13. Foot
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When I'm jogging, that's when it really hits me. I get road rage. The traffic, the thousands of cars plowing through my neighborhood, over the bridges and around the corner, barley stopping for red-lights, almost knocking me over. Filling the air with dirt, and I don't need to read a scientific paper about the impacts of pollution to know it, because I can feel it. It's like smoking, but without the buzz. It's like smoking hot ash. I quit smoking but I just can't seem to quit breathing exhaust fumes. I have the insane urge to connect the exhaust pipes up to the cabins so people can get a taste of what they're leaving in the air. They don't know, they can't know, if they did they'd stop. Even if it cost more.
Forget, the greenhouse effect and global warming and the acid rain: you're killing my lungs. Adding seconds and minutes to my miles times, I'm running slower. In the summer the street signs warble as the heat comes off of the pavement. The urban heat island effect cooks the city, making mothers keep their kids in at rush hour to avoid the stench coming home in their clothes. In the winter the snow is black the the warm exhaust forms dense white clouds. Shaving months and then years off of people's lives.
But on foot you see everything. You meet people and they wave and say hello. You'd be surprised how well you get to know places when you travel on foot. I know how to find everything, I know every little shop and park. I know where you can find sidewalk sales, and endives and a water tower where you can see the whole city if you climb up a tiny spiral staircase. I know where the most beautiful graffiti in the whole city is and you can't see it from a car.
Walking is king.
Transportation:
Last: 11. The Wounded City
Next: 16. Share
These little snapshots of transportation are part of a larger series called " The Urban Naturalist."
When I'm jogging, that's when it really hits me. I get road rage. The traffic, the thousands of cars plowing through my neighborhood, over the bridges and around the corner, barley stopping for red-lights, almost knocking me over. Filling the air with dirt, and I don't need to read a scientific paper about the impacts of pollution to know it, because I can feel it. It's like smoking, but without the buzz. It's like smoking hot ash. I quit smoking but I just can't seem to quit breathing exhaust fumes. I have the insane urge to connect the exhaust pipes up to the cabins so people can get a taste of what they're leaving in the air. They don't know, they can't know, if they did they'd stop. Even if it cost more.
Forget, the greenhouse effect and global warming and the acid rain: you're killing my lungs. Adding seconds and minutes to my miles times, I'm running slower. In the summer the street signs warble as the heat comes off of the pavement. The urban heat island effect cooks the city, making mothers keep their kids in at rush hour to avoid the stench coming home in their clothes. In the winter the snow is black the the warm exhaust forms dense white clouds. Shaving months and then years off of people's lives.
But on foot you see everything. You meet people and they wave and say hello. You'd be surprised how well you get to know places when you travel on foot. I know how to find everything, I know every little shop and park. I know where you can find sidewalk sales, and endives and a water tower where you can see the whole city if you climb up a tiny spiral staircase. I know where the most beautiful graffiti in the whole city is and you can't see it from a car.
Walking is king.
Transportation:
Last: 11. The Wounded City
Next: 16. Share
These little snapshots of transportation are part of a larger series called " The Urban Naturalist."