This past summer I took up residence at my parent’s home in
the suburbs of Indianapolis so as to put the home up for sale after my father’s
recent death and my mother’s failing health from Alzheimer’s. I spent my high
school years at their odd wooded two acre residence just off of one of the
city’s main east west streets—71st. More of a road than an actual
street, it served for years as major throughway for the first suburbs of
Indianapolis’ Northeastside along with the many farms that were still very much
a part of the landscape when I lived there. But now, some 35 years later, where
there were cows and corn, there are mega churches, business ‘centers,’ strip
malls, fake lakes, and a proliferation of track housing, and with all of this,
of course, more traffic along 71st,, and something else—people walking
down the street.
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| Churchgoer walking on 71st (literally) |
Almost every day I see them, walking to catch the bus at a
stop up the road at a newish business complex, men in briefcases, teens in backpacks
staring at their cells, women going to work with their uniforms on, and often a
group of boys dribbling basketballs to a court down the street behind a large
Methodist Church. One Sunday along with the teams of cyclist who now buzz by in
their fluorescent gear, I saw a woman in high heels with her purse and church
clothes trying to make it the same church.
I’m happy to see them but remember from my own days as a
teenager before I had a car that 71st wasn’t the safest road to walk
or jog on, let alone ride a bike. And it’s no better today, in fact it’s much
worse with the high volume of traffic, with half of the people trying to text
or talk to someone, not to mention the steady stream of the usual lawn care and
service trucks that race around trying to make deadlines. The street is only 22 feet wide, including
berm. In most stretches there is no berm
at all, just a drop off into a grassy pitched culvert (that fills with water
and becomes impassible for days after a good rain). Other places, there are
fences of thicket that branch almost into the road, forcing walkers to cross to
the other side or risk walking in the road. On a bike, I can tell you, it’s a nightmare.
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| Woman walking along 71st, notice the complete lack of berm on left. |
When I watch the walkers morning and evening, I wonder what
it’s going to be like for them during the winter when it will be dark and snow and
ice make not only driving hazardous but walking a nightmare. I marvel how they navigate, though, moving
onto the road and then back on to the grass, using drive ways and lawns where
they can. When I see them, I have an
image of my mother during that awful period when the slow deterioration of her
brain made her feel as if she were lost and desperate, at times convinced she
needed to walk home or so angry at losing her independence that she often took
off and walked until she was found by the police or my panicked father. I
wonder just how close she came from being struck by a car as she drifted along
71st.
For many reasons, citizens of suburbs are coming around to
this problem as are politicians. And 71st is earmarked for a paved
path, but the little colored flags come and go and still there are no signs of
any backhoes or city workers, and it’s been now a two years. Why? Homeowners
are balking, I was told by my late father, who wasn’t so happy about it
himself, until he learned it would be on the other side of the road.
There’s still a stigma to walking in the suburbs, if not a
subtle discouragement. Oh, they are fine within a set off housing development
of curving streets and cul-de-sacs, but not necessarily outside these sealed
off zones. Here, sidewalks invite
unwanted outsiders. The word “pedestrian” has a pejorative connotation because
of its historical association to those of lower status. In some wealthy suburbs people are routinely
stopped by police and queried about where they’re going and most importantly
where they live. Sidewalks cost too much is the usual argument given by
politicians and taxpayers alike. Those who live in subdivisions might enjoy
them for their children and weekend joggers, but there’s no need to have them
for anyone else. A sidewalk is a unifier, a truly public pathway and free space
open to all, and for that they are quite radical.
Indianapolis has an award-winning bike and walking path
called the Monon Trail. It stretches some 15 miles, connecting to other trails
in the city and then out to an extension in the city of Carmel, as it follows
the old Indianapolis-Chicago Monon Rail line. The trail is wildly successful and has become
trendy, as it passes through some of the city’s most sought after neighborhoods
from its revitalized down town along the White River out to its northern
suburbs. But it wasn’t the case at first, according to its champions like a
friend of mine who uses it to cruise to work each day on his bike. The city of
Carmel wasn’t all that excited that a trail would run from the city out though
its exclusive neighborhoods. But now the
city has a handsome greenway that uses the trail as a commons where people can
enjoy recreation, meet friends, have dinner, hang out, or take those last walks
with parents before they no longer can remember how to move one foot in front
of the other, as I did last year in Carmel with my mother holding on to my arm.
It’s very encouraging, yet for those who don’t live in and
around these converted train to trail urban parks, one wonders when and if cities
will find the will and funds to offer the same to neighborhoods where not only
are trails needed for recreational and social cohesion, but are a necessity for
many every day who need to ride a bike or walk to catch a bus to get to and
from work or buy food.
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| Walkway along 62nd St in Broad Ripple, Indianapolis |
Change comes slowly. But a movement is a finally a foot here
in the city famous for its sports and high class facilities for athletes, but
now, too, for its awareness of the everyday needs of everyday athletes who live
in all sectors of the circle city.
