Lately I have been exploring another side of town. I'm not referring to East or West Petaluma, but the non-auto paths that have grown up here in the last dozen or so years.
I have driven on nearly every road in this town. Other than a few missing toddler months and most of the years between my eighteenth and twenty-eight birthdays, I have always lived in Petaluma, so I have been to most streets and most neighborhoods at one time or another.
But these paths are from a different side of town. The side of town that isn't noticeable unless you are on foot, the side of town that I normally ignore when I am driving around looking for a new address or a garage sale. They are marked by greenery, the trees, shrubs, grasses, flowers. And they are beautiful!
The local bicycle committee has been working with the city planners to create and lengthen these paths that connect the two (often rival) parts of town. There is more to be done, but eventually several parts of the city will be connected by paths built exclusively for walking and biking. I’m usually quite critical sharing the road with bicyclists, solely because that particular set of drivers doesn’t share well. One if 25 bikes will obey the local stop signs and lights when we meet at an intersection. This creates dangerous situations for them that it seems motorists like myself are blamed for. But on these paths, the bikers are far more considerate. Some call out from behind in plenty of time before passing by; others simply try to ride around without startling anyone. I don’t mind sharing this side of town at all.
I can walk from the farthest edge of town to my neighborhood with only an occasional foray onto paved streets. I can walk by creeks and parks, over bridges, through gardens, under redwood trees, next to rose bushes, blackberry bushes and buckeye trees.
Recently I came across a man dressed in red, white and blue, digging in the dirt just off the path. He had witnessed a squirrel being hit by a car and had opted to bury the poor thing instead of leaving it out for the elements and other passing cars to destroy. It was a nice gesture; a bit creepy, but nice nonetheless.
This other side of town is a quieter place to visit. I can walk as briskly or slowly as I please. I am only pushed by my want of exercise or pulled back by my fatigue. It is a part of life that is easy to forget exists. Walking in my own neighborhood, I get caught up in perceived necessities: cooking, cleaning, grading, and organizing. Walking my dogs in the neighborhood or downtown, on the sidewalks as cars move past, feels much more manic. It is a feeling of mania that I couldn’t see clearly until I was away from it.
Right now I only walk on the path, me and my dogs and occasionally my husband. It is my time to meditate and nurture my body, and of course exercise my dogs. But it might someday become my own bike path to work, a way to gear up and wind down. I'm hoping to be a regular visitor to the other side of town.
