Mission: To promote driving less so all may live more.
Today is the very popular Peach Festival in Lafayette, Colorado. Our main street is closed to cars and is instead lined with booths where vendors sell anything from tee-shirts to peaches. The peaches are a product of the Western Slope, most famously from Palisade.
It’s a happy and busy day. Living, as I do, a few blocks from the main street, I open my door to see more pedestrians at a glance than I generally see in a week. They have parked in every conceivable slot in my neighborhood in order to spend time at the Festival.
As I step outside, I’m a bit dizzy, having been in bed for almost four days with COVID. Today, I must continue to stay away from people, but I’m well enough to go for a drive in the mountains, a rare treat. My street is packed with cars. I step into the street, unable to see any traffic because someone parked an SUV so closely behind mine.
Suddenly, a white pickup truck flies by me, horn honking, driver cussing up a storm. Shocked, I want to find out why he’s so upset, so I beckon him to stop. Not sure that was a good idea. He thought I was flipping him off.
Stop he does, with a skid. Well, now I’ve done it. I’m relieved he’s getting out of the truck because that means he’s not going to slam his truck into reverse and run over me. But of course he could have a gun. I know, I write a web log about such events. Recalling Coach Carter from seventh grade, I choose offense as the best defense and walk toward him. He stops walking but not swearing. Then I learn I’m an idiot for walking in front of him and, worse, a *@9%@* for flipping him off.
I attempt to explain that I had no intention of upsetting him. Yes, call me conciliatory. It turns out that when people are in the throes of anger, they are really bad listeners. He didn’t hear a word, and I stood my ground, one sick man looking down the block to another. What was his sickness? One cannot be sure of much except that he was definitely sick of me.
I didn’t take it too personally. He was, after all, scared. Mothers and fathers yell at their children all the time when they think the children are doing something dangerous. The children are sure the parents are mad at them. It’s only concern in emotional overdrive. Same with him. He hated the idea that he almost hit (someone as valuable as) me as he sped down the narrow street.
Perhaps he’s not filled with mother-love for me. Still, as he drives away I believe he will be thinking at some point in the day about the power differential between his 2-ton truck and my 180-pound body. That, at least, is how I envision him.
