Commute

Follow me, don’t follow me

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Our path today has made all the difference

We take the slow way, and cruise along the lake.

The lotus paddies are dotted with puddles, neatly aligned mini irrigation ditches, parted by green

Paddy

Puddle

Paddy

Puddle

It’s a bit muggy

Moldy March is upon us

But we are lucky enough to encounter a day with no mist and dry roads. And only a bit of traffic, on this route less traveled

I notice the orange digger atop the hulking truck, girded metal claws, cockpit, and extended arm

And then a second, amongst the paddies

There’s some kind of project going on

I think they’re going to dig

and then, as we round the next corner,

I know they are.

A third behemoth crawls toward us.

Got my spine, got my orange crush

It takes up the entire roadway with its massive metal tracks and huge scoop.

You shall not pass

Comin’ in fast, over me

This could be a while

There’s no way by on the right or left, and the three cyclists who were cruising in front of us pause, scampering off the road and out-of-the-way

That’s when I see my opening

I maneuver the bike to dart between the two at the back and the one in the front and scoot up onto the sidewalk. Luckily there is an angled ramp ready for me to make the move.

Such motorbike moves, if not always expected, are at least tolerated

and understood

I slide around the right side of the huge lumbering machine, and ease through

into freedom

Comin’ in, you’re home

Our brick laid path gives way to asphalt and an open road. We skirt the morning pho eaters and round the bend.

I’ve had my fun, and now it’s time to serve my conscience

in front of a group of third graders