Why this?
This here’s a place for me to write about the fascination for the demonstration, the urgent clue that, “The word is not the thing.”
I find that I am generally the only person on the 77 bus using a pair of pliers, though some do knit, or use their wearable computers. Hand-held radios turn into wearable computers over many product generations of selective pressure. Evolution of the rest of the periodic table, at the hands of the lighter elements, which got busy billions of years ago and wound up with us, here.
I have mentioned to friends that I carry no cell phone as an observant member of the Digital Amish sect. I am updating the idea of technology selectivity to cull the products of the late 20th century. Accepting some technology and avoiding other aspects is logical, given the checkered history of technological progressing the proscription In the Digital Amish community, blogging is accepted technology. The elders approve of some forms of advertising and affiliation. Wait. Who are the elders? One of my Fleischmann ancestors started a Mennonite sect in Pennsylvania. Who am I to ignore a calling?
Reject the automobile as a solo commuting vehicle. Accept it as cargo carrier, as multi-person transport, for the unexpected, otherwise unsupported trip.
I love my bicycle. I love it, not for the brand or the components or the style, although: 
,
The joy is cutting through the air under my own power multiplied by 29 inch wheels.
Beating the motorized crowd while I’m at it.
I commute the five miles to work everyday that I can. Hot, cold, rain, are all in stride. Ice is another thing, and I avoid it. Winter’s early dusk cuts short my ride, not because I can’t see, but because the failing light challenges the car drivers’ vision. Three months of the best bus route in town is not so hard to take, with a good book or good ideas to toss around.
Drivers are funny. Funny strange. In traffic, a motivated bicycle rider gets there first every time. But if there is a long stretch of road followed by a traffic light, a car driver just has to pass the bicycle to get to the red light first. And the slow and steady bike wins the race because, let’s face it, no bicyclist with a red light and a clear crossing waits for the green. I don’t. Zero velocity for thirty seconds really cuts into average speed.
One ton of metal accelerating requires a lot of energy. In town, zero to thirty to zero five times a mile is what the cars do. The energy costs money, and exhales nitrogen oxides and carbon dioxide. Thirty pounds of bike accelerating is easy, seven times easier than moving myself. People take time out and pay to exercise. My commute is exercise. I exhale carbon dioxide, but only a fraction of the driver’s exhalation.
A car weighs ten times more than the driver. I weigh seven times more than my bike. Multiplying, I use technology seventy times more efficiently than the driver. I want a titanium frame, twenty pound bike, so I can bring the ratio to one hundred to one.
Half of my commute is on a bicycle trail, the Minuteman Trail, built on an old railroad bed. The green tunnel of trees is fresh and fragrant. Most bicyclists acknowledge each other as they pass. Here we are immersed in a common pursuit and loving it.
Drivers look away. They are in shiny metal boxes. They compete with other shiny metal boxes to shave tiny increments of time from the hassle of their commute. They talk on their phones because they really want to be somewhere else. And they are, on average, alone.
I have nothing against cars. They are great for carrying stuff, traveling long distance, and moving multiple people hither and yon. But for the daily commute of one person? You have one ton of metal, accelerating, and you are one in a car?
May the roads of today will be like the rail beds of yesterday.