The Cost of Addiction
Across the USA, many of us now take for granted our ability to cover long distances in short periods of time. I routinely schedule weekend trips to places over 100 miles away from my home and I'll do the 20-mile round trip to my parents' house for a cup of coffee.
Environmentalists have given plenty of attention to our cultural addiction to cars. The focus has been on fossil fuel consumption and the associated pollution that contributes to smog, acid rain, and (of course) climate change.
The most popular solutions seem to be those that allow us to keep driving with reduced emissions (hybrid cars, biodiesel or veggie oil engines, etc.). By driving a Honda instead of a Hummer, my conscience has been spared the burden of feeling like I'm a menace to the earth.
Last week, however, I had an eye-opening experience that was also tragic (as most eye-opening experiences unfortunately are). For the first time in hundreds of thousands of miles behind the wheel on rural roads, I hit a fellow mammal. A doe. Her fawn ran off to an uncertain fate. As for her, five gun shots from a police officer ended her suffering. Teaching her fawn where to find apples one moment, needlessly mangled by a giant hunk of metal the next.
After talking myself out of my initial guilt -- I was driving well below the speed limit, I hit the brakes, I honked my horn, I did everything I could do -- I began to curse the culture that has made me complicit in the inadvertent slaughter of wildlife that are just minding their own business, trying to follow the same corridors that their forebears followed before highways were built and changed everything. How many people out there think hunting is wrong but drive a car and simply shrug, "Aw, that's too bad" at the sight of roadkill? I was one of those people for years. Chances are if you haven't hit something yet, you will. According to High Country News, one million vertebrates are run over each day in the United States. That's one every 11 seconds.
When planes crash, the media can't get enough of it. We are asked to imagine what it would feel like to plummet from the sky into the ocean. We understandably become a bit skittish about flying. Someone occasionally reminds us that commercial airline travel is a hell of a lot more regulated -- and a hell of a lot safer -- than getting behind the wheel of a car on your local highway. Yet we never seem to get skittish about driving. We drive tired, we drive preoccupied, we drive intoxicated, we drive on cell phones and sending text messages. If you need a reminder of how dangerous driving can be even when you're doing nothing wrong, look no farther than the story of Ken Green, a professional golfer who just lost the three loves of his life -- his dog, his girlfriend, and his brother -- as well as his leg, all from a freak blown tire (read the story on my friend Brett's blog).
I'm not sure where I'll go from here. The last time I had an epiphany like this was in 2001, when I realized I had hypocritically argued against hunting while eating meat someone else killed for me out of sight, out of mind. I decided to stop eating meat unless I killed it myself. I miss fried chicken, but giving up cars might be even more difficult. Minutes after watching the doe get dragged off the road, I got right back behind the wheel and continued to drive. I had to be in Burlington, 50 miles to the North, in an hour, and because of the accident I was running late.
Read more roadkill statistics from High Country News
Environmentalists have given plenty of attention to our cultural addiction to cars. The focus has been on fossil fuel consumption and the associated pollution that contributes to smog, acid rain, and (of course) climate change.
The most popular solutions seem to be those that allow us to keep driving with reduced emissions (hybrid cars, biodiesel or veggie oil engines, etc.). By driving a Honda instead of a Hummer, my conscience has been spared the burden of feeling like I'm a menace to the earth.
Last week, however, I had an eye-opening experience that was also tragic (as most eye-opening experiences unfortunately are). For the first time in hundreds of thousands of miles behind the wheel on rural roads, I hit a fellow mammal. A doe. Her fawn ran off to an uncertain fate. As for her, five gun shots from a police officer ended her suffering. Teaching her fawn where to find apples one moment, needlessly mangled by a giant hunk of metal the next.
After talking myself out of my initial guilt -- I was driving well below the speed limit, I hit the brakes, I honked my horn, I did everything I could do -- I began to curse the culture that has made me complicit in the inadvertent slaughter of wildlife that are just minding their own business, trying to follow the same corridors that their forebears followed before highways were built and changed everything. How many people out there think hunting is wrong but drive a car and simply shrug, "Aw, that's too bad" at the sight of roadkill? I was one of those people for years. Chances are if you haven't hit something yet, you will. According to High Country News, one million vertebrates are run over each day in the United States. That's one every 11 seconds.
When planes crash, the media can't get enough of it. We are asked to imagine what it would feel like to plummet from the sky into the ocean. We understandably become a bit skittish about flying. Someone occasionally reminds us that commercial airline travel is a hell of a lot more regulated -- and a hell of a lot safer -- than getting behind the wheel of a car on your local highway. Yet we never seem to get skittish about driving. We drive tired, we drive preoccupied, we drive intoxicated, we drive on cell phones and sending text messages. If you need a reminder of how dangerous driving can be even when you're doing nothing wrong, look no farther than the story of Ken Green, a professional golfer who just lost the three loves of his life -- his dog, his girlfriend, and his brother -- as well as his leg, all from a freak blown tire (read the story on my friend Brett's blog).
I'm not sure where I'll go from here. The last time I had an epiphany like this was in 2001, when I realized I had hypocritically argued against hunting while eating meat someone else killed for me out of sight, out of mind. I decided to stop eating meat unless I killed it myself. I miss fried chicken, but giving up cars might be even more difficult. Minutes after watching the doe get dragged off the road, I got right back behind the wheel and continued to drive. I had to be in Burlington, 50 miles to the North, in an hour, and because of the accident I was running late.
Read more roadkill statistics from High Country News
Comment
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Comment by Heather Lukacs on July 30, 2009 at 8:37pm - Gosh, Pete. I just read this -- and it really hit home. I have been driving this really windy road regularly over the past few weeks including a trip very late last night in dense fog. One night (not last), I saw a fawn, raccoon, fox, and another unidentifiable critter all along the same road. It is a wild transition from almost exclusively commuting by bike for the last many years... any thoughts on how to give up cars and live in a rural place? (And, I'm also glad you're okay, thanks for sharing.)
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Comment by Cody Hopkins on July 20, 2009 at 10:35pm - This an absolutely wonderful observation Pete. I'm glad your OK.
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