Mark rode his bike to Quaker meeting, about a quarter mile away.
When he came home, we headed out for a “Shrinking Corvallis” walk. We started this two years ago before our walking trip to England. We knew we would be walking twelve to fourteen miles per day, so we started walking ten to fourteen miles every weekend from our house, which is centrally located. We were quickly in the hills around our town, walking through woods, and were amazed at, really, how small our town was. Today, we put in nine cutting across campus and two city parks to eat lunch on the riverfront, then came home though the neighborhoods.
This evening, I will put on another mile trotting around the neighborhood hanging “No partying” doorhangers on every neighbor’s door.
Most important gear for driving less? Comfy shoes. They do not have to be fancy and expensive, but they need to fit your feet. These have logged hundreds of miles in the past two summers.
Mark rode his bike to and from work today, about three miles total. He rides every day unless there is an ice storm, then he walks. The fresh air clears his brain, coming and going. I walked to work, because it is faster to walk than to haul out my bike, fuss with lights, ride, park, lock, and fuss with lights. I will also spend half an hour on neighborhood doorhangers again this evening.
Our bikes are essential equipment for not driving. They are the most
Mark rode to and from work, as always. I walked. When I came home, I emptied my day pack and headed over to the UU to pick up my fall CSA box. It’s a little over a mile one way, through ranchland, which has become an interesting stroll. The houses were all built in the late 1950s and 1960s, so there are many mature gardens and lots of alterations to the buildings, so two houses that were identical are no longer. It’s fun to watch for housing patterns. On the way home, I chatted with a long term resident of the neighborhood about the impact of student housing (which is bad). It is good, however, to talk because it reduces our feelings of isolation and impotence. I will bring her some doorhangers this week.
If you are striving to travel on foot, you need a decent daypack that fits your back and style. Mine is a large green jansport that was designed for cross county skiing; the two side pouches are not fully attached to the pack so that you can slide your skis in—or poles, or umbrella, or loaf of French bread, or magazine…It’s big enough to use as a suitcase for a short trip, if you bring along only one paperback. I love it. Mark’s is more high tech. He needs the side pouches to balance out his water bottles and a smaller main compartment so that he does not strain his back. He also has—and uses—more straps than I do. Either way, we use our packs constantly to haul groceries, library books, lunches, rain gear…what ever we think we might need on the trail or sidewalk that day.
Mark rode to work and back and had plans to ride over to a friend’s to sing, but they both felt off, so he collapsed on the couch instead. I walked to and from work, finished the doorhangers, and dug up a new garden bed by hand. This is, actually, a quiet week; usually there is at least one meeting or lecture in the evening that we would walk to.
A simple bike is good, but, as winter comes on, it needs a few pieces of equipment to remain appealing. The first thing I put on my bike when I moved to Oregon was a back fender. Without this simple attachment, you have a wet stripe up your back all winter long—and damp underwear. Nothing is more off-putting than damp underwear! I also bought a rear and front light. Since then, I have developed a theory: you can tell the age of a cyclist to the decade by counting the number of lights on the bike and helmet. At least in Corvallis, people add another light for each decade over the twenties (who ride around with their cell phone lit, held in their mouths. I do not exaggerate.) I have front and rear lights on bike and helmet, plus a little light in the spoke of my wheels.
To consider more about walkable cities, check out Carfree Cities, The Pattern Language, and Walkable City.
Mark rode to work and I walked, as always. After school, I had a dentist’s appointment, so I came home, freed the animals and headed out. The dentist is about a mile and a half away, right where the town begins to climb the hills and loses some of it’s walkable nature. As I walked, I considered how urban design impacts our ability to walk and bike comfortably. There are several factors at work in Corvallis that make our lifestyle possible.
First, we live in the area of town that is laid out on a block by block grid. This allows bicyclists and pedestrians to choose alternative but still efficient routes. We often bike one street in from the main commercial areas—and we are not the only ones, judging by the bike and skateboard traffic on our street. We have learned which streets go through and which get tangled in cul-de-sacs. The grid is easier to follow when you are new in town—numbered streets parallel the river, while the presidents run perpendicular to it. Downtown is First through Fifth. Some streets have alleys, which are often fun to explore on foot. Grape vines and old apple trees grow behind the older houses.
Second, we have many older street trees. Although it feels, some days, like the trees are all coming down, we do have long streches of neighborhood streets lined by trees. In the middle of the summer, we can walk on the shady side of the street—it the winter, we shift to the sunny side. Trees also slow traffic. Along with the trees, we have fairly dense neighborhood housing, so the streets feel very enclosed. It feels safe to walk around town and there are few nasty stretches of hot blank wall.
Finally, we have sidewalks and on street parking throughout town. There is a distinct place to walk, often barricaded from the busy road by a line of parked cars. When Mark and I visited his family in East Tennessee last summer, we walked around the neighborhoods. The roads were narrow, with the white edge painted about three inches in from the edge of the tarmac, with a two foot ditch right next to that. There was no place to step off of the road when a car went by. It felt a bit hairy to walk when there was traffic. That does not happen where we walk every day. We also have bike lanes on the busy roads.
We are very lucky to live where we do. Although I have always walked as much as possible, much of Corvallis is designed to support this choice. I am always grateful.
Mark rode to work and back and I hid in the back yard, cleaning up small projects. I left the block once to deposit old magazines at the Senior Center for others to read. Itt was a very quiet day.
The weather was beautiful in the morning, so we headed downtown to the Farmer’s Market and Robnett’s Hardware. I needed some eggplant for a potluck; Mark wanted some stove pipe for a small project involving bio-char he has been working on. The public library is almost exactly a mile from our house; the market is four blocks further on. We finished our errands and come home, making a big loop. Rain settled in in the afternoon, so the cat and I took to the nook and read.
We are adding an eighth day….The world is beautiful, freshly washed and green from the rains yesterday. We walked for miles, out through the college fields, along a bike path that crosses wetlands, and through the hilly neighborhoods where deer and wild turkeys wander through the yards. At the end, we dropped off of a ridge and down to the co-op to do the week’s shopping before heading home.
Why walk? We walk because it makes us healthy. Mark walks off stress; I walk off colds. The rhythm of my steps settles my mind. For the first three miles, I am scattered, my brain jumping like a rabbit’s from one idea to the next. I make lists. I solve the problems of the word, but forget how. There is no focus. By mile three and a half, my mind settles into place, exploring one idea. Sentences stretch out behind me. I see my life clearly. Patterns emerge. Then, after ten miles, my brain just…disappears. All that is left is the quiet sound of my breath, my feet, my dayback creaking softly behind me. I adjust automatically to changes in terrain. I no longer rush or slow down. Just move, steadily onward.
Orange Pound Cake
This comes from The Boston Globe, back around 1988. It is still yummy.
1 cup of butter
1.5 cups of fine white sugar (not the organic large crystallized stuff. It messes with the texture.)
Cream together until fluffy. Scrape the bowl several times.
4 eggs, added one at a time
1 t vanilla
Rind of two oranges
3 cups of flour
1 t BS
1 t BP
1 cup of buttermilk
Add alternately and mix well. Scrape the bowl while mixing.
Pour into a tube pan and bake at 350 until done through, about an hour. You can frost with plain or chocolate cream cheese, white chocolate buttercream, or whipped cream. Any is yummy. Use the juice of the oranges if you are frosting with plain cream cheese.