.)

Those are the two scenarios and the line of demarcation is fairly plain. Still, the pessimistic prattlers pine on about highway funds being derived from user-related fees such as fuel taxes and automobile registrations. With that flawed perspective, they maintain that cyclists should not be allowed on the highways—regardless of road designation.

However, no matter where the roads are, there is an abundance of General Fund tax dollars in play. Consider a few of the General Fund services that, without these services available to every citizen, no modern society could function:

Police, including all forms of traffic control (i.e., school patrols, etc.)
Fire
Emergency Medical, including First Responders
Waste Disposal
Public Works, including maintenance of municipal infrastructures
Schools, including the system transportation
Public Transportation (as cited above in scenario two), including all bus routes and even light rail

Next, you need to examine the impact that bicycle usage imposes on the actual roadways. Estimates from multiple sources indicate that even liberal bicycle impact costs projections are often around a half-cent per mile. For those folks having trouble with that statement, consider the following: How many repairs have been necessitated by bicycle usage on the roads (potholes, creases from disproportionate weight, structure damage from accidents, etc.)?

Taking another angle, for my anticipated 3500 miles road impact costs will be about $17.50 annually. How much sales tax, though, will be generated from sustenance purchases necessitated by the energy expended? Anywhere from two-to-ten times more, depending on where the taxes are collected and the nature of the rides (whether it is a hard, dehydrating, summer midday workout-type ride or a leisurely, spring evening jaunt will make a difference in what my re-energizing needs are). As well, I can guarantee a non-cyclist that my bicycle will need quite a few repairs and replacement parts over the course of 3500 miles, many caused by the road damage mentioned above, thereby generating an even greater amount of tax dollars being put back into the local economies.

If there are still any objections, let’s look at some positive ideas that benefit communities large and small whose leadership embrace the ideals of Cyclist Nation.

Bicycle friendly roadway improvements are by far usually less expensive and less invasive to daily traffic flow. These improvements, such as wider lanes and shoulders, especially for the projects designed in recent years are, as a consequence of modern engineering and technological advances, going to be not only better for cyclists but also automobile traffic as well.

Further, bicycle-specific improvements (bicycle-safe grates, traffic signals that detect bicycles, etc.) are implemented in part to ensure that automobile driver liability can stay lower by avoiding tangles with cyclists. Bicycle and pedestrian friendly communities are often healthier and more closely connected than are their counterparts. Their property values are usually higher and they are often more in tune with global environmental concerns as well.

So the question of whether cyclists do indeed pay their fair share of taxes is often more far reaching than a simple yes or no, as would the non-cyclist folks have you believe. And it is resoundingly in favor of the cyclist.

PegLeg and Me

2011-02-12T22:51:00.000-06:00

A few years ago, after fighting for several months with the idea of commuting by public transit, I relented and took the plunge.

To be sure, I had a valid reason for clinging to the thought that my single-occupancy vehicle commute was necessary. At the time I was an unabashed workaholic, happy to be chained to the idea that I was, indeed, doing something as important as rocket science. So if, for example, I wanted to extend my cherished daily slaving time in the urban jungle ruins, a viable, easy-to-use option of getting home was required.

Still, it wasn't until after a co-worker began using the bus that I saw the cost-saving benefit and common-sense rationale. So one day, with great fear and trepidation, I purchased a multi-ride pass and set off on the magnificent journey of public transit.

There were two options: The first was an express route that had two primary stops, a beginning and an end. The second was a regular route that traversed a major thoroughfare and made about 679 stops (give or take a few dozen) along the 15-mile span of my entry points.

The clientele on the express route were primarily white-collar cube dwellers and was less crowded. From the perspective of wondering if I'd get mugged on the way home, it was a safer option. It also cost a bit more at the time so the advantage of safety was, to a degree, minified.

Conversely, the folks encountered on the regular route were, to be sure, of the more earthy urbanite breed; a few looked downright scary. But, being of a frugal nature at times (i.e., darn near broke), I chose this option. After all, I was a fearless, physically imposing (120 pounds sopping wet) cube warrior. What . . . could go wrong.

The first day's inbound ride was uneventful, and I was feeling really swell about the experience . . . couldn't wait for the evening ride home. Arriving that afternoon at the crowded outdoor terminal plaza, still not sure of the real timing of the jitney, or even the exact number of my route, I finally found my station and anxiously awaited boarding. True to expectations, the fellow riders were everything I was not: shoddily dressed, filthy, smelly, having bad hair days, the whole nine yards. But, I was not going to be intimidated. I would rub elbows with them all, even if it meant desiring to burn my clothes immediately after arriving home.

In the distance I saw the charabanc round a corner, sputtering and spewing its diesel emissions like a badge of honor. Being the nice guy I am, I let the women, children, and most of the male cretins board first. Heading to the back of the coach, I shoehorned into the last available aisle-facing seat. There was room for one more rider, and into the seat next to me, and practically staring at my profile, a grungemaster settled in with a sigh and grin.

The bus slowly eased away from the sidewalk, and my stomach began to quieten; my olfactory nerves were calming as well.

Suddenly, but in a practiced and deliberate action, the fellow who took the last seat, reached down and . . . to my horror, twisted his leg off, and planted it, quite loudly, next to him.

I did not utter a sound, and my eyes stayed focused straight ahead . . . even as the denim fabric, now devoid of substance to cover, flapped in the breeze for the next several miles. The remainder of the ride was the most still I have ever sat on a bouncing bucket of bolts to this day, over a half decade later. Like the Bible says I should do, I did not look to the right, and I did not look to the left.

And after that day, I also never saw PegLeg again . . . primarily because the express route became more justifiable.

STOP B4 Right Turn

2011-02-11T16:40:00.001-06:00

There is idiocy afoot in the State House and Senate chambers in Tennessee and the new session is less than a month old.

Senate Bill 0425, sponsored by Republican Stacey Campfield, and its companion, House Bill 0437, sponsored by Republican Matthew Hill, seem like, on the initial view, to be innocuous. But take a wee closer look, my friends, and you will see the dangers of allowing these bills to pass.

Presently, the language in Tennessee Code Annotated (TCA), Section 55-8-110(a)(3)(A), basically calls for a vehicle operator to completely and fully stop at all intersections. They must also yield the right-of-way to pedestrians and cross traffic traveling in accordance with their traffic signal. Further, the action of the intended primary operator is not to endanger other traffic lawfully using the same intersection.

The language requiring the absolute stopping of the primary operator's vehicle would be replaced by verbiage that will allow the operator to forego making a complete stop. Further, they must only, "slow down their vehicle when entering the intersection and make the right turn on red with caution."

This can, however, only occur if one other condition is met: If said driver is, "certain no other vehicles or pedestrians are approaching."

In effect, what is presently an adequate, fairly concise, and effective piece of language is being replaced with a bunch of mumbo-jumbo requiring a vehicle operator to overthink the situation. Not only must a vehicle operator think about where they are coming from and where they are going, but they will also have to subjectively consider if they feel (and this part of the language is repeated on purpose), "certain no other vehicles or pedestrians are approaching," when the primary vehicle is entering the intersection.

I don't know much about the two gentlemen sponsoring this legislation in their respective chambers. But I do know they obviously have done very little observing a great deal of Tennessee drivers, especially those who operate vehicles in major urban traffic centers. Although the law is written for statewide application, those areas will be where the greatest concentration and application will be found.

Now, most vehicle operators are conscientious and safe while behind the wheel. In a perfect world there would be no need to consider ramifications for "Legislation FAIL." But we do not live in Utopia. We live in a society where an exorbitant number of Bubba's and Bubbette's have the license to drive a motor vehicle. Some of these people can't chew gum and walk at the same time.

Quite frankly I see multiple cases daily where caution + motor vehicle operation fit like polar opposites. If this legislation were about the two activities of walking and chewing gum simultaneously, we could all breathe a bit easier if passage were to occur. But it is not. As such, even one tragic result of "Legislation FAIL" could mean somebody dies.

To paraphrase one of the new adminstration's campaign slogans, "Is this legislation language change really good for Tennessee? No . . . of course not."

I'm a TAD Sad

2011-02-10T17:00:00.002-06:00

Cell Phones . . . just about all of us have them. Some are inexpensive "Go Phones" while others are "Smart Phones" advanced beyond a rudimentary explanation. No matter the version, or the brand, or the features, the connectivity afforded by the technology has become such a necessity in our go-go-go society that it is almost incomprehensible to imagine surviving without them. Sometimes, however, we get so carried away with the ease of usage that we lose sight of the catastrophic consequences when we fail to respect their power and realize that with the freedom provided by the technology comes the responsibility to use the freedom wisely.

A few days ago I was catching up on Facebook posts and came across Your Final Text Message, a video produced in March 2010 by AT&T, warning of the dangers in Texting And Driving (TAD). I watched the video stream and was touched by the message from survivors of texting escapades. Almost all of the victims, though, are no longer around to share their stories. One survivor was a perp/vic, although I'm not sure if bonus points can be awarded for surviving, or taken away for being a perpetrator. That is not meant to be sarcastic or funny. Each one of the victims here lost something precious: life. Each one of the perpetrators lost something precious: peace of mind. In the lone cited incident, the victim will never have his life back in the same manner he had before. Thus, perhaps his life was lost as well.

One of the vignettes featured a teenager who was texting, took his eyes off the road, and slammed into a cyclist, killing him instantly. Being a cyclist, and living with the danger of knowing that my next trek down the highway could be met with the same fate was unsettling. It does not mean I would give up bicycling on the road; yet, it is a very real concern. If it does happen I pray that my death will be instantaneous and my life not sustained at the vegetative state for an indefinite time.

I would have left it there and thought little else of the production. But the comments to the post were enlightening, one in particular from a fellow who reminded us that although the "stars" of the video were all teenagers, texting and driving was more than a teenage thing. I thought about those words and considered their point.

It's true. While the constituent parts of TAD makes it more than a teenage issue, there are three points that make teenagers more noticeable, and perhaps more susceptible to being blamed, in the grand picture.

First, teenagers (and now, I suppose, those recently matriculating to the ripe old age of twentysomething) are the primary TAD age group. Second, by the time many of these kids have started driving, they most likely will have been well practiced at the art of truncated communication for several years. Third, this same age group is, for the most part, always going to view death, with an impervious sneer. Death is something that will happen one day; but not today, not to my friends, and most assuredly not to me.

Those three characteristics, taken one at a time are relatively innocuous. Using the good old commonplace footwear of the laced sneaker, we can draw an apt analogy. When a pair of sneakers are properly laced and tied, they are fairly safe, practical, and quite useful. But, if the same pair of sneakers are laced or tied together, somebody is going to be tripping all over themselves, unable to walk. Transferring the context to TAD, the results will most likely be deadly, and quite probably crippling to at least one of the parties.

Teenagers and driving barely mix, especially in today's world where the lads and ladies are often tossed the keys to an automobile without a lot of training. What learning they do have is usually from watching idiot adults run stop lights and participate in road rage derbies almost daily. And they certainly are not privy to the caliber of training from the days of old where almost every high school curriculum included mandatory Driver's Education. It's almost like teaching the kids to shoot water pistols, telling them they have done a great job, and then tossing them their very own AK-47 . . . without the advice that this time the target will not walk away.

I can say this because I did have Driver's Ed in high school. And it was a great boon to my learning to be responsible behind the wheel. Yet, the first time I motored down an ice-covered rural road and had to stop . . . well, a bush next to the road did not survive.

(It was where Marlin Road intersects with 31W south of White House for those interested. The reedy remnants of the plastered plant were stacked by the roadside for what seemed like an eternity. I always thought the owner knew who did the deed and, in having the knowledge that said culprit traveled past quite often, left the limbs out there on purpose.)

Addressing point number two, when all you need is a cheap cell phone and simple data plan (usually paid for by well-intentioned Ma and/or Pa), anyone with two opposable thumbs can easily learn the tricks of the trade, so to speak. One young man spoke of texting being something that was done hundreds of times daily. Another, in speaking about one of the deceased subjects in the video, said the young lady could be carrying on a conversation with a person and be texting someone else. Admirable trait, this multi-tasking; more admirable, however, if someone is not dying because of its practice.

Finally, considering the last point, how many teenagers can comprehend death? We are not taught that death is right around the corner in most social scenarios as we grow up. Sure, there are some inner-city kids that will beg to differ. But, that is the exception to the rule when the entire American social stratum is considered. As well, with the current war climate in which we are living, quite a few kids have grown up and run off to war, while some kids have watched their Dads and Moms, Uncles and Aunts, Siblings and Cousins, do the same. Some of the soldiers will only return home in body bags to be eulogized. But again, that is an extreme exception and not the rule.

Another comment was from a lady who admitted to phone usage while driving. That is not unusual. I have done that. And, quite frankly, I tried to compose an email once using a smart phone keyboard. I gave up when realizing it was a stupid idea. But, once more, an adult will most likely have enough life experience samplings to understand the consequences of any actions better than a mere child.

The bottom line here is that, as I wrote in another piece a few days ago, we must be responsible and use our freedoms wisely. We must respect that life plays no favorites, and if we laugh in the face of responsiblity, life most likely will get the last snicker. However, we most likely will not be there to hear the echo.

Be safe out there, people . . .

The Real Threat of Obesity

2011-02-06T15:19:00.000-06:00

Obesity. Defined in Merriam-Webster as a condition characterized by the excessive accumulation and storage of fat in the body. Synonyms in that same entry include adiposity, corpulency, and the good old standby, fat. From the simple word of fat you can scale down the severity of the condition, in a sense.

The word obesity, when used to describe someone, generally paints an unflattering and disdainful picture of the person at whom it is directed. Modern Westernized society especially wants to slam doors in the faces of "fat" people as being undesirable in all walks of life.

You don't see fat women selling cars and lingerie. You don't see fat men in Viagara commercials being adored by their attractive women when that "right moment arrives." In fact, you don't see fat men or women selling any lifestyle that shouts success.

You may see either in commercials that depict a former lifestyle. Jared Fogel, for example, chowed down on Subway sandwiches every day for God only knows how long and melted off the pounds. Check out the infomercial scene at any time of the day and on some network you will see curvaceous models in bikinis and guys with six-pack abs all touting the latest and greatest fitness "system." But even those guys and gals, with picture-in-picture images showing their supposedly former blubbery selves, were never really obese.

As for antonyms, there are such words as skinniness, gauntness, and scrawniness. I fit closer to the antonyms, as anyone who has ever seen me can attest. But I also see first-hand the ravages of obesity every day, in the person of my Dad.

Dad has always been a big guy as his musculoskeletal structure would indicate. As well, being born and raised on a farm, where diets were laden with dairy, meat, and produce, meant the development of heftiness was a guarantee. Still, thanks to an on-the-go lifestyle, Dad avoided transitioning from fat to obese for many years. Contracting Lyme Disease in 2004, coupled with the natural tendency to slow down in later years, changed that status drastically. Until recently, when the ills associated with age and overweightiness, like Hypertension and Diabetes, began to gather steam he was doing okay.

Now, at 83, with obesity being an issue, other problems arise. Try being weakened by pulmonary and renal issues AND carrying a heavy-duty tire around your waist. You need to raise your legs to the heart level and help coax fluid from it's natural gravitional pull southward. But you cannot do that and also alleviate beathing issues caused by the excessive body weight in your mid-section. Add to those issues the extra stresses placed on the heart. Not only does the person affected feel the strain, those around them feel it as well.

Being in the hospital for a protracted stay found him in need of assistance to not only get up out of bed, but to be repositioned in bed. I could not do it alone, and my lone sibling, a brother, although he leans to the paternal side in stature, has dealt with a balky knee for awhile. Combined, we slightly weigh more than Dad. But that also means that two-thirds of our assistance is on one side. If we are helping him up to stand and he teeters my way . . . uh, that is not going to be pleasant. Nurses were available. But almost all of those bodies on his floor were petite females. They may be strong, petite females, but unable to provide good leverage.

Now, if futher assisted-living is necessary, guess what is found. Few facilities, even if they accept overweight patients, extend that to folks over 300 pounds. Dad, being 319 (and that with a recent eight (8) liter reduction in fluids by Dialysis), sees further discrimination.

So here is a great man, and perhaps I'm being a tad biased, seeing his sacrifices to be a respectable man, husband, father, and citizen reduced to inconsequential levels by society, literally being thrown on the scrap heap.

Could things have been different? Yes, they could have been altered, if not totally reversed. Perhaps he could have started a workout routine. But that was probably not an option because his active lifestyle revolved around work, not exercise. So there was no impetus from interests in that area. Let's face it, cardiovascular exercise is more than simple work, even of a physical nature, especially when you hit the age of retirement. You can't garden, mow the lawn, do simple home repairs, or move for any other reason, enough to make a difference.

So this is not about my Dad anymore. It's about whoever reads this and faces the dangers of obesity in any form. No matter if it is you, or a loved one; a neighbor or co-worker. Get the facts and address the situation. Do it for you or do it for someone else.

But, to borrow the Nike slogan: Just Do It!

The Responsibility of Freedom

2011-02-05T20:09:00.002-06:00

Recently I was reading, or I should say re-reading, the words of the Viennese psychiatrist, Dr. Viktor Frankl, in Man’s Search for Meaning.

Freedom, however, is not the last word. Freedom is only part of the story and half of the truth. Freedom is but the negative aspect of the whole phenomenon whose positive aspect is responsibleness. In fact, freedom is in danger of degenerating into mere arbitrariness unless it is lived in terms of responsibleness . . . the Statue of Liberty on the East Coast should be supplemented by a Statue of Responsibility on the West Coast.

How true that those words, uttered over a half-century ago (by a Fer-uh-ner as some of my fellow countrymen might be wont to note), are coming to fruition in almost every theatre of life in America.

We all want freedom, no matter in what arena we choose to play. Freedom is the basis of our Constitution and Bill of Rights. And there is nothing wrong with wishing to stand tall on that pedestal, peering out over the crowd with our posture ramrod stiff and chin held high.

Sometimes, though, we Americans are too quick in peppering the opposition to our individual freedoms, often perceived as birthrights, with a vitriolic diatribe that will curdle milk. We get a wee bit uppity in our demands that others genuflect to our wants and desires as if we were diety; but woe is to them if they expect the same courtesy.

To those I ask, "What is freedom if we do not accept its twin brother of responsibleness?"

It is a concept I have almost always followed in my cycling days and can easily propose to fellow cyclists, anti-cyclists (and their more benign cousins, non-cyclists), and elected officials as a middle ground in the continuing campaigns of road-sharing and facility-building.

For myself, I cannot, in moments of less-than-lucid thought, screech about my rights like a Raptor in Jurassic Park III and demand that you Share The Damn Road if I am not prepared to take the first step and offer the proverbial Olive Branch. While not being perfect, I do strive for excellence in following this precept. And I am not alone within the fraternity of saddle jockeys.

But there are other cyclists who wear the dark-tinted lens of myopic eyewear and fail to see the logic. Last summer as I was leaving work, an intrepid wheelman zipped past me on the sidewalk outside my building, did a brief rolling stop at the corner traffic light and, taking a spot on the pavement (motorist be damned), bullied his way through traffic as he swooshed toward the local football stadium parking lots about a mile away. He was in full racing regalia, headed to a weekly criterium series being held at those lots, on a bike that shouted, "I cost a lot, a helluva lot, and my owner thinks he's better than you." He would not have missed any start times at the race series if the track were 10 miles further. But he probably incurred the wrath of more than a few anti-cyclists. Many of those incensed would most likely remember this idiot and judge accordingly, to their skewed perspective, the next cyclist who was attempting to follow the unwritten code of responsibleness.

That's why this idea must be seen in action to anti-cyclists as a means to diffuse opposition to a cyclist's freedom to ride on “their” roadways. For the most part anti-cyclists, and these folks are different than non-cyclists, are all too ready to offer complaints, condemnations, and criticisms against the entire strata of cyclists. When cyclists place responsibility before rights they are, in essence, citing a cousin of the thoughts by Buddha that, “Hatred is never ended by hatred but by love.” No, I don't want to gather with a circle of Bubba's or Bubbette's to cry, hug, and sing Kumbaya. I just want to ride my bicycle without the fear that any of them might want to skewer my skinny butt with their hood ornament.

As for elected officials, responsibleness must take a different tack that includes the almighty dollar. These folks sometimes persist in claiming roads as their gift to the people, wrapped in luxurious, but decidely diaphonous, shrouds. Choosing responsibleness here means assisting these folks to see the facts about facilities and infrastructure that are out there. It is not that they cannot find the data on their own (although sometimes they do appear quite clueless). Rather, they are allowing the efforts of the constituency to guide their actions. Sadly, too often the synonyms of constituency, as considered by our elected officials, include Lobbyi$t$ and Big Bu$ine$$. It doesn't mean that cyclists cannot impact the decision-making of the legislative process. It does mean we have to work our backsides off because there are less of us rattling the sabers in seeking change.

When faced with such daunting opposition, we must show that a) facility-building will actually include less material and more people resources, and b) also help reign in the excessive health care costs of sedentary lifestyles that are exponentially skyrocketing with each new generation.

Our approach must be the same as what gridiron strategists understand as a mis-direction play. To wit, a halfback takes the handoff from the quarterback and starts running at the line of scrimmage in one direction. As the blocking schemes develop, the runner quickly changes course where another blocking hole has opened and, swoosh, they are gone. Executed very well, the play becomes a long-gainer and perhaps even a touchdown producing effort.

Here, instead of trying to get funding for dedicated bicycle facilities, the cold, hard data is presented showing that bicycling facilities can be merged with, and augmented by, other transportation options. We have to approach the project knowing that Big Money industries interests will be stroking legislators backsides and slipping recompense in their wallets while we are standing in front of said official pleading our case. We also have to understand that the smile we see may not be because the elected official agrees with us, and our viewpoint; they are merely reacting to the gentle patting of their backsides. But we are practicing responsibleness on a grander scale.

Earl Nightingale, in his audio program, Lead the Field, had these thoughts on personal responsibility as it related to a person's career motives and decision-making: Do what you love and the money will follow. It will work in all theatres.

Let's practice responsibleness first, and then watch as the right, the freedom, to do almost anything we choose will come to us a bit easier.

Be Vigilant, Not A Vigilante

2011-01-30T20:42:00.000-06:00

I was reviewing some old scribblings today and came across this gem that begs to be remembered.

In the Summer of 2008, in Portland, Oregon, of all places, a most unusual confrontation between cyclist and driver occurred. You can read it here, as well as in the slightingly embellished recap below.

47-year-old Colin Yates, a self-described 30-year cycling advocate, was driving with his family on July 6, when a cyclist passed him on the left and ran a stoplight. Yates, trying to be Mr. Greatest American Hero to his wife and two teens, caught up with the balky biker at the next intersection. He honked his horn, leaned out his window, and reproached the cyclist for making other wheelmen look bad and that he [Yates] was a responsible bicycle rider who gets upset when he sees fellow riders disobeying traffic signals. For all we know, he may have also threatened to call the cyclist’s mommy as well.

The rolling confrontation continued to the next intersection where the bicyclist, Steven McAtee, 31, a Portland city employee, rode up to the driver's window, dismounted while allegedly cursing at Yates in an aggravated manner, and challenged him to a fight, all the while deciding to decorate the Yates’ Subaru Legacy with McAtee Signature custom cycle imprints. Eventually, the altercation escalated to a schoolyard-like, deke-and-duck affair with the driver futilely attempting to leave the scene. That failed when the cyclist blocked the way and continued the vehicular remodeling, which prompted Yates to face the assailant once more.

It gets even stranger.

As Yates stepped from his car again, he was repeatedly struck by Cycleboy, who was still brandishing the cumbersome weapon of choice. Suddenly, out of the gathering crowd stepped another do-gooder who floored the cyclist. But, as quickly as McAtee hit the ground, a dozen people allegedly swarmed Yates and accused him of roughing up Cycleboy.

Police were summoned via 9-1-1, which was relayed as, "Car hit bicycle, and people yelling." The first responders found a confusing scene with over two dozen hostile warriors ready to lynch the motorist. His teenagers were huddled on the rear floorboard, although most likely from fear of being recognized as being related to Super Dad. His wife was seen frantically texting an attorney, possibly for a divorce (okay, I’m embellishing a bit more here).

Still, one witness on a bicycle, who refused to make a statement at the scene because of the throng, later talked to police by phone and corroborated Yates' story.

In the end, Steven McAtee was cited for third-degree assault, criminal mischief, driving under the influence of intoxicants and disorderly conduct. Colin Yates left the scene with a chain imprint on his forearm and grease stains on his shoulder.

What is wrong with this story? Perhaps a simpler, easier to answer, question might be, "What is right with this story?"

While no ‘responsible rider’ likes either the recalcitrant motorist or the negligent cyclist, it is incumbent on us, as cyclists, to help effect the best outcome—in any situation.

Vigilante 101 is not a subject found in the Responsible Cyclist core curriculum. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances, Cyclist Nation will not wax strong with great respect for our rights by non-cyclists until we, as a whole, understand that our advocacy arms are known as leagues, alliances, associations, and so forth, for a reason—they are greater in number, and thus more effective, than any one person.

A couple of personal examples here: First, as with any bicyclist faced with danger, my adrenaline has soared at times due to inconsiderate drivers. I have flipped fingers, cursed exclamations in the air, and even stopped to challenge one driver who nearly ran me into a ditch while turning his car into a local Bubba’s Beers and Butts. Nothing has positively resulted for me at in those moments of incitation. Thankfully, nothing negative has happened as well.

Second, on a recent ride one evening, I was passed by a cyclist heading in the opposite direction on the same side of the road. Should I have turned around to chase down the cyclist and lecture him as Colin Yates did to Steven McAtee? I didn’t because a) he should have been cited by police at some point and, b) except for being directional-challenged; he was a law-abiding adult who observed proper helmet use. Since my focus remained ahead, I do not know that he wasn’t turning in at a local store. He was still wrong, and he should have been wiser, but I would have only made an enemy.

There is a right way to effect change, a non-violent way that does not create a scene of anarchy. Colin Yates family car, along with the wife and kids social reputation, would have appreciated a bit more thought by Super Dad.

Solution to Immigration Reform and Balancing the Budget

2011-01-27T22:31:00.004-06:00

When I was a younger lad growing up in the South, we had as part of a common-sense curriculum, a well-worn set of idioms to guide our direction. No matter what the problem was, it could be turned into an opportunity by the application of those wisdom-laden snippets. One of my favorites was the one about killing two birds with one hand by throwing stones in a bush . . . or something like that. But, I digress . . .

Well, recently I got to thinking about a couple of problems we have in this country: The Budget and Illegal Immigration Reform. To be sure, those are two dynamic issues that the leadership of this nation has been struggling with for years. Well, here is the perfect solution that will allow us to resolve both issues at the same time.

Annex the thirty-one Mexican States and the Federal District as eight American States.

The process, which would allow the United States to resurrect Manifest Destiny, that time-honored, but not recently implemented, mechanism to increase property mass to grow the economy. At the same time, we would virtually eliminate the illiegal immigration reform debate. The following breakdown is the proposed reorganization structure. The new state capitals are listed first.

New Durango
Durango, Aguascalientes, Colima, Jalisco, Nayarit, Sinaloa, and Zacatecas

New California
Baja California and Baja California Sur

New Yucatan
Yucatan, Campeche, and Quintana Roo

Tabacruz
Tabasco, Chiapas, Oaxaca, and Vera Cruz

New Sonora
Sonora, Chihuahua, and Coahuila

Mexico
Federal District, Guerrero, Hidalgo, Mexico, Morelos, and Tlaxcala

New Pueblo
Puebla, Guanajuato, Michoacán, and Querétaro

New Leon
Nuevo Leon, San Luis Potosí, and Tamaulipas

Most of the new states will have a direct economic amelioration, and all will contribute to the renascent rebirth of America as the number one super power in the League of Nations. Among these benefits are:

The addition of about fifty resort or vacation destinations, especially the very lucrative coastal areas, will provide tax dollars for the budgets in Defense and Welfare.

A couple hundred American corporations can legitimately call their manufacturing operations a part of the United States once again. Whether the newly crunched labor numbers become too large—due to increased employee taxes and mandated insurance premiums—will influence whether the industrial concerns remain in the new United States, or migrate westward to China, will be determined later.

The elimination of that worthless and annoying Peso will give the new states our more stable dollar for the new Americans to buy such things as over-priced gasoline and health care. As an ancillary benefit, there will be new jobs in fields such as the banking and finance industries to manage all of those new credit card accounts generated, as well as a like number of jobs in the insurance industry.

The Department of Defense can exponentially increase the number of foot soldiers in the United States Armed Forces with the immediate addition of an estimated 50 million able-bodied young men and women ready to prove their sacrifice for this country—sort of like an initiation.

Reducing the land mass of the U.S. southern border would ensure tighter controls against illegal immigration. The border fence will not be necessary thereby freeing up $900 Billion. A U.S. Army company of 18 sharpshooters—three units of six men (or women, for all of you Annie Oakley wannabes), working in eight-hour shifts—posted at the Guatemalan border would do the trick.

Central Mexico could also provide an out-of-sight, out-of-mind, location for a new federal prison to relieve overcrowding in our current 50 state prison systems. The current states would have to give up federal funds currently appropriated by Washington for individual security needs. However, there would be less recidivism to the state of the initial conviction. Since most relapse by convicts occurs within 100 miles of the institution of their incarceration and, as most criminals are pathetically unintelligent, upon release they can be supplied with directionally inverted maps, driving them further away from the Continental United States. If they make it as far south as the new United States border, the sharpshooters can use them as live practice targets.

In addition, further annexation with the following two areas will extend the benefits of the entire program.

New Salvador
Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador, and Honduras

New Panama
Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama

By incorporating these new areas we can add the taxability of the lucrative Central American drug trade. And it will also bring us back to a nice round number of 60 States.

So what have we got to lose?

Raise Our Sights?

2011-01-21T20:24:00.003-06:00

"It is time to aspire to be more. As Tennesseans, we often aim too low when it comes to education, our health and our economy. It’s time to raise our sights.”

It was quite enlightening to hear Governor Bill Haslam commit to those three vital areas as he was sworn in as Tennessee's 49th Governor this past weekend. Yet, in some form of phrasing, any high ranking elected official would probably say much the same thing. Perhaps in another geographical area, an additional topic or two might demand to share the spotlight, maybe even be the number one area of concern. But, Governor Haslam, like a savvy gunfighter in a western movie scene, knowing just how far to stick his neck out from cover when returning fire, played it fairly safe while picking his targets.

How safe? Education is always going to be a key precept. The world is changing rapidly, and if the next generation of leaders isn't being taught today with cutting-edge methods and technologies, then how can America maintain her status quo as a leader.

The economy, either in times of up or down cycles, will always be a hot button issue. Bulls may be rambling up and down Wall Street, with the daily closing bell a happy photo op for many a winner. But somewhere, somebody, or even an entire industry sector, will be facing challenges and perhaps in imminent danger of failing. Of course, when the Bears are on their cyclical feeding frenzy, this area is usually the hands-down winner.

Health, whether that of the general populace, or those on society's life expectancy shoulders of infancy and the elderly, always needs to be addressed. Collectively, our actuarial tables are ever-changing to the good; the better we target key health issues, the longer our lifespans grow. The greater the increase of our lifespans, the better we must continue to direct emphasis on new health concerns.

That's the one area where cyclists, and stakeholders in other arenas of active/alternative transportation options, can hit the Haslam Administration with their concerns on continuing the growth of ideas that have been broached in recent years. Some of the opportunities are not wholly dependent on end-user needs to move around a community. Sustainable/liveable communities, the continued greening of the construction and reconstruction industries, a host of recycling and reuse opportunities are included here. But in the get me from here to there theatre, a myriad of bicycling and pedestrian facilities including, but not limited to, greenways, as well as light passenger rail and bus rapid lines, are examples of projects that can make our health scores grow exponentially.

Yes, I know we are in times when public fiscal prudence needs to be practiced, and not just used for campaign banter every few years. I'm all for that idea. But, let's consider more than the raw dollars and cents that we think may be saved today by not focusing on the projects noted above. True, we hear all sides expressing concerns that we are leaving a debt burden to the generations that follow; they include many of our grandchildren, and even beyond. Still, ideas that may carry unattractive front-loaded costs today will, when those generations arrive, some long after the daisies we are pushing have withered away, be in force and cost less to maintain for those generations.

And, while I understand that not everyone sees fiscal judiciouness in the same light, consider, if you will, the humble bicycle and pedestrian avenue. Something that may cost $1 Million per mile today, will in thirty years have served today's adults and children, who become tomorrow's adults and have their children, who become adults and are on the way to supplying another set of users. This will be accomplished with very little funding to maintain the facility. Will we be able to say that for the highway we build or expand today, which will, I assure you, cost more up front than a mere $1 Million per mile?

When the decisionmakers (whether federal, state, or local) who were elected on the rallying cry of Take Back Washington, or its filter-down equivalent, start working on their pledges to do just that, we need to be there reminding these well-intentioned folks, like Governor Haslam, that we are ready to raise our sights.

Whether it is more than campaign rhetoric, or an inauguration speech, is up to them.

Goal Achievement Ratio

2011-01-16T12:09:00.001-06:00

In National Football League vernacular, the terms Takeaways and Giveaways are used in reference to a particular team’s turnover statistics. Usually, the most successful teams will have a greater number of Takeaways than Giveaways, or more times their defense has intercepted passes and recovered fumbles over the course of a season than when their offense has suffered the same fate. This will often be expressed as a ratio. For example, in 2007 the San Diego Chargers had a 2-1 turnover ratio with 48 Takeaways and 24 Giveaways.

When pondering the idea of cycling goals today, I came up with a loose restructuring of those terms to fit the needs of a cyclist. As cyclists, regardless of our interests, many of us have at least one personal goal we want to accomplish because we saddle up and ride. Over the course of our cycling lives, we hopefully will have opportunities to set and achieve goals many times over. The nature of the goal(s) will be different for each of us. For some, it will be the thrill of racing while for others it may be a simpler joy of pulling the next climb without toppling over from a coronary.

These goals would be our Takeaway Goals—the pursuits we, as cyclists, gain as a direct result of our physical effort while in the saddle. However, in cycling parlance, success would, and should, be considered as having achieved more Giveaway Goals; or goals where we give back to the cycling movement, helping to grow the culture and its future. The Takeaway Goals, while hopefully numerous, would be the lesser number for each of us while our Giveaway Goals would be the higher tally.

The whole idea is summed up in two statements:

Because we are people engaged in a worthwhile pursuit, we will gain many interpersonal and tangible benefits due to the proactive nature of being cyclists.

Because we enjoy cycling so much, we will want to give back—or return—something of worth to ensure the future of cycling.

To sum it all up in a neat and tidy package, let's call it the Goal Achievement Ratio, or GAR.

The fun thing is that the same physical, emotional, and intellectual strengths we use to achieve a Takeaway are also usable, perhaps in different forms, to score a Giveaway. And there is nothing negative with a tally on either side of the ledger. As preeminent sports psychologist Dr. Dennis Waitley is fond of stating, it’s a Win-Win situation.

I'd love to hear your goals regardless of whether they are Takeaways or Giveaways. Who knows, maybe you can inspire someone else or be spurred on to greater heights by another cyclist.

Giveaways or Takeaways—it makes no difference. Just get out there, achieve those goals, and begin developing your own GAR.

Return to Simplicity

2011-01-14T20:50:00.005-06:00

In the twenty-first century climate of cycling advocacy, the efforts of cyclists versus anti-cyclists should be clearly demarcated. Ideally I suppose, in a utopian world, there would be no point of establishing such a line. Cyclists would merrily meander down the road, and motorists would wave with broad smiles, or perhaps a friendly horn toot, in passing (after all, there is no such animal as an anti-anything in Utopia). Of course, that is folly because Utopia is where naïve individuals wearing rose-colored glasses call home, where the future will be full of peace and harmony and everyone gathers often to hug and sing Kumbaya. In reality, it exists nowhere and, as there are cyclists, there will be anti-cyclists. Yet, all cyclists should be as one, unified in advancing the collective rights to share whatever transportation avenues exist; whether they are greenways, rural roads, or city streets. Unfortunately, that idea also is only found in Utopia.

A large part of the problem is, that within the various cycling strata, like any societal structure, people often view each other suspiciously when faced with different ideas, or contrasting values, in any hot-button issue. And my idea, while I think it to be grand, if not the same as your idea, will most likely be seen as wrong by you. Try as I will, my attitude will often fall prey to the reverse as well. What then is the grand umbrella where cyclists can stand, (or, if you will, ride) together?

It is that amalgamation of rubber, metal, and plastic that brings us together. Whether it is has one or more wheels, or multiple seats, it should mean the same to all cyclists. Whether it is the everyday commuter who rescued a ride from a junk yard or the spandex-clad weekend warrior who spent the big bucks on a high-end model at a true bicycle shop should not be of consequence either. In a way, that is a Pollyanna view, but restraining it within the prison of the mind’s eye is wrong, very wrong.

Before progressing further, I must own up to my station: In my house there are two bicycles, both purxchased new, with an average price tag of $1000. In my wardrobe there is several pair of cycling shorts and a few cycling jerseys. I own a pair of cycling shoes that partner with a pair of now-disbanded clipless pedals. And, of course, there is the requisite helmet because the idea of sipping my meals through a straw is not appealing.

I do not ride daily. In fact, most of my opportunities find me packing bicycle-on-car to seek a riding venue. Living in a more rural area, where few retail stores exist, I do not have many options for errand-running. Having a seventeen-mile one way work commute, with no secure bicycle parking, and no hygiene facilities at work, and a job that requires I play dress up at least four days a week, fairly negates that opportunity. As well, you don't want to get me started on the rumbled-leaving-a-four-inch-rideable-shoulder US 31W that is my main egress to freedom sans bicycle rack.

All of those criteria should place me in the upper strata of cycling society. Yet, I do not see it that way. I do not sneer with contempt at the cyclist who commutes daily for all, or even part, of their ride. I do not stand, dressed in my cycling regalia, next to someone in baggy jeans and a t-shirt and act as if they are beneath me and should kiss the ground at my feet.

My friend, Anthony Siracusa, in his jaunt across Europe and Australia on a Thomas J. Watson Fellowship to learn about non-American cycling cultures, reminds everyone in his Pedal Power writings that the bicycle should be something that brings everyone together, not splits them apart. That we are one as a society, and that oneness sometimes means we will expose our imperfections to each other. That we, even in our subcultures, no matter what they are, will be discovered as flawed; that we should strive to be individuals divided by nothing of consequence to the point that it sullies our lives with anger and mistrust.

It’s inherently true because when I straddle the saddle, no matter where I ride, I often pass other cyclists (and pedestrians) sometimes so close that we could reach out and touch one another. I have the opportunity to look into another person’s eyes, to share their world on a more personal level than when we are sequestered in our metal, glass, and plastic boxes, screaming past each other on aggregate compound slabs at seventy miles an hour. And sometimes, despite my best intentions, I egregiously screw up following the rules of cycling conduct that I seek to obey.

Yet, that is the appropriate climate. Not one predicated by persons whose cycling adventures find them shackled by desideratum considerations, and rules of their own internal prison. Not one where the opportunities of the bicycle-as-a-social-tool are castrated by the opinions of people who fail to heed those sage words of Jesus Christ about he who is sinless casting the first stone (and yes, I too often toss many stones).

So, fellow cyclist, I shall not regard your efforts, your ideas, as unworthy. Whether you reciprocate is entirely up to you. Let’s just ride and enjoy the opportunity to interact with one another.

Happy Trails!

The Theatre of Cooperation

2011-01-12T16:59:00.007-06:00

Look up the word cooperation in Merriam-Webster. Entry number two is a very simple statement that says association of persons for common benefit. Take a closer look from another perspective you can easily see two ideas at work: operation, which is a definite action noun, and co-, which is a prefix just as strong in implying working, or coming, together.

Sadly, as people gather to be either combatants or spectators in the many skirmishes in the cycling advocacy war, the warring sides fail to see the greater picture; that cycling advocacy is more about a greater battle for an increased amount or, and better, transportation options than just a battle between the two poster children: Cyclists versus Non-Cyclists.

The result is that neither side really has any idea on how to cooperate with one another to bring about the radical change that people are clamoring for on a large scale. It’s not about cycling, per se; it’s about improved Transportation Enhancements (TE) (capitalized here because it is the current buzzword for the whole schmeer of alternative transportation options: bicycling, pedestrian, rapid bus, light rail, etc.). The nation’s people, particularly the 21st century’s urbanites, want greater public transportation options and improvements to infrastructures, they want better planning on roads and residential/business pods. Above all, many want to see this nation quit spending billions on foreign oil.

Unfortunately, many of the pro-change warriors are also cyclists. So, by default, cycling advocacy is seen as the main antagonist for the folks who desire that the status quo shape our nation’s TE policies for the foreseeable future. The combatants enter the arena wearing protective eyewear that induces a kind of myopia about their roles and mission. Thus, a great deal of energy gets wasted by a posturing that resembles two punch drunk fighters sparring, feigning jabs and awaiting their opponent to drop so they may claim a TKO victory.

I am as guilty of saber rattling as anybody. I see cyclists riding on the wrong side of the road, blatantly disregarding road rules, or just plain being jerk-offs, and the warm fuzzies that are wanting to be shared with a fellow cyclist are replaced with an apoplectic rage. As well, when confronted with opposition and disregard for my desire to see better TE options you will find me wanting to shake my fist in a face. Yet, as many sage advisors have stated in history, sometimes we are guilty of trying too hard to remove the small splinters from our neighbor’s eye when we won’t remove the plank from our own eye.

Still, more than anything, two statements by Tennessee public officials as America struggled with a great recession sum up where we are as a nation. They show that the battle lines are drawn so that more spectators see those champions of the status quo as the only true righteous voice of our future.

In early November 2009, after the state had $255 million dollars recissed in federal highway funds, the Memphis Commercial Appeal quoted Tennessee DOT Assistant Commissioner/Chief Engineer Paul Degges on the action. To wit, the article told the cuts would “hit projects to improve highway safety, air quality, and transportation "enhancements such as greenways, streetscape, and rails-to-trails projects."

"We didn't lose any bridge money, interstate (highway) money and national highway system money. Those are our major programs," Degges said.

As well a short time later I received a response from United States Senator Bob Corker after having written him about a September 2009 amendment (SA 2371) in Congress that would allow states to opt out of guaranteed TE spending.

“I understand your concern that these amendments would have hurt the development of bike paths, walking trails, and other infrastructure for alternative modes of transportation. I am an avid cyclist myself and greatly enjoy the outdoors. The two amendments mentioned in your letter would have removed spending requirements from state governments that receive highway funding from the Federal government. While one of the amendments was withdrawn, I did support S.A.2371. This amendment removed the 10% funding requirement on Transportation Enhancement programs in order to give states more flexibility in addressing their highway and transportation needs, and I felt that this would be appropriate given the current dire financial straits most states find themselves in.”

I could almost hear that nasal voice dripping with a sort of condescencion while he sought to sell me that the long-term effects of his nay vote would be diminished in the present day by the fiscal prudence.

I'm all for fiscal responsibility. But if people like Corker look further than the lobbying dollars clouding their vision, they might see that more of America wants a long-term solution. But alas, the majority of Americans, those who are concerned, and perhaps a bit enervated about the increased costs associated with spending massive amounts of tax dollars on highways that often resemble tarmacs, aren't the constituency of choice.

These two comments sum up that cooperation to improve this nation’s transportation infrastructure is a moot issue. It will not be considered by the cognoscenti in state and federal circles. Those whose wallets are primarily filled by big oil bucks; whose audiences are lobbyists, not constituents, spend their energies thumbing their noses at the masses of whom they are supposed to be of service.

As a cyclist, as a Tennessean, as an American, I, along with many others, stand ready to cooperate. But if we are the only side filling the theatre, then the concept is no more valuable than a Dead Sea scroll. Therein lies the frustration of believing in the value of cooperation.

Barbara Ann

2011-01-12T13:49:00.001-06:00

Unlike many guys, I have never engaged in the idea of ‘naming’ a personal vehicle. Although the idea doesn’t see much life in the 21st century (at least where I live), I’m sure some guys still embrace that Neanderthalian rite of passage. Most likely it only occurs in the land of amateur Ricky Bobby's, who still wear blue jeans and white t-shirts (with the ubiquitous pack of Marlboro's rolled up in the sleeve).

Of course, no naming of a vehicle can transpire without cause. Whether it is a favorite girlfriend, Mom, or just the local roller derby hottie, there must be a reason that name will have a special place of honor on a guy’s vehicle.

Well, a few months ago, I decided to join the Neanderthalians and christen my red-and-white 2008 Specialized Allez Elite. Her name is now Barbara Ann, and this is her story.

Since joining the Tennessee Department of Environment and Conservation, Division of Fiscal Services Parks Accounting section in March of 2000, one of my earliest friendly colleagues was a vivacious redhead from Paris Landing State Park named Barb. Over the years, though my specific duties did not always involve Barb’s work at Paris Landing, we remained fairly close, always ready to share good-natured laughs about the follies of work and life.

In late September of 2008, I had the misfortune of breaking a femur in a rather unique, and slightly embarrassing, bicycling accident. Riding clipless, I simply fell over rolling to a stop after being unable to disengage foot from pedal. The bike had all of 10.07 miles on its cyclometer and there would be another year passing before the miles ridden were a greater number than the months owned.

Two days after surgery, while I was still in that euphoric land of pain meds, the phone rang, interrupting my visions of traipsing suntanned on a faraway beach with Mary Stuart Masterson. There we were, just the two of us, Mary Stuart and I, munching on fried green tomatoes and sipping on Hurricanes while also drinking in the elixir of the sun’s afternoon warmth. This interruption had better be damn good.

On the other end of the line were Barb, and her partner-in-crime, Kristi, giggling like schoolgirls making crank calls while hanging out at home as they skipped fifth-period geometry class. And they were all too eager to give me the business on the unusual details of the accident. Although I would receive many calls, visits, and cards in the next few weeks, none warmed my spirits like that brief, initial repartee with Barb and Kristi.

The story now fast forwards to a mere three-and-a-half weeks later. It is Sunday, October 19. The phone rang and on the other end of the line was Kristi. This time there was no Barb, and there was no hilarity. In fact, there was nothing but stunned silence on my part as Kristi said that Barb had passed away the night before, due to a heart attack. She was only 60 years old.

The time since has passed with more than a few days spent remembering Barb, her laugh, and her love of family and friends. Few people continue to touch so many lives as Barb did in her life. Kristi (and others) keeps her picture close by as sort of a guardian angel. I still have her cell phone number in my address book. Yeah, she was just that special.

And, as the time has passed, my injuries have healed and I am back in the saddle once more. This time I’m riding smarter, with no more days of fancy clipless pedals for me. For I am not a racer, intent on whipping past a pace line in a criterium, I’m just a guy who loves riding his bicycle.

And his bicycle is now, and forever more, no longer nameless. She is Barbara Ann. And, as Paul Harvey would say, now you know . . . the rest . . . of the story.

Bicycle Friendly Business

2011-01-11T09:19:00.002-06:00

As a League of American Bicyclists active member for the past several years I have watched as many great and inspiring programs have been launched to foster the bicycle culture growth in America.

A municipality can be awarded commemoration as a Bicycle Friendly Community (BFC) on several levels. A state, by the commitment of the municipalities within its boundaries, as well as its own initiatives, is also graded and noted as a Bicycle Friendly State (BFS). These two programs must, by their scope, have an "all-in" commitment across several agencies to be successful. But the program that excites me more is one where there is not a lot of political concessions, and potentially foiling infrastructure investment, necessary to score points.

The Bicycle Friendly Business (BFB) program can be simple to plan, easy to implement and, depending on the business location, be an extensive marketing boon to aid the organization's bottom line.

To qualify all a business must do is complete 50-question application that measures their specific commitment to bicycling for their employees. It also helps if the enterprise has an active involvement with as many official advocacy organizations and governing agencies as possible. The establishment can have any number of employees (Eli Lilly Pharmaceuticals has 120,000 but there are many entities with less than ten employees) and serve any number of sectors/industries (i.e., retail, construction, hospital, government, schools). The key to receiving the award, (whether Platinum, Gold, Silver, Bronze, or Honorable Mention) is having a manageable program that primarily benefits the bicycling efforts of their employees as well as, but secondarily, the local area.

In Tennessee, for example, the most recent 2011 list has 212 Market Restaurant in Chattanooga with 38 employees (Silver 2009), Mast General Store in Knoxville with 47 employees (Bronze 2010), RPM Transportation Consultants in Brentwood with 11 employees (Bronze 2009), and Pointe General Contractors in Chattanooga with 42 employees (HM 2010). The first two are in the retail sector and can, by the nature of retail, serve not only employees but also customers. Still, even the last two organizations can benefit residually, with potential new business referrals from folks who see the BFB designation as an attractive trait of the company.

As well, it is no coincidence that three of the state's entities are in BFC communities and the fourth, RPM, is a major player in the bicycle infrastructure planning and design arena. Brentwood is also a close neighbor to Nashville, which should soon be able to attain BFC recognition.

Is there a downside to the effort? How can there be when the company is doing something that promotes the efforts of the greater good in alternative, active transportation. I urge everyone, even non-cyclists, to take a look at the list and try to patronize the businesses, if possible.

Equality . . . In All Things

2011-01-10T13:46:00.005-06:00

Almost everyone by now has learned of the Michael Vick story. Widely recruited out of high school, he was a hot shot quarterback for Virginia Tech in 2000-2001. He decided to leave school after two years and was drafted by the Atlanta Falcons of the National Football League. He was the face of the franchise as an All-Pro quarterback from 2002-2006. In 2007, Michael Vick was arrested and convicted of operating a dog-fighting ring. Sentenced to the Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, he served twenty-three months in 2007-2008. After a highly publicized release, Vick returned to the NFL as a quarterback with the Philadelphia Eagles in 2009.

When Michael Vick resumed his football career with the Eagles, he was seen as a gimmick of sorts, and not considered a legitimate field general. The league had several teams running variations of a throwback to the single-wing days popularized seventy years ago and, with two years away from the professional level, Vick's main value was seen as limited to that role. The idea was cemented by his previous time in Atlanta where he had been an erratic passer; gaining his all-pro acclaim as a runner. But when Philadelphia's freshly anointed starting quarterback, Kevin Kolb, went down with a concussion in the first game of 2010, Michael Vick stepped in and led the Eagles to the playoffs. He only surrendered the reins of leadership to Kolb briefly when being dinged in mid-season.

Michael Vick has made, by all accounts, a remarkable transformation. He still has detractors in the animal-loving community, although the backlash is primarily from WASP folks who will not, for any reason, be forgiving of his actions. Further, these same folks are up in arms because another of their favorite whipping boys (no racial pun intended), President Barack Obama, publicly applauded the Philadelphia Eagles for giving Michael Vick a second chance.

(Chances are that if one, or both, of these gentlemen were not black, there would be no outcry.)

*********************

I was at a dinner party recently and the conversation, though not deep, was lively, and on a variety of subjects. Being the only liberal-minded member of the party, I purposely remained quiet when the conversation included politics.

But then someone had to go and bring up the Obama statement on Vick, and not in a very pleasing manner. The table was aghast when I stated an agreement with the President's actions. One member of the party, who is merely tolerated in the group by most (mainly because she is a duplicitious witch), looked at me with a most contorted visage, as if I had personally offended her.

However, all were quietened when I said what Vick did was no worse than a late uncle who openly raised fighting cocks for most of his life. Another member of the party concurred on that point and the conversation went in another direction.

But there is one more part of the story that brings the ludicrousness of the entire subject full-circle. The Tolerated One, who for several years has had a cozy relationship with another member of the dinner party, has a dirty little secret: She cannot stand cats. Now that, in itself, is neither shameful nor a secret. That part enters the equation because a few years ago, after she had set up housekeeping with the aforementioned other member of the party. The property in question is a small, presently non-working farm that had, at the time, a burgeoning feline population.

That population, along with a few grass sacks, began to dwindle. According to a good source, the two numbers are related for a reason.

*********************

I detest animal cruelty actions. Quite a few of my family detests such actions (even the late uncle noted above would not turn away a starving stray dog or cat). Although considering myself a liberal, I do not, however, belong to any animal rights groups. But, being a liberal, and I do not see why it would be an issue since equal rights should not be tied to any political party, I am against racism.

The nation is polarized by the present governing administration. Mainly because the Commander-in-Chief is (gasp!) a black man. The nation is further shackled by this man's funny name, and his lack of allegiance to what the right-wing considers true Christianity. It goes further because Barack Obama's administration, one that seeks to establish programs to help grow this country's socio-economic base, bridging the gap between the profanely wealthy and barren poor, is seen as Socialism. Throw these ingredients into a stock pot, stir in a small amount of distrust with any number of anti-American Middle Eastern groups and, voila, you have a Black Muslim Socialist leading the most free nation on Earth.

But where have we, as a Nation, arrived if, 150 years after Emancipation Proclamation, and another half-century after the Civil Rights Act, still see things in black versus white.

Whatever depot has our train chugged into . . . we still have a long, long way to go before disembarking.

Bicycle Projects Score Big

2011-01-08T09:19:00.000-06:00

The winds have shifted on the political horizons, or so say the demagogic pundits, as we usher in the new congress. The Elephants are prepared to parade through bills and proposals that the formerly Democratic, and thus heretic, majority session had crammed down the throats of the American people.

What that means for bicycling concerns is not so much certain death, but rather a banishment to the dark recesses of the farthest broom closet in the golden-domed edifice that houses the legislative floor; expenditures that will no longer be considered as viable to the new thought processes.

But, harken unto the words of a recently released report by the Political Economy Research Institute at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, Estimating the Employment Impacts of Pedestrian, Bicycle, and Road Infrastructure, authored by Heidi Garrett-Peltier, that sheds (gasp!) positive light on public infrastructure spending that benefit bicycle projects. It is deemed that creations of, or additions to, bicycle facilities such as dedicated lanes actually create more jobs per million dollars than those beloved transportation projects the lobbying powers of Big Business (i e., Auto and Oil) adores and trumpets as a savior to the American economy.

How can this be? Simple. As borne out in the statistics, when you take a million dollars and invest it in bicycle projects you will lay down more miles of usuable space than you can on road projects. Given that the commonality of the two is moving bodies between points A to B to C, not A to AA to AAA, the bicycle project wins every time.

First, although the basic, common materials may not be used in the same way, the cost will be nearly equal per project. For example, a truckload of asphalt or concrete will cost the same; a truckload of gravel for a sub-base will cost nearly the same (even allowing for a heavier, more coarse, constitution in road projects that may make that load sightly higher). Also, greater quantities of these materials will be needed per mile due to the user weights being far greater for roads.

Second, the costs associated with the extemporanous add-ons, whether it be something like signage for traffic control, or fencing and landscape for barriers, will see less need in bicycle projects.

Third, and probably the greatest denominator is the costs of engineering. Whether that be for design or environmental impact studies, it will be significantly higher for road projects. The uses of those avenues will be far more invasive to the surrounding area, especially the natural resources of water and air quality.

Fourth, is the costs associated with purchasing land for a project. By the necessity of the expected traffic types, the sheer size of a road project, compared to a bicycle project, has to be far greater. Keep in mind that in many road projects, the very least you can plan is two lanes. Many small projects today even need to consider for turn lanes and wide (three-to-four foot) shoulders (which, even if 1/2 lane width is considered for each shoulder, makes for one whole lane). And, if a sidewalk provision is necessary to meet existing policy standards, there is another four-to-six feet per side (counting the green buffer space between walkway and roadway).

Finally, are the costs of the construction itself, especially in relocating land mass to make for a more level roadway. In Nashville, for example, a large portion of land, primarily rock, was displaced to connect Briley Parkway to I-65 North. Even for those who do not recall the construction period, an observation of the jagged cliffs (and the width of the roadway itself) that Briley is nestled between at the connection point is evidence of this activity.

(On another extensive widening project including this area, but not related to this project, my daughter was nearly a licensed driver before seeing a 10-mile section of I-65 North of Nashville without an orange traffic control barrel. That is sixteen years.)

However, in a bicycle project of the same length (again, the commonality between the two is moving people length-wise), there will be far less width, which equates to far less materials that are needed to do nothing more than provide space for a shell that usually has only one-to-two bodies per vehicle.

But the greatest benefit, as the study bears out, is that per mile the investment dollars will be more labor intensive. That means people, not materials, will be where the brunt of the money is spent to complete a project. Add to all of those costs the eventual repairs being less expensive overall; again people, not materials, gathering the lion's share of resources, and bicycle projects score another point.

Each $1 million spent creating on-street bike lanes directly creates 7.9 jobs and creates a total of 14.4 jobs when we include the indirect and induced effects. The two categories of road repairs have the lowest employment effects, with 3-4 direct jobs and approximately 7 total jobs created for each $1 million.

Still, citing facts here and analyzing the depth of the data is probably not something easily achieved. As the study was for the Baltimore, Maryland area, the actual costs will not be the same for perhaps a similar project in Albuquerque, New Mexico or even Nashville, Tennessee. To that end, the ambivalent anti-cyclist can state that the study cannot apply in the majority of situations. However, what is to say that, more often than not, greater value would not be found in bicycling projects. The overall idea is, that when we begin looking at these projects from the point of a resusable resource return-on-investment (i. e., people), we will see greater value in the projects than what are perceived, or even desired, by the anti-cycling factions in our society.

Granted, I'm not a transportation professional; just a poor, dumb cyclist who does what he does, likes the effect of what he does, and sees the clarity of the idea from the perch atop his saddle. So, while the opinions stated can be refuted, I'm not sure that they can be totally dismissed.

But maybe, just maybe, that view is more accurate than the recalcitrant naysayers want to believe.

Increasing Cycling Awareness in America

2011-01-01T20:30:00.001-06:00

I am a cyclist. You won’t be finding me trying to be a professional, Lance Armstrong-type, hammering flats at rapacious speeds or chugging up gargantuan hills without stopping until I reach the top, but I am a cyclist. Nor will you see me—at least for now—riding a prodigious number of miles each week to go from Point A to Point B, but I am a cyclist. And, as a cyclist, all I want is a place to ride.

It may be a highway, of which I do have a legal right to share, but I want to ride on it. It may be a Greenway, created by tax dollars as part of a park system, but I want to ride on it. It may be a trail where the previous use was a pathway for trains, but I want to ride on it. It sounds so simple, so easy. Throw down some bucks, buy a bike, and take off.

But I also live in America. And, like many Americans, I may never travel to a land where bicycling is more of an establishment, rather than a hated inconvenience to non-cyclists. Indeed, I could find some place to ride almost every day in this country, if I so choose. But I do so with caveats aplenty ringing in my ears.

I do it with the knowledge that the next trip on the road, some recalcitrant Bubba (or Bubbette) may decide it is my day to become their hood ornament. I do it with the knowledge that, if they choose, some backwoods Barney, bored with polishing their single bullet, will want to cite me for an infraction that only exists in their truncated thought processes. I do it also with the knowledge that an elected official will, with an almost patented duplicity, seek to enact laws and amendments against what I (and many others) ask of them just because we are not a significant lobby, and thus not important enough to them.

So what can a single cyclist, in a simple, humble way, do to help change the culture of a nation, or section thereof (since some places in America do have progressive cycling programs), that doesn’t want to acknowledge them or their fellow cyclists.

The answer is CAROM, or Cycling Awareness Ride One Mile. CAROM is saddling up for at least one mile each day (or as often as possible), for a highly visible ride, that is seen by more non-cyclists, thereby increasing cycling awareness in America. It is so simple even a Bubba could do it if they so chose.

Some cyclists who already doing that without a fancy acronym may see it as silly and pretentious. I applaud these brothers and sisters of the wheel because, whether by desire or need, they are following the famous Nike slogan of ‘Just Do It’ and are usually in the saddle for several miles each time they strap on a helmet.

Still, is there anything wrong with attaching an innocuous moniker to something that is, for the most part, fun and benign if it helps more people ponder the ideas espoused? If applying CAROM assists more drivers to become instinctively aware of cyclists, isn’t it a good thing? More cyclists, even for that short distance of one mile, will put more faces on the cycling culture in America.

And the greater meaning is that more cycles faces means an exponential increase in the societal impact of cycling.

Better roads for everyone; not just drivers, not just cyclists, but everyone
Better laws to protect cyclists
Better enforcement of the law, (including those associated with cyclists responsibilities)
Better resources for consumers from the business community
Better opportunities for employees in the work community
Better gains for the environmental and personal health sectors

And as more cyclists hit the roads, cycling will become safer every day. That will be accomplished because visibility adds to the voice and strengthens the efforts of cycling advocacy the same way rebar fortifies concrete.

True, there will be a downside because more cyclists will mean more accidents, and an increase in injury and death of cyclists; at least until that day when the evidence shows the diligence of today’s groundbreakers to be fruitful. Naysayers will use this as fuel to fire their viewpoint. They will claim that cycling is unsafe and that any use of public funds to increase or improve cycling facilities is a waste. The effective counter to that myopic drivel is that when Congress throws public monies into new road construction and flatter, wider roads, it only leads to more cars, more accidents, more injury and death, and is just as wasteful.

So maybe an acronym is only semantics and seems a bit absurd. The important thing is not the thought; it’s the action behind the thought. And action . . . is the whole purpose of the thought.