Trailing Bartram, a bi-monthly Precipitate blog feature, investigates the flora and fauna of Florida.
If you happen to have read all my posts, you may remember that my first one started out with a rather amusing inquiry from an elderly neighbor about whether I might like to see his peacock. Thinking the worst, my immediate reaction was to hope that my wolf-like dog felt a sudden bout of protectiveness and would lunge after him. Though he turned out to be harmless (if a bit clueless), a recent incident here in Orlando has once again given me pause.
Two cyclists, biking early one weekend morning, ran across two burning things on our local and usually lovely bicycle/multi-use trail. They called 911 and said that there were either mannequins or bodies burning. Well, they turned out to be bodies. Worse, still, they were the bodies of two murdered local teens, ages 16 and 18. Now, there is plenty of speculation as to what those teens might have been doing wrong, possible affiliations with unsavory people. Still, who burns bodies? And leaves them on a bike trail? Wait, back up: Who kills teenagers?
My reaction, in addition to being absolutely horrified for the families and friends of these—let’s be honest—children, is not to want to ride this trail any more. Sometimes I ride with friends, yes, but sometimes I don’t; I enjoy the alone time to go as fast or as slow as I want.
And I enjoy the occasional encounter with a stranger. For example, several weeks ago I had ridden out about 17 miles and had turned back to head home. Surprised (as always) by the headwind, I struggled along, head down, and noticed a raggedy-looking fellow on a sturdy bike ahead of me. I thought I’d just pass him but realized that I was having some trouble keeping up. As usual, my ego got the best of me, and I pedaled and pedaled until I was able to pass him. I made a comment about the wind, and he said something about riding since something a.m.—I thought he said 3, but that couldn’t be right. I said, “Oh, you’ve been riding since 6? Wow!”
“No, three a.m.,” he answered.
A bit shocked, I asked, “What are you training for?”
“Old age,” he said.
Well. I continued to ride with this gentleman—I think he said his name was Jack—who apparently rides some 200 miles a day regularly on weekends. He told me about all kinds of trails near and far, as well as some pointers about riding in the Orlando area. He was a delight to talk with.
I want to be able to ride for hours alone if I choose, like Jack. I want to be able to meet folks like him on shared trails and have a good conversation, then part ways somewhere down the road and say, honestly, “I hope to see you again one day soon.”
But incidents like this recent double murder on the trail-and like the one or two times back in Lansing, when older and perhaps mentally unwell men made inappropriate gestures and worse to me on a river trail not always populated with lots of cyclists or runners-make me just unwilling to go ride when I want to.
There’s a fine line between common sense caution and irrational, life-limiting fear, but I can’t figure out where that line is. There’s the obvious: ride during the day, carry a phone, and then the not-so-obvious: is it OK to ever ride alone? Is it stupid? Is it simply asking for trouble? I certainly hope not.
Despite the fact that I am quite certain I could out-run, out-cycle (well, one day), and even do some physical damage to most people encountered in my daily rides, I don’t know what kind of anger or what kind of weapons people might have, especially in a state that is quite proud of its liberal gun ownership and gun use laws, and is simultaneously one of the worst-hit states of the economic downturn.
I also think about a free class at a college where I used to teach. Many places offer these classes, and I am pretty sure everyone should go to one, or five. It was a women’s self-defense class, and what I got from it was not as much technique (though they spent plenty of time on technique-how to inflict painful blows in self-defense when you really have to). The real takeaway for me was permission. Sure, you don’t ever really want to hurt someone. As not only a woman but also as a peace activist, I really, really don’t want to hurt anyone. But, as I learned from this class, when someone is after you, when violence is happening to you, sometimes you must do everything you can to get away. Now, I am as interested as the next person in determining the root cause of a society where violence, particularly violence against women, even rape culture, is considered OK, but (God forbid) being in the midst of an attack is not the time to necessarily have that discussion. It’s also not the time to give in, and, as I’ve heard too many women say, think that somehow you deserved it.
As a relatively athletic and sturdy person, I’m actually pretty strong, but at this class, repeatedly, all of us had to be told to hit harder (the instructors were police officers wearing lots of padding). An acquaintance from my department finally let go, in an end-of-class test where we were to go all out. She had known a faculty member, who, years ago had been raped and then killed in the college’s parking deck. She had brought her adult daughter to this class with her. And she was mad. I can’t help but think that permission to be angry, and to know that we can hit back was good for her and for all of us in the class. I admired one of the police officers’ two daughters, who, at about 9 years old, was clearly not afraid to scream, shout, and do damage if she ever felt she needed to.
In Florida, it’s easy to remember nature red in tooth and claw—the kind of non-human nature that we are instantly afraid of, from gators to birds of prey to poisonous snakes, not to mention weather, but experiencing urban nature in Florida also reminds us that the same solitude and wildness that attracts outdoors adventurers also can attract very ugly people doing very ugly things. Negotiating the fine line between safety and solitude, nature and lawlessness, is not a task to be taken lightly—nor should it prevent us from being outside.
Leslie Wolcott, Staff Blogger