When alternatives becomes mandatory

At 9:50 this morning, I was sitting in my car with the key in the ignition. I'd made an appointment to see a Career Center counselor two weeks ago to discuss post-graduate options, and that appointment was set to begin in ten minutes. In my mind I was counting the number of stop lights that separated me from Central Campus, some 2.5 miles away. By sheer will alone I was trying to make them all green.

I turned the key -- click! -- nothing! Panic. Something obvious, look for something obvious. Did I leave the lights on? No. How about the trick that tow-truck driver showed me once, running the shifter down and up one time? Okay, that didn't work. 9:53.

Alternatives, alternatives. Bus? I could make it if I ran -- no, I couldn't. I had two minutes to cover half a mile to the bus stop -- that's crazy talk. Bike? Maybe, but I'd have to pedal like hell. No time to get the helmet. Out, get out of the car, get moving.

By 9:55 I was on my bike, forgetting all rules of safety. I made it to the front of the complex, watching for traffic instead of traffic lights. Reds and greens didn't matter, just cars or no cars. I crossed the street and made it up and down Jones Drive, the same hill that nearly killed me earlier this summer after the rain.

By 10:00 I was at the Medical Center, about half-way to Central Campus. I pushed up Fuller hill, lungs gasping at the cold air. People passed on my right and left, some clearly annoyed. Turning the corner at Huron, I made a mad dash to State Street.

The feeling of not being somewhere when I'm supposed to be there has never sat completely well with me, though I've gotten used to the discomfort. Everytime I tried to turn a new leaf, it seemed the old one would just flap back into place. I continued pedaling like mad, down State, left onto Liberty, and now down Maynard. I was challenging traffic at the four-way stops.

By 10:07, I finally arrived. The ironic thing is I probably made it in less time than I would have taken driving.