Back in August, 2006, we had a mini No Impact experiment for
a week to help us decided if we could do it for a year. I pulled out my
bike—the one I use now to get around—and dusted it off. This is my journal
entry about my first real ride (the picture, by the way, comes from Transportation Alternatives, NYC's bike advocacy group):
Everything I’ve read says that bicycles move faster in New York than cars. I’m wondering, though, how the speed
of my bike compares to the subway, which doesn’t suffer from traffic.
As it happens, my best friend Tanner is visiting our
apartment so he can play with Isabella, but the plan is to eventually meet our
friend Bill uptown. We’re going to have a race. He’s going to walk to the
subway and take the train. I’m going to ride my bike. We’ll see which is
faster.
So I zig my way over to Third Avenue and ride casually uptown. I’m meeting
Tanner at 88th Street
and I’m anxious not to try to go artificially fast. I want to get a realistic
idea of what is quicker. So far, I find the bike ride more comfortable than the
subway. It’s not hard on the legs and makes for a cool breeze.
Around 50th Street I veer out of the nearside
lane to move around a parked car. As I pull back in I hear a loud screech from
behind me, then I have the surreal sensation of speeding up, then I’m flying
through the air and…whack!
I’m on the asphalt and the first thing I’m thinking is Michelle
is going to kill me for hurting myself again—I broke my ankle earlier in the
year—and this hugely tall man gets out of the maroon BMW that just hit me and I
am on my feet shouting my head off. It’s pure vitriol coming out of my mouth
and I have no control over it. What kind of an idiot are you? What the hell is
so important that it’s worth risking my life for?
Now, he is shouting that it is me who is the jerk and then a
lady on a bike with a basket with plastic flowers rides up and starts shouting
at the driver for shouting at me. “Can’t you see he’s bleeding,” she says. I
haven’t noticed. The guy pulls out his cell phone to dial 911 and I start
shouting “you were talking on your freaking cell phone when you hit me” and I’m
just beside myself with nuttiness. The blood drips from my right knee and the
palm of my right hand, which looks like hamburger. It hurts when I bend my left
thumb.
BMW man is calling an ambulance and I’m thinking I don’t need
an ambulance and suddenly I’m so very lonely. The ambulance siren screams from
about four blocks away and I can see the lights flashing above the cars and
there is something beautiful about that. I think: imagine if there were no cars
then how would we all get to the hospital and surely Michelle will never let me
ride my bike again so how will we do this no impact experiment?
I’m in the back of the ambulance and the paramedic is
wrapping gauze around my hand and the police officer is explaining that I could
get arrested for riding my bike without carrying ID and I’m just eying the cell
phones hanging from everyone’s belts. I didn’t bring mine. I need to call
Michelle.
Anyway, I’m thinking how do I first get to borrow a phone
and second get out of earshot to begin a conversation that I know is going to
begin with me saying, “Honey, please don’t be mad at me but…” Who wants to say
such a girly-man thing in front a cop with a shaved head and an ambulance man
wearing those fingerless black leather gloves and a backwards baseball cap?
I go up to the guy who hit me and reassure him that I am not
going to sue him. Later, I realize that it is because I needed to connect with
someone, because I didn’t want to think that the experience of nearly getting
killed was one I had entirely alone. I wanted to pretend he was in it with me.
He doesn’t offer me and my broken bike a ride home. He
wasn’t in it with me at all. Then, I’m sitting for a moment on the back of the
ambulance, and my heart breaks for the world. I understand how we all want to protect
ourselves by being inside these big, tank-like SUVs.
Then I wish I had an SUV and that I had run this guy over
instead of the other way around. Then I chastise myself for having such a
thought. Then I realize how trying to protect ourselves with the SUVs is the
whole problem. That’s how we pump out the poison.
And nothing can really
protect you, after all. Sitting on the bumper on the back of the ambulance,
bleeding, I feel the insecurity of life with all my being. There is no escaping
it. You never know when you’re going to be hit. So I’m thinking there is no
pointing wrecking the world trying to protect myself with an SUV. It can’t be done.
On the other hand, there have been a number of helpful criticisms and questions. I'll get to them as time goes on. One I want to answer--again--is about the fact that I write books and am making a film. I've pulled a comment and my response from an earlier post for that purpose.
Before we get to that, though, I just want to say this--again. No Impact Man is a year-long experiment to do with me and my family trying to see what will happen if we really put our money where our mouths are and try to live in a radical way according to our values. It is not an attempt to convince anyone else to live according to our values (unless of course they want to). In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to admit that I do hope that our project might inspire other people to live more closely to their own values (which is one reason for the book but more on that below).
At the end of the year, we will assess and see what changes we're willing to keep and discard those we decide are trivial. But how can we know what is trivial and what is worthwhile if we don't try the whole range? We are dismantling a lot of the life we inherited from the culture and then putting it back together in a more deliberate way. A lifestyle redesign.
Also, people say "this proves environmentalists are nuts." I am not and have never been an environmentalist. I did once give money to Greenpeace. What I am is a schlub who got tired of despising himself for doing things that didn't jibe with his political and philosophical beliefs.
Not all the changes we're making are in place, which is why, as some commenters complain, we don't use TP but still use a laundry machine. If you want to understand how we're progressively working things into and out of our life, read the posts on the left under "What it's all about."
But enough. The critics aren't going to set the agenda on this blog. This is one of what will be an occasional concession to the naysayers.
What I really want us to discuss are the solutions to the inherent problems of trying to green our lives. If you really believe reduced consumption would cause the economy to collapse and ultimately hurt the poor, for example, instead of just calling me an idiot, how about suggesting other alternatives that would both ensure the well-being of the planet and its people?
Anyway, onto the comments to do with my book and movie, and after this, we'll be moving on: