COLUMN: Bicycling is free, but life is priceless

By Sage Merritt

Published: May 24, 2008

Gas prices are forcing me to contemplate potentially dangerous and stupid things, like riding my bicycle to work every day.
I say “dangerous and stupid” because my daily commute involves traveling from my apartment in downtown Staunton to work here in Waynesboro. In between lies the Valley of the Shadow of Bicycle Death, also known as U.S. 250.
Visions of a rousing (and totally free) early-morning ride along the rolling hills of 250 were smashed to bits by the hammer of reality, once I bothered to take a close look at edge of the road that I would theoretically be riding on.
Next time you’re driving on Route 250 from Staunton to Waynesboro or vice versa, take a gander at the side of the road. This is what you will notice: From Staunton to Fishersville, the shoulder of the road is a one-to-three-foot obstacle course of potholes, loose gravel, dead animals, escaped hubcaps and other debris. From Fishersville to Waynesboro, however, the road’s shoulder is clear of all obstacles, mainly because there isn’t a shoulder to begin with.
Meanwhile, the drivers traveling on 250 seem to be permanently in the process of weaving back and forth as they adjust their stereos and roll down their windows to hurl still-burning cigarettes at the edge of the road where I would theoretically be traveling. Or so it seemed, when I was considering what it might be like to commute to work via bicycle.
“Surely I wouldn’t get struck by a car,” I thought, contemplating the possibility of riding my bike along the side of a shoulderless road as westward-bound drivers whizzed along beside me, all staring directly into the setting sun and talking on their cell phones while thinking about how cathartic it would be to hit someone with their huge SUVs. “And even if I did, it couldn’t possibly be that bad.”
The thought of my lifeless body tangled with the wreckage of my bike on someone’s lawn in Fishersville wasn’t actually quite enough to convince me that a bicycle commute isn’t such a great idea. The possibility of massive pain and debilitating head injury stops being such a big deal when it costs $10 to drive to work every day. That’s $10 a day that I could be saving for the future, or buying food with, or burning for heat.
The last straw was the day I woke up to discover gas prices had jumped almost 30 cents overnight. That’s more than a quarter of the cost of a load of laundry at the laundromat! Per gallon!
So, despite the possibility that my life’s final moments would be spent lodged in someone’s windshield, I resolved that I would be commuting to work on my bicycle this summer.
Until I had a major realization. The realization that, if I did get killed or seriously injured riding my bike to work, my co-workers would have free reign to print vicious lies and/or embarrassing truths about me in the newspaper, all in the name of memorializing me (or something).
I do not need another entry on the list of my life’s work-related indignities.