Let's Take A Walk

The first time I visited Rome, my pensione was next to a bar/café where each morning I’d join the old men of the neighborhood standing at the bar to put down a few thousand lira for a cappuccino, a short glass of fresh orange juice, and a pastry.

The bright morning light streamed in the front windows and the brass fixtures shone. The bartender wore a clean white shirt and a bow tie. The other men at the bar would talk as they drank their coffee. Once or twice, one made an attempt to include me, but we couldn’t get past the language thing. The customers would come and go, and when I finished my cornetti, I headed out for my own day of exploration and soon some other Italian patron would take my place.

Decades later, that still feels like a platonic ideal way to start a morning.

That place doesn’t exist in a city like Atlanta where cars rule. People do not drive up to a place to spend ten minutes standing at a bar for a coffee and a ‘good morning’ with neighbors. Instead, they wait in the drive-through line and drink their coffee absentmindedly as they navigate traffic.

There is a US phenomena of retirees gathering regularly for breakfast at places like McDonald’s for morning chats. It’s something we need more of, but it’s not the same. Because they made a point of driving there, the group settles in for a while. No one from outside the circle joins in. A stranger might even be welcome, but they will not feel welcome seeing that table of old friends gathered. The standing bar of shifting acquaintances is different. It welcomes strangers, even those that can’t speak the language.

...And Behind Door Number One—A Brand! New! Car!

The other day, my nephew asked me what car I would drive if I had my choice. He said he wanted a fast car, some flashy sports model—I can’t remember which one. I had no good answer. I sold my car about six months ago, and although I’ll probably need to buy another at some point, it’s not something I look forward to.

My buddy Noel and his wife just celebrated their 30th anniversary, and for almost that entire run, they’ve been a one-car family. When Noel still commuted, he did so on MARTA. Of late, he works from home. I don’t pay attention to what car any of my friends drive, but I know that Noel tells the world every day what his priorities are.

My carlessness isn’t based on the kind of discipline it takes to ride MARTA when you could afford a car. Mi Esposa and I both work from home, and she seldom uses her car. My mom lives up the street. She’s in her mid-eighties, but doesn’t want to sell either of her cars. Altogether, the three of us drive less than 10,000 a year, but owned four cars.

I just got exasperated that we were all paying insurance and taxes on depreciating cars and sold my 2017 Tucson in April and put the money in the market. The gains along with money saved in insurance will fund next year’s European cycling adventure.

Here, as an effort at truth in advertising, is a recent picture of an hours-long line of cars waiting to get into Yellowstone National Park.

There’s a t-shirt that says bikes bring the freedom that car ads promise. The promise of those ads—hulking SUVs driving on rugged dirt roads in Big Sky Country—is picturesque but unlikely to go unfulfilled. A recent informal survey of drivers’ expressions on the top-end Perimeter at rush hour confirmed that.

Cars make our lives easier. In Atlanta, they are essential. But they make us lazy, often choosing to drive for something that we could accomplish with a walk or a pedal. Collectively, that choice costs us a lot.

One of my prime criteria for evaluating European cities for retirement is a “thriving altstadt.” These are places where the choice to walk is natural and getting in a car is discouraged.

That trip to Italy was 35 years ago, and the old men that stood at that bar are surely gone now. Some mornings, I walk up to the square in my town and wander around a bit. I get some movement and take in the morning air before coming back home and settling in for work. It’s a good way to start a day, even without the cappuccino.

It is not with nostalgia that I remember that little bar, but inspiration. When I think of the connection of place, the comfort of ritual it offered are things to aim for in the coming years.

Getting an Early Start

I used to think there would be a day when I would close up my laptop and say, “That’s it, I’m done! No more job!” Although that day may come, I’ve begun to think of the line between working and retirement as very fuzzy. I still have several years before Social Security and Medicare kick in and I’m enjoying my work, but there’s definitely a wiff of retirement in the air.

I’ve started modeling the life I want to lead in retirement. I’ve made traveling a priority. I’ve stopped worrying about career paths and promotions. I try to be in less of a rush all the time. And I sold my car. I still have easy access to one when I need it, but these days my default is to walk or pedal. It’s a little thing that’s made a big shift in the way I live my life.

Song of the Week

Forty years later, 80s music is having a revival. From Kate Bush to Prince, the 80s charts are being rediscovered by a new generation. I really love some of that stuff, but it’s not what my 80s sounded like.
I was diving into what the messy space between country and rock in that era. Great country acts like Dwight Yoakam, Steve Earle, kd lang, and Lyle Lovett made me want to wear bolo ties even as Cowpunks like the Long Riders, Dave Alvin, and X made that seem like a good choice.

Of all of those, the band that hit me hardest has been overlooked completely during this 80s nostalgia: Green on Red. Chuck Prophet, the band’s guitarist, has a legitimate career out on his own, but it’s the sloppy drunk years of Green on Red that still bring me joy.

And this track—Time Ain’t Nothin’, that gets me the most these days. It has become something of an anthem for me as I think about the next step.