So there we were, and so we have been many times before. But this time it was different. The road had been turned in to rubble. Serene cycling, pastoral, a gentle 3 kilometers or so: this road was a pleasure to ride. It was part of an oft cycled loop. It was the leg that was the turning point back into the city. It was on this road, I had my first spill of this season, that I left my skin and blood on its flat surface. It was on this road we saw deer and geese in the surrounding fields. Damn, I liked this road.
The bulldozers, the land movers, the survey teams, have moved in to expand the every expanding city: building on prime agricultural land; putting oily gravel over the pavement to accommodate the heavy vehicles. Soon, the sewer, power, gas systems will be in place and the builders will start pouring foundations, framing the behemoth houses for those who will soon demand the social infrastructure of schools, stores and professional offices—a familiar pattern of urban development.
No more, it is.
Soon houses will line the road; maybe the pavement
will improve, as is the case with suburban expansion.
Weep, weep, sniffle. I'm going to miss that road too, Penn. Nice job. I think we should go on ride of mourning for old 184 St. Wear black, bawl and moan, etc.
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