Human behaviour is based on incentives. So are my rides.
If you've read University of Chicago economist Steven Levitt's "Freaknomics" you'll see that incentives play a huge roll, if sometimes in an unexpected and certainly unconscious way, in how people act.
I was probably aware of this last Friday when I rode 15.5 miles through farmland and vineland to Three Oaks in southwest Michigan. It was 90+F, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the land was art directed perfectly for high summer in America. The road gave off visual heat. The heat seemed to bake the land and its inhabitants as if making a cake for the fall. Turtles made their way lugubriously across the road, daring the occasional car blasting by. Cows ambled in slow-motion from preferred blades to preferred blades. Barns were busy slowly falling down. Farm machines seemed rooted to the spot, left there years ago. Fertility amidst decrepitude: corn was growing into its Lincolnesque stature. Soy was dense. Road signs were already up for the fall harvest stands. Road crossed road at right angles, perfect country for Roman Legions. I was dive bombed a few times by a bird who took exception to (1) my being in his or her territory or (2) my helmet or (3) the unexceptional progress I was making against the west wind. I'd hear flapping, a screech or two, than a scrap and small thump on my head. I picked it up a little in case he or she had friends. I kept checking my mileage to see if I was lost or had overshot the town, as I had done this ride 3 or 4 times before but always forget the road names. Was it Mills or Krueger I turn on, or both? The roads I clearly remembered weren?t clearly where they were supposed to be. More water. Finally I saw cars, enough to call traffic even, on a north-south road and I abruptly emerged from Terence Mallick's America to Hallmark's: a too picturesque main street still decorated for the 4th of July. Three Oaks is a town on the rise and they know it. I rode into town with just enough of loss of circulation in my right hand and nether parts to need to stop and refill the veins. There are two ice cream shops in Three Oaks. One is also a pizza joint. I chose ye olde fashioned ice cream parlor with the bench in front and the bike shop down the alley. The woman assured me I didn't need to watch my bike in Three Oaks. I asked for one scoop of Mackinac (that's Mackinawe, mate) Island Fudge with hot fudge sauce. I intended to recoup every single calorie I had spent that afternoon and lay in a few for the return ride.
I probably would have chosen the ride without the shop somewhere in the back---well, not too far back---of my mind. But getting there wouldn't have been half the fun.
And getting back I wouldn?t have had half the engine.
"IF YOU WANT TO GET TO A BETTER PLACE, START PEDALING."
---The Geezer
I was probably aware of this last Friday when I rode 15.5 miles through farmland and vineland to Three Oaks in southwest Michigan. It was 90+F, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the land was art directed perfectly for high summer in America. The road gave off visual heat. The heat seemed to bake the land and its inhabitants as if making a cake for the fall. Turtles made their way lugubriously across the road, daring the occasional car blasting by. Cows ambled in slow-motion from preferred blades to preferred blades. Barns were busy slowly falling down. Farm machines seemed rooted to the spot, left there years ago. Fertility amidst decrepitude: corn was growing into its Lincolnesque stature. Soy was dense. Road signs were already up for the fall harvest stands. Road crossed road at right angles, perfect country for Roman Legions. I was dive bombed a few times by a bird who took exception to (1) my being in his or her territory or (2) my helmet or (3) the unexceptional progress I was making against the west wind. I'd hear flapping, a screech or two, than a scrap and small thump on my head. I picked it up a little in case he or she had friends. I kept checking my mileage to see if I was lost or had overshot the town, as I had done this ride 3 or 4 times before but always forget the road names. Was it Mills or Krueger I turn on, or both? The roads I clearly remembered weren?t clearly where they were supposed to be. More water. Finally I saw cars, enough to call traffic even, on a north-south road and I abruptly emerged from Terence Mallick's America to Hallmark's: a too picturesque main street still decorated for the 4th of July. Three Oaks is a town on the rise and they know it. I rode into town with just enough of loss of circulation in my right hand and nether parts to need to stop and refill the veins. There are two ice cream shops in Three Oaks. One is also a pizza joint. I chose ye olde fashioned ice cream parlor with the bench in front and the bike shop down the alley. The woman assured me I didn't need to watch my bike in Three Oaks. I asked for one scoop of Mackinac (that's Mackinawe, mate) Island Fudge with hot fudge sauce. I intended to recoup every single calorie I had spent that afternoon and lay in a few for the return ride.
I probably would have chosen the ride without the shop somewhere in the back---well, not too far back---of my mind. But getting there wouldn't have been half the fun.
And getting back I wouldn?t have had half the engine.
"IF YOU WANT TO GET TO A BETTER PLACE, START PEDALING."
---The Geezer
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