![]() ![]() Those who need scooters, wheelchairs, or other assistive devices to get around have an even more impressive gauntlet to run every day. This, of course, is me speaking as a person who’s able to walk. And when walking increases my risk of falling, as it often does, that’s downright dangerous. Muscular weakness means that, even if I get where I’m going, I won’t necessarily be able to get back. Add mobility issues to the mix and you’ve got a walkable city that excludes those who can’t walk.īecause I move at a glacial pace, the fact that I can walk somewhere doesn’t mean that it’s remotely worth my while to do so-it might take me two, maybe three times longer than it takes an average, able-bodied person to cover the same amount of ground. This is a place where, if somebody isn’t mowing you down with a bike, there’s bound to be construction that forces you into the road, or tree roots and jagged concrete that can trip even the most conscientious pedestrian. This is just life in the United States’ 6th “most walkable” city. Never mind the fact that I was obviously having difficulty getting where I was going and could have used a little space. Never mind that riding a bike is not what a side walk is for. “And I’m just trying to ride my bike on the sidewalk!” “Look,” I told the guy, “I’m just trying to cross the street!” There was no way I was making the light, and I was unamused. The fact that one of my feet doesn’t entirely lift up makes me veer off to the right at times, and in trying to out-maneuver a guy bouncing about on a moving heap of metal, I ended up somewhere between the light post and the local weekly paper’s news stand. I tried to skirt around him, but I’m not all that great with my own balance. (I’ve asked around, and apparently the goal of the exercise is to “work on balancing” by heaving around in this way.) Just as the signal finally turned my way and I began my slow progresses from curb to street, a Typical Seattle Biker-white man, brown beard, tight shorts, pointy helmet-came rolling up the curb cut in front of me. He then did what Typical Seattle Bikers do: that unnamable thing of jerking the bike’s handlebars back and forth and bouncing the wheel about. Some weeks ago, I was late for a meeting and waiting at a crosswalk, impatient with the incredibly long red light. Kelly Davio’s previous Waiting Room columns for The Butter can be found here. ![]()
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