Mount Vernon — To the Editor:
Last week I took a hard fall on the bike path. At 5:45 a.m., as I entered the Mount Vernon bike path on my commute to the Pentagon, I misjudged the location of the ramp entrance and instead slammed into the curb. Though it was dark, I was equipped with proper lighting on front, back and helmet, reflective belt and eye protection to prevent and be prepared for possible mishaps. I had made this trek hundreds of times, so making the entrance should have been easy.
The initial sensation was my full-body impact on the macadam as all breath was crushed from my lungs, and the pain of a broken the rib that resulted. I knew I had to get up and off the bike path and into the grass, as the morning rush of bicyclists, runners and walkers would soon pick up, and we didn't need another accident. But the pain was only made worse by what followed. As I struggled to move my broken bike off the path, audibly in pain, a car pulled in and parked within ten feet of me. The driver emerged, proceeded to put on her headphones and start off on a run. There was no "are you OK?" or "can I call an ambulance", instead, just the sound of her shoes hitting the pavement as she disappeared onto the path.
One could argue that it would be unsafe for a woman to approach a man crouched in the grass next to a broken bike. He could be drunk or on drugs. But I being clearly immobile and in need of help, a distant offer would have given a sense of “not being alone.” Several others would pass by (though none as close) before my wife arrived to take me to the emergency room. Though there are surely still examples where “good Samaritans” intervene, this was not one of those times.
Though a single incident, it reinforced my concern that we might be losing our "sense of community" on our bike paths (and by extension in our parks, trails, or anywhere where individuals recreate alone and may need the help of a stranger). Do we feel a sense of responsibility to help others who travel along our local bike paths? Are headphones "just for the music" or a "sign of separation"? Have we got so used to our "social media" that we've forgotten how to "socialize"? Or are we just too busy to take time for each other?
As a military family, we've been assigned to the D.C. area three times and consider ourselves "Alexandrians" by choice. Having commuted to work on this same path since 1993, what was most startling since our return this year was the reduction of camaraderie. Though the path had been smoothed and widened, the human interactions had become lessened and narrowed. In previous years, most passings included greetings like "on your left" or "passing", with a response of "thanks" or a hand raise. Often, as you approached someone you could hear "enjoy your ride" or a head nod and a smile. Though we were all going to different places at different speeds, there was a sense of "togetherness" and "unity." Today, greetings often go unanswered. The sense of unity seems to be evaporating, possibly by the increase in head phones, smart phones and texting. Listening to music on a run is great, but probably not the safest practice. One wonders, "can you hear me, or just choose not to respond?”
Whether on the battlefield and at home, American soldiers have a creed that says "I will never leave a fallen comrade." Though initially just words, through shared experience they become inculcated. Could we regain a similar sense of "unity" by adopting an approach of concern, support and unity? I think it's time to disconnect from the iPod and "reconnect" to each other. For me, I will do my small part by saying "hello", "passing on your left", or a nod to everyone I meet on the bike path; head phones or not, response or not. I will never pass a distressed traveler; I will seek them out to assist. I will always drive safely with the appropriate gear, and will pray for the safety of those who choose not to. And I will always believe that should we meet on the bike path you will do the same for me, and together, we will reignite the "sense of community" along the way.
John Sims
Alexandria