Smooth Sailing

 Last Thursday was the first time in (checks watch) I don't know how long since I rode my bike to work without encountering a crew putting up cones or barricades declaring my way interrupted for some reason or another. This pavement renaissance has taken place primarily over the months stretching into years of COVID-19. The initial foray into all this additional signage did not begin with any actual repair or construction. The first blockades were erected to let anyone who cared to read them that these were "slow streets," designated to exclude through traffic and to be used by those who needed some outdoor relief: walking, running, biking. It was during these initial weeks that I chose to include myself in the very local group of travelers, not necessarily a commuter but a neighbor out for a morning ride to exercise my lungs and legs. Followed by another later in the day. 

Shortly after this limit was put on cars and trucks, streets nearby began to erupt in repair. Lanes and avenues that had become nearly impassible after years of neglect were finally getting their due. Some of the streets that were lavished with this asphalt attention were the same ones that I had become used, over a quarter of a century, to using on my daily shuttle to and from work. And after fearing that every other thoroughfare but the one closest to my house would be renewed, the time had finally come. 

That hill that has for all these years been the way I woke up and later called it a day was stripped down, leveled and repaved to a smooth path. At last. In the final stages or this process, I had to dart and dodge the machinery of change, which gave me pause because I welcomed it but was still annoyed at the hassle of having to bend that most direct route to accommodate what would eventually become that roadbed I had always imagined. I never strayed too far from my well-beaten path, preferring instead to hop onto sidewalks to skirt the ongoing reclamation. I watched it happen, five days a week, with the occasional pause for holiday or appreciation. 

Until one day, the signs came down. These were no longer the rugged trails of the frontier. This was just another street in a great big city, coincidentally the one I had become familiar over a long haul. A long haul of just a couple miles, but ten times a week for twenty-five years. You do the math. I'm enjoying the ride.