Unfortunately, the trinity of lack of appropriate sleep since La Ruta, the stress of studying like mad in Toronto, and the three very distinctive climates of Costa Rica, Toronto and Calgary seem to have overpowered my immune system.
I make a point of trying not to get sick. I don’t consider myself to be quite as, uhh, disciplined against infection as the legend surrounding Howard Hughes would indicate, but I do try to preserve my health where possible. I commute by bike, instead of riding the Petrie dish we call public transit, I wash my hands after navigating public spaces, and until I’ve done so I attempt not to rub my eyes. Rudimentary stuff really, not the actions of a neurotic.
Regardless, I’m obviously not impervious to the odd cold. I’m about 4 days into the current one, and my only symptoms are mild – sore throat and a bit of sinus congestion. It hasn’t progressed “deep” into my body at all. The only symptom that’s really been aggravating me is a continual dry cough. As I mentioned, this didn’t seem to be a very deep infection, and I was hoping it would run its course before I buckled and deviated from my usual routine of avoiding shopping areas to purchase some over the counter remedies.
My preferred antidote of a glass of red wine tonight certainly didn’t numb the throat enough to control my coughing. I finally pack up for the 3 minute ride on my new ‘cross bike over to London Drugs, fully intending to drop the Visa Gold down hard at the cash register and make out with any and every “extra strength” remedy that looks applicable to my ailments. Woe is the modern urbanite who strives for the macho feeling of hunt and kill; spending a few bucks on mass market cold remedies hardly stirs my survival instincts. Yes, I need more excitement.
I spin over, and experience my recent recurring theme of life: being on my bike for only a minute or two seems to remove any symptoms, ailments, stresses, etc. from my body. Biking has proven itself time and time again to be the greatest facilitator of both my health and pain. If it weren’t below zero and dark out, I’d ride a little more to prolong the therapy. The one glass of red wine I had before heading over also made me a bit unaware of my position relative to the center of the road as well, an entirely unexpected and somewhat disconcerting revelation.
As I cross the street, I turn left into the shopping center entry way. There are no cars in front or behind me entering the way I am, however there’s an oncoming SUV that turns right into the same entryway immediately behind me. Right away, I sense a tone of urgency in her cornering.
At some point in recent modern history, likely the 60’s or 70’s, an undoubtedly adequate and qualified, yet run of the mill urban architect was contracted to design the typical eyesore of a neighbourhood strip mall to house my local conveniences. Although structurally sound and economical, it lacks architectural appeal, and a few practicalities. The entrance way for the parking lot is directly in front of the store, separating the parking lot from the store, which is a common design. However, to state the obvious, this necessitates excessive pedestrian/motor vehicle “interaction” for patrons entering the parking lot and entering the store. Apparently the urban designer who set this precedent never visited the beach, where he would have seen that nature’s brilliance had avoided putting the driveway for the beach parking lot between the beach and the water. Anyway, the store entrance way is close enough to the adjacent avenue, that little old ladies leaving the store with their weeks supply of baby powder and Ensure back up traffic enough that lines of cars waiting to proceed to the parking lot are often stretched out into the adjacent avenue. Locals are aware of this state of affairs, and will aggressively navigate the smallest gaps between little old ladies crossing to gain access to the holy land of suburban parking lots.
I proceed into the said parking lot entrance way, and encounter a typical little old lady crossing out to the parking lot with a small amount of weekly consumables being carried for 10 minutes in a disposable plastic bag that will take 10,000 years to degrade in our landfill. The SUV driver behind me however focuses on me, my bike, possibly my nighttime safety blinker, and doesn’t see that I’m stopping for a good cause. Assuming I’m just a run of the mill jerk cyclist slowing down her overpowered 5,000lb SUV from some high speed parking manouever, she honks at me. I’m in brake stand position, and manage to turn my head back enough to give her a questioning look. We make eye contact temporarily, and subsequently I see her gaze remove itself from my face and track the little old lady crossing in front of me. At this point she realizes she’s morally sinned; a small smile of vindication colors my mind. It’s a small win, but it’s enough to temporarily overcome the mild surliness that comes with feeling under the weather.
As it’s 8pm on a Friday night, and everyone who’s anyone has some type of social activity scheduled, London Drugs is fairly empty. Save for this being North America where retail service is of paramount importance coupled with long lost sanctity of home time and family life, the story should be closed. I use the emptiness, and my aesthetic apprehension of carrying a bike lock on my $5,000 custom titanium ‘cross bike, as an excuse to walk my bike right into the store through the automatic doors. I scan the fluorescent environment to see if anyone is near enough to balk at my faux pas – nope. I lean the bike harmlessly against some shopping carts and b-line it to the cold remedies aisle. I purchase three items – the first pills, lozenges and syrup I see out of an excessive number of choices that prominently feature the words “cold and cough” and “extra strength”.
There’s two cash registers staffed. One has SUV driving moral faux pas lady buying packs of cigarette and gum. I arrive at the same time as a guy buying a vacuum cleaner and a microwave. I guess now’s as good a time as any to be making small appliance purchases. He checks in behind cigarette lady, and I take the open register. I grab a bag of impulse buy Doritos, knowing the cleansing effects of red wine have prepared my arteries for some junk food. Placing my 4 items down on the motorized belt, the girl working the register asks me “is that your bicycle over there”. I’m wearing a red, windproof, Cannondale Saeco winter jersey, my helmet, tights and silver Sidi cycling shoes the Silver Surfer would envy. My mild under-the-weather surliness has returned, but I politely confirm it’s mine with outside voice.
“It’s wrong to bring it in here, you’re going to have to take that outside.”
The word wrong strikes me, it’s a bit harsh for the situation. Yes, to most people bikes are outdoor items, to me that distinction doesn’t exist. What’s so wrong about it? It’s a piece of art – custom welded titanium no more than two weeks old. It’s clean and shiny, it’s beautiful. I stare blankly for a second – she can obviously see I’m checking out and will leave the store in the next 30 seconds, but is she somehow suggesting I need to remove it before purchasing my items?
“Yeah sorry about that, I was in a rush to get some cough stuff and left my lock at home. Didn’t think it’d be too much of a problem, just this once.” Small white lie included, I’m not going to lose sleep over that one. As she begins scanning my items, I add “but it’s really not that wrong, is it?”
Morality deals with concepts of right and wrong, ranking in hierarchy of human thought well above law, rules, and trivialities such as what’s at hand here. All those derive from morality. I’m realize I’m pushing past what the average Friday night teenage worker wants to deal with for minimum wage.
“Well, we don’t want them in here, so just remember that for next time.” Ok, sure, she’s dropped her guns a bit. That worked out well.
I pay my cash and dig a quarter and a nickel out of my wallet to supplement the Queen Elizabeth I just handed over for some mass market patented drugs.
“Thanks, but I just want to say that wrong isn’t what went on here. Wrong is more along the lines of being honked at impatiently when I’m trying to let one of your elderly customers cross the street, or like driving around with a lead foot by yourself in an oversized SUV when we know there’s too much CO2 entering the atmosphere, or 10,000 year plastic bags, or like having the right to smoke cigarettes in close proximity to non-smokers who’d prefer to breath clean air. Clean lungs, riding a bike, and waiting for someone to cross the street are right. If the price to pay for that is having a clean bike in an empty store for 5 minutes, that’s just a small price to pay.”
I smiled when I finished, and she smiled back. She probably thought I was a complete moron, but she let me have my 15 second soap box. I’m not usually a preaching hypocrite; it most likely had something to do with a glass of red wine, and some mild under-the-weather surliness.
Right and wrong have been on my mind a bit these days. Is it right for airlines to charge extra for my bike box, which is under allowable luggage weight and size, solely because it contains a bike? Is it right to sell me an airline ticket and not assign me a seat, forcing me for the second time this year to beg and grovel for a ride home at my assigned time? Are many pieces of my daily routine right, in the context of a recent climatology speech I heard, and the effects of human activity on our environment?
Or, more to the point, is it right that I’ll be doing a memorial ride this weekend, for the third cycling acquaintance this year who’s departed us a little too early?
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