How to be Alone
In Public. In Broad Daylight

by Chip Haynes

Bicycling should be, by and large, a truly sociable enterprise. You aren't surrounded by two tons of steel and darkly tinted glass, comfortably ensconced in a butter-soft leather seat and insulated from the sounds of the world by a six-disk CD changer and a dozen good speakers. You're perched right out there in the world for all to see. But more often than not, if you're riding a bike, you are utterly alone.

Some 35 years ago I read a futuristic morality tale about a man who went for a walk in his neighborhood one night and was arrested for doing it. He knew it was a great way to escape and be alone for awhile, right out there in full public view. As if the public were looking. (They aren't.) I go for a bike ride, and while I do meet a few people along the way, for the most part I am alone. I speak to some people but actually talk to less. I ride along in my own world, a world apart from those I pass -- or rather, those that pass me. Are there really people in all those cars? You'd never know it.

Drive a car and what do you see? Nothing but the road directly in front of you and the other cars in your way. What do you hear in a car? Certainly not the birds in the trees, or the barking of a dog along the way. And smells? Oh, it's Spring; let me tell you about the smells! From the fresh cut grass in suburbia to the donut shop and the downtown diner, bicycling is all about smells. And yet, I'm the only one that smells them. Those poor people in those sealed up cars get nothing but the pine-tree shaped air freshener full of chemicals dangling form the rear-view mirror. So sad.

Riding a bicycle gives me a change to think and plot and plan. Yesterday, today and tomorrow are all subjects of mental discussion as I roll along wrapped in my thoughts and alone in the world for a few miles every day. Sure, I'm paying attention to the traffic and the weather and that yapping dog back there. (Is he really tied up, or are we both about to sprint?) Still, as a cyclist, you know the truth: We have plenty of time to think out there, and plenty to think about.

We are also virtually invisible. No, I mean more than just the usual "That car didn't see me at all!" sort of invisible. Most folks look out and see a cyclist and sort of automatically tune the cyclist out of their view of the world. We don't count. We're not a car. We're not a truck. We're not the blue van from Publisher's Clearing House, come to give them a big check and balloons. We don't exist, and that's ok by me. People may look up and see me, but then they automatically go right back to whatever they were doing. No need to linger on the view, just a passing cyclist. Nothing to see here. As a result, I can cruise through any neighborhood, rich or poor, and cause hardly a ripple in my passing. I get to see it all, and it all seems to ignore me. The Stealthy Cyclist: how so very Edward Gorey.

Need some Alone Time? Get on your bike and go for a ride. You'll have the road to yourself, except for those cars that don't count. After all, it's not like anyone's going to roll down their window at the light and start up a meaningful conversation. You can get out in the world and have it to yourself. All you have to do is ride a bike. And it's a mighty big world out there.