On Being Brave

This morning, I woke up to a winter wonderland. If you've been reading this blog long enough, you know that this didn't exactly make my day.

Okay, so normally, an inch or two of fresh snow outside the window doesn't bother me too much -- it is rather pretty -- but today's snowfall marked my first winter driving experience of this season. Considering that last winter's driving experiences ended abruptly with me on my side in the ditch, it's fair to say that I've been dreading this day. Add to that dread the fact that I'm still adjusting to the manual transmission Baja. How excited was I about the snowfall outside my window? Not very.

But I had a dentist appointment to get to. No amount of dread was going to make this better. I was going to have to be brave.

"The roads are okay," Andy said over the phone from work. "Just be careful. Use the gears to slow down."

I left the house with hour and forty five minutes to spare until my appointment. The trip to town normally takes an hour. When I pulled out onto the main highway, I realized Andy's assessment of "okay" might be a little exaggerated. OKAY?! I felt the hysteria rising my throat. The road hadn't even been plowed.

Nevertheless, our hero presses on . . .

A little ways down the road, after I'd waited at the bottom of a ginormous hill for a very minor accident involving a pickup and a truck and trail to clear out, it struck me: if police officers are just a step away from being criminals, maybe being brave is just a step away from bloody stupid.

On the other hand, I was learning some important lessons. It turned out driving a manual through the snow and slop wasn't so bad. The Corolla had handled like a hockey puck in snowy conditions; the Baja handled like a tank. "This is amazing," I thought. I shifted easy between the gears. I didn't have to touch the brake pedal at all. The car slowed by itself whenever I took my foot off the gas. I felt firmly glued to the slippery road. I giggled a little when I passed an (undamaged) Camry on its side in the ditch. I mean, who does that? (Don't answer that.)

However, by the time I was halfway down the Trail, it was apparent that I wasn't going to make my appointment.  Do you know how long it takes to get into town when you're averaging 28 mph and you've got 55 miles to chug away at that speed? (Okay, I could do the math, but that's never been my forte.) It takes a long time. Like two hours long.

I pulled into Andy's workplace, called the dentist's to reschedule, waited around long enough for the plow to pass me (I'd seen the plow coming up the Trail pretty early into my journey down the Trail, so I knew he must have made the dead end loop and was not far behind me), and kept on going. Chug, chug, chug.

I'll admit, I wasn't having the time of my life. Nor did I feel particularly brave. To be honest, I felt more boneheaded than brave. Driving through all this crap and still not making it to my appointment?  What was the point of that? This farce was nothing but a freakin' waste of time. Think of all the things I could be getting done if I'd just stayed home.

My mood changed considerably when I finally hit dry pavement. I'd just survived my first winter driving of winter 2011-2012. . . . to put it in Bridget Jones speak, feeling rather rockstar-ish.

However, the question's still hanging out there:

Brave or bloody stupid?

Still can't tell.

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Oil and Vinegar; Bikers and Scenic Byways

Last fall, the road we live off was designated as a National Scenic Byway. The road is confusingly nicknamed “The Gunflint Trail,” leading many a well-intentioned hiker to set off down the 57 miles of paved two-lane highway and wonder if they missed a turn. The road is heavily wooded, curvy and a bit hill, with basically no shoulders to speak of. It truly is a scenic road, but it’s just that: a road, not a trail. And that is why I cringe every time I have to swerve around a biker pedaling down the road in a lane of traffic, like I did on Tuesday.

I should state that I have a couple issues with bikers. For one thing: bike shorts. You can’t tell me that those look good on anyone. If you venture out in public wearing bike shorts you deserve nothing less than a firm tongue lashing from What Not to Wear’s Stacy and Clinton and Project Runway’s Tim Gunn. That’s right. And Tim Gunn.

Also, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that bikers are kind of overly self-satisfied. This is probably just a personal issue, but whenever I drive past a biker looking all environmentally and fitness conscious, I feel this need to yell, “I drive a Toyota Corolla! I’m a good person too!”

The chain fell off my bike when I was fifteen and as such, I have not exactly been out biking a lot in the last decade. In fact, I think I have been on a bike once in that time period: in Ireland’s Aran Islands where the wind blew so hard that we had to petal downhill. I guess seeing bikers always brings up some sort of inferiority complex inside me that stems from never getting that bike of mine back in working condition.

I am so torn by the whole biking thing. I know that it is a wonderful transportation option that keeps not only the rider, but also the environment healthy. But whenever I see a biker, no matter what the circumstances, I am always struck by a sense of impending doom. If I am driving and happen upon a biker, I become convinced that I will hit the biker and they will die. If I observe someone biking in heavy traffic, I become convinced that the biker will be hit and I will watch them die. If I am a pedestrian, I become convinced the biker will hit me and I will die. Needless to say, I was pretty much constantly on the verge of heart attack during our trip to the Pacific Northwest last month, where everyone bikes.

All jokes about death aside, it is a huge concern. When I was little, one of my mom’s coworkers was struck by a motorist while he was biking into work. Luckily he was wearing a helmet (which split into two pieces) and after a long time hooked up to all sorts of machines in the hospital, he was okay. But he was very, very lucky; there have been fatal biking accidents here too.

A couple summers ago, a guy came into my workplace at the time and asked about biking on the Gunflint Trail. “Oh please don’t do that,” I gasped. “There’s no shoulder. There are curves and people driving won’t see you in the middle of the road until they’re on top of you.” His partner snorted. “We’ll be fine,” she said. I tried to convince them that they didn’t understand the danger. I might even have done some clutching at my heart. I think the guy thought I was going to cry. I thought I might cry too.

I guess it comes down to this: I know you should be able to bike wherever you want. I know that it is the right, smart thing to do. I wish there was the infrastructure across the country where motorists and bikers could coexist in harmony.

But this is not one such harmonious place. Here it is dangerous to bike. So if you must bike on a scenic byway, please be careful and realize that not only are you putting yourself at risk, you’re also put the motorists who must swerve around you in a less than ideal situation as well.

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