During my month on two wheels from Washington, DC, to Maine, people I met would again and again wish me, "Be safe!"
I have written before about the disconnect between living overseas for most of the past fifteen years and the reality of life in the US today. Things change. I remember coming home on R&R in 2010 and looking for a Blockbuster store where I could rent a DVD. My favorite independent DVD store in Takoma Park, MD, had closed its doors. During my posting in Uzbekistan for more than two years, I had missed the collapse of DVD rentals in the US in favor of on-line streaming.
After coming back from Kazakhstan in 2017, I was telling my sisters a graphic story about an unfortunate incident that had happened to me. One of them interrupted by saying, "That's TMI." I asked her to explain what TMI means. I had never heard the expression used in Central Asia.
Those are trivial examples. More substantive were the changes in political landscape in the US. I was at the U.S. Embassy in Copenhagen for a conference on the day of the presidential election in 2016. The results were apparent as our conference got underway. Stunned silence reigned in the halls of the Embassy. Several of us went out that evening to drink our sorrows away in a jazz club. When the Marine Ball took place at Embassy Astana two weeks later, more alcohol was consumed than I had ever seen consumed at an Embassy function. We all wanted to forget even if only for a moment that our own country had changed in ways we never saw coming.
A month on two wheels as I worked my way through Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Ontario, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine was the perfect way to let go. I had no time to follow the news. Even if I had, for much of the trip I was in areas without cell phone coverage. Life consisted of me and the road together with the morning and evening routine of breaking and setting up camp. News was to be heard only faintly from a radio or TV in the cafes and diners where I stopped to eat.
"Be safe out there." I thought that a strange greeting when I first heard it. Then it was repeated again and again. At first I would reply, "Thank you," but later I changed that to "You, too, be safe out there." On continued thought I changed my reply again to "Be audacious and live fully!"
Have we become a country in which safety is now Concern No. 1? Given the gun violence of the past several years, perhaps we have.
Still, in my estimate the chance that I will fall victim to a gunman are about the same as being hit by a meteorite or lightning. Of course it could happen, but am I going to live my life accordingly in a state of fear?
Or perhaps those who saw me, a single grandmother on a bicycle, thought I was doing something inherently dangerous? As someone who was certified as an instructor by the League of American Bicyclists some 20 years ago, I know the statistics are in my favor. Hour for hour, the chance of my being seriously injured on a bicycle are about the same as they are if I am behind the wheel of a car. The point is that one must know how to operate a bicycle as a vehicle with proper lane positioning and communication with other vehicle operators. Just like skydiving, operating a bicycle requires training. It is not what most think they remember from riding a bicycle in childhood.
The least of my fears was my safety as a bicycle driver. Perhaps the "Be safe" wishes were for my physical safety as a single older woman? That, too, leaves me scratching my head. Assault and rape do happen in this world. It has happened to me . . . at the hands of a policeman on a ferry from Georgia to Ukraine. The risks in my own country seem much lower than in many of the places I have served overseas . . . and I challenge any would-be assailant to keep up with me on two wheels.
Then there is gender transition. For anyone who has navigated this path successfully, is there anything left in life that rises to the level of danger and fear of what we passed through? I find there to be a good parallel between successful gender transition and effective, safe bicycle operation. Be visible, take your lane politely but assertively, and move forward. It's hugging the shadows during transition, hugging the curb when on a bicycle, that leads to danger and injury.
Can one be hurt while out and visible? Can one be killed? Of course one can. Just look at the homicide rate for transgender women of color. Still, I assert that the danger of being hurt while out and visible is far less than when one is hugging the shadows.
The same applies when operating a bicycle on roads. I have had no indicdent of any kind as a bicycle driver in Russia, Romania, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Kazakhstan. After those countries, I find conditions in the US to be refreshingly comfortable.
Forward I now go into retirement. It's too early to know where this new phase will take me. Whereever I go, I will remember my own greeting to others during my month on the road:
I have written before about the disconnect between living overseas for most of the past fifteen years and the reality of life in the US today. Things change. I remember coming home on R&R in 2010 and looking for a Blockbuster store where I could rent a DVD. My favorite independent DVD store in Takoma Park, MD, had closed its doors. During my posting in Uzbekistan for more than two years, I had missed the collapse of DVD rentals in the US in favor of on-line streaming.
After coming back from Kazakhstan in 2017, I was telling my sisters a graphic story about an unfortunate incident that had happened to me. One of them interrupted by saying, "That's TMI." I asked her to explain what TMI means. I had never heard the expression used in Central Asia.
Those are trivial examples. More substantive were the changes in political landscape in the US. I was at the U.S. Embassy in Copenhagen for a conference on the day of the presidential election in 2016. The results were apparent as our conference got underway. Stunned silence reigned in the halls of the Embassy. Several of us went out that evening to drink our sorrows away in a jazz club. When the Marine Ball took place at Embassy Astana two weeks later, more alcohol was consumed than I had ever seen consumed at an Embassy function. We all wanted to forget even if only for a moment that our own country had changed in ways we never saw coming.
A month on two wheels as I worked my way through Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Ontario, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine was the perfect way to let go. I had no time to follow the news. Even if I had, for much of the trip I was in areas without cell phone coverage. Life consisted of me and the road together with the morning and evening routine of breaking and setting up camp. News was to be heard only faintly from a radio or TV in the cafes and diners where I stopped to eat.
"Be safe out there." I thought that a strange greeting when I first heard it. Then it was repeated again and again. At first I would reply, "Thank you," but later I changed that to "You, too, be safe out there." On continued thought I changed my reply again to "Be audacious and live fully!"
Have we become a country in which safety is now Concern No. 1? Given the gun violence of the past several years, perhaps we have.
Still, in my estimate the chance that I will fall victim to a gunman are about the same as being hit by a meteorite or lightning. Of course it could happen, but am I going to live my life accordingly in a state of fear?
Or perhaps those who saw me, a single grandmother on a bicycle, thought I was doing something inherently dangerous? As someone who was certified as an instructor by the League of American Bicyclists some 20 years ago, I know the statistics are in my favor. Hour for hour, the chance of my being seriously injured on a bicycle are about the same as they are if I am behind the wheel of a car. The point is that one must know how to operate a bicycle as a vehicle with proper lane positioning and communication with other vehicle operators. Just like skydiving, operating a bicycle requires training. It is not what most think they remember from riding a bicycle in childhood.
The least of my fears was my safety as a bicycle driver. Perhaps the "Be safe" wishes were for my physical safety as a single older woman? That, too, leaves me scratching my head. Assault and rape do happen in this world. It has happened to me . . . at the hands of a policeman on a ferry from Georgia to Ukraine. The risks in my own country seem much lower than in many of the places I have served overseas . . . and I challenge any would-be assailant to keep up with me on two wheels.
Then there is gender transition. For anyone who has navigated this path successfully, is there anything left in life that rises to the level of danger and fear of what we passed through? I find there to be a good parallel between successful gender transition and effective, safe bicycle operation. Be visible, take your lane politely but assertively, and move forward. It's hugging the shadows during transition, hugging the curb when on a bicycle, that leads to danger and injury.
Can one be hurt while out and visible? Can one be killed? Of course one can. Just look at the homicide rate for transgender women of color. Still, I assert that the danger of being hurt while out and visible is far less than when one is hugging the shadows.
The same applies when operating a bicycle on roads. I have had no indicdent of any kind as a bicycle driver in Russia, Romania, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Kazakhstan. After those countries, I find conditions in the US to be refreshingly comfortable.
Forward I now go into retirement. It's too early to know where this new phase will take me. Whereever I go, I will remember my own greeting to others during my month on the road:
Be audacious and live fully!
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