Being outside of a car brings certain rituals into people's lives. Maybe it's the force of schedule, maybe habit. The past two days, on the way to work I've passed by the same person riding in the opposite direction and we both give a nod to each other as we pass on our way. It's like we're both part of a public society enjoying the world around us en route to our destination. Perhaps it's the sense that there is safety in numbers. Regardless, it's a shared kinship.
There's something about being human exposed that binds you together. the rest of this post is for N and S who both served time in Boulder, Colorado. A place so beautiful and detached from reality, it's 20 square miles of Disneyland surrounded by reality. A place so fit that you felt guilty if you hadn't completed a triathlon each morning. When I was in graduate school I had the good fortune of living uder the foothills of Chatauqua park and on many mornings i would tromp up Baseline Rd to the park and go for a hike. I 'd often bump into this beautiful dog with his woman, who was almost as beautiful. This is Boulder after all. I never spoke one word to the dog, or her for that matter. By, we'd nod (the Woman and I that is) peacefully at each other and go our separate trails. In that brief moment of negotiation we'd decide our paths, separate and proceed to enter our own worlds. There is that connectedness of being outside of the tin wrap of our cars. Even when I auto commute on a regular basis, I rarely run into the same people or cars each time.
I leave with one more anecdote, and that was when I lived in Denver and would periodically take the bus to work. The same bus, the same schedule, I'd pass the same people each time. only connected apart.