I swear, biking to work makes me a better person.

Yes, I am saving the world one carbon atom a pedal, but that’s just a benefit. After all, I love cars. It’s the day to day interaction with the environment that really brings out a different consciousness.
In a car, my environment of concern is about 90 cubic feet. On my bike, it’s as wide and long as the street. And there are myriad of interactions going on everywhere that I miss when I am speeding by safely enclosed in my car.

One day I pedaled by a house getting a new roof. I barely avoided two roof nails poised to ruin someone’s day. In my car I would have probably never seen them, and possibly hit them. But on my bike I was presented with the opportunity to do something. Maybe it has to do with the fact that my father died last year and is constantly in my head, still leading by example, or that I was raised with a guilty conscience, but I did turn around and pick them up.

Couple days later I pedaled by a car with the hood up. There was a woman standing there with two young children running around on the sidewalk next to her. In my car I am sure I would have just sped by in ignorance (and maybe a bit of apathy). But on my bike, I looked her in the eye and saw her dismay. I pedaled about a half block before deciding to turn back. She thanked me, said she had called her husband and he was on his way.

But the big one came a few days later. I was on my way home as a late afternoon thunderstorm was blowing in. I had my head down against the sand and grit as I crossed a street. When I got across the street, I looked up and there was a parked car right in front of me. I swerved, but my handlebar caught on the roof and the entire bike lifted up as I screeched across the top of the brand new Audi. I recovered and swung around to access the damage. About a yard’s length of paint gone down to the metal. It started to rain. I didn’t have anything to write on. I knocked on the door of the house the car was in front of but no one was home. I rationalized that I ride this way most every day, I’ll deal with it later.

Of course the car wasn’t there the next day. Or the next. Or the next week. But I kept thinking about it because I think a lot when I am on my bike. I thought about how I would feel if I found a gouge in my car that no one took responsibility for. And I thought about how my dad would handle it. So I went back to the house and knocked again. An elderly lady said her car is always in her garage, but that people from the office behind her always park on her street. So I rode around the office parking lot but didn’t see the car.

I was a bit relieved. I convinced myself that I had done all I could do to track it down. The car was gone and the ordeal was over. But the next day I found myself at the front desk of the office leaving my name in case anyone with a blue Audi reported some vandalism.

I was so proud that I had gone the extra effort. And after two weeks when no one called, I was very relieved. The ordeal was over. But the next day something made me pedal past the office parking lot again, and there it was. Shit.

I wrote a note, then tore it up. I wrote it again and stuck it on the car. “I am the one who scratched your car a month ago.” Couple days later the guy called and thanked me for being honest. He was a bit confused, and didn’t know what to do. “I’ll call you back.” he said.

Now, I know I have been in my car and bumped another car in a parking lot before, but for some reason it seems ok to let that go, I don’t know why. I don’t always tip the cashier at Starbucks. I don’t volunteer or support any charity to speak of. I swear a lot. But on my short commute to and from work on my bike, I feel like real swell guy.

- Monte