Yesterday while I was riding my bike on the sidewalk to the park to lead this new weekly event, I came upon a mob of angry neighbors meeting on the sidewalk to discuss their opposition to a multiuse path right there, which will connect residential neighborhoods and a local business district with a community center, churches, schools, and the park where I was heading. They don’t speak for me.
I told them I had almost lost my life a block away two years ago (today, in fact). They told me they were mad they were going to lose their bushes.
I know my city is not applying for that sweet little Community Sparks grant from the League of American Bicyclists (but your city still can — deadline tomorrow). There will, once again, be no cones to protect people in the often-too-narrow unprotected “bike lanes” around the city (as opposed to the 143 cones around the city right now to protect trucks and construction). Just a continual Cone of Silence. (Here’s the media release that’s needed.)
Here is the TikTok I made a few days ago, at the exact spot where I survived that hit-and-run (one block from that gated community — one of the angry fellow citizens recognized me as the survivor as my story had gotten significant media coverage, including from Fox5 Atlanta):
Here is the TikTok I made a little while ago showing a wildflower blooming in the exact spot where my ghost bike would have been (and in case you are wondering, no, it will not take a ghost bike for your city to finally change, at least not in Metro Atlanta — see an update on these ghost bikes):
I found a book yesterday at the Little Free Library in the park titled 14,000 Things to Be Happy About. It kicks off with pajamas at breakfast, and yes, here I am right now, in pajamas (or, rather, leggings and t-shirt with a bike pictured on it). Truth? I’m just happy to be alive. After this (that’s the most-viewed post of all time here on Traveling at the Speed of Bike, by the way). And despite that mob of angry people.
At the end of the day (or at the beginning of a new day, like right now), I could feel (as I have, in the past) as if I’ve failed. See, in fact, my post titled I Failed. Considering the world-changing things I try to do, not being able to secure a stupid little cone in thirteen years feels kind of monumental. But I have a philosophy that guides me beyond today, and I go back to it again and again. It’s three little words, and they go like this:
Trust the journey