In recent weeks, I've joined the small ranks of people who commute by walking. My workplace is "only" 3.5 miles from where I live. So, I've started walking one direction of my commute two or three times per week. So far, somehow, I've managed only to walk home
from work in the evening, never
to work in the morning. I have a complicated shoe and spare vehicle shuffle I do to make this possible, but my European commuting bike figures prominently in this scheme.
It probably would have been better to pick this habit up when the days are getting longer and warmer, instead of shorter or colder, but -- on the other hand -- it could be a great way to keep weight off during the holidays and still enjoy the occasionally sweet treat.
Each 3.5 mile walk takes me just over an hour. I call this developing ritual even shorter in terms of commute time than driving does. If I drove to and from and walked an hour for exercise, the time required is 1.5 hours. However, when I drive one direction and walk home the other, the exercise and commuting combine nicely and it only takes 1.25 hours. Commuting on bike is even more efficient. It only takes me five minutes longer to commute by bike each way and I get exercise doing it.
My enthusiasm for this project increased when my town improved the Caltrain (everyone pronounces it "cal-tran") train station a mile from my home. It actually allows for bikes! No more carrying bikes over the tracks on some terrible stairs! Now a well-lit ramp goes under the tracks, just like the German stations we grew so fond of.
The walk itself is rather boring, but at least I have pedestrian lights at most crosswalks and sidewalks or paved parking lots at deserted buildings most of the way home. There are only three feet on my journey where I have to walk on grass. The tree-lined light-industrial streets are not unpleasant. I walk right by the back entrance to my health club and sometimes I actually stop for even more exercise. Most of the route is well-lit, except for the worst neighborhood, of course, just south of the train station -- the one where I've crunched long lines of broken glass from busted windshields under my feet. Personal crimes are low where I live, so I don't worry too much for my safety (there are some places I wouldn't park my car if I had a nicer one, though.)
The strangest feeling, as I walk along, is the feeling of cars coming up behind me and passing me in a big hurry to get home. The thing is, at the end of the day, I am also in a big hurry to get home. Because I don't go nearly as fast as the cars, I find myself resenting the cars while I sympathize with and almost pity the drivers. What a singular mix of emotions!