The human side of our kind
I am just over one month into a six-month journey. Sitting about 50 miles from the Mexican border, I have crossed almost 1,000 miles. In preparation for this trip, many things crossed my mind that I might encounter. Many I have already experienced, and countless others I hope to flow right through in Latin America. There have also been a couple of experiences that have left me flabbergasted.
Crossing central Utah was a test of patience. The straight roads and long central valley bored me, although I enjoyed being on the road. The thing that surprised me most was how many people, when I told them I was on my way to Chile, asked me how I was planning on crossing the ocean. A quick geography lesson: North and South America are connected by Central America, making one single landmass. Of course, we do have to take into account the big ditch we dug across Panama that separates the two landmasses. So, to answer the question, I hope they have a bridge.
As you know from reading my last column, Arizona was a bit trying when it came to my willpower. The most surprising part of this leg of my journey was the drivers. Most of the roads are narrow, straight and don’t see a lot of traffic. I was surprised by how many drivers seemed unable to give me more than two inches of space in which to ride. Even when there was nothing coming for miles and they were on a straight road that made it possible to see that nothing was coming.
Now sitting in Tucson, I see a completely different side of Arizona. Most of the roads are designed around the use of the bicycle. To ride from where I am to anywhere in this city is possible without having to fight motorists. Mountain Avenue is my favorite. This is a four-lane road with one of the lanes on each side being set aside specifically for bicycles. Yes my friends, a 12-foot lane just for me. I think I’m in love with this city.
Out of all the things I have experienced so far there is one that stands out above all others. You see, I have a bit of a negative view of people. Having commuted by bicycle for the past few years, I am accustomed to being accosted by people simply because I am riding my bike on their road, trying to get to wherever. I thought I was going to be victim to one of these situations once more when I was just east of Ivins, Utah.
I had left my parents home in St. George about an hour early, making this short ride very long due to a vicious headwind. I had chosen to go through Ivins so I could stop and see my sister and because there is a bike path. I was on the path, minding my own business when a white mini van typical to this area turned left crossing the path and stopped just a few feet from where I would have to pass. My mind automatically prepared itself for a yelling match with the driver.
As I approached, the driver got out of the van and began to move towards the path. I could see she was an elderly woman and was not moving fast. Once I was in speaking distance, she motioned for me to stop, but instead of an assault of expletives she asked me in her frail voice, like a spoken vibrato, if I was the young man riding his bike to Spain. Geography lessons aside, I replied that I was on my way to Chile. Her face lightened and she stretched out her hand. It took me a minute to process what was going on, but I finally realized she was offering me money. I immediately explained that I didn’t feel right about taking her money, but she was stubborn and wouldn’t have anything to do with me not taking her gift. Once I accepted her carefully folded bill, without saying anything else she turned to return to her car. Not fully understanding what had just happened, I asked her name so I could thank her. She turned back, smiled and responded, “Charlotte.”
Thanks, Charlotte, for showing me the more human side of our kind.
Lukas Brinkerhoff is a junior majoring in journalism. His column documents his bicycle trek from Salt Lake City to Santiago, Chile to raise awareness for alternative transportation.