12-6-2010 0615 BBA The Pleasures of the Bike Path. Sala frequently has to assure me that; No, its not the same thing as sitting. But there is a walking meditation, which she practices and teachers, and perhaps the time on the bike is somewhat like that. Or perhaps for those of us with an extreme version of monkey mind, the physical activity of pedaling hard or running or even kayaking on calm water is helpful as it floods the body with those calming endogenous chemicals.
Whatever the case, the bike path trip always has at least some element of the reflective. And reflection, or at least the aspiration to a reflective professional practice, is the aim of a lot of my thought these days.
Of course there is nothing new about all this. The Flexner report, back in the dawn of the 20th century, was a scathing indictment of the state of American medical education. No system, no accountability, no coherence and most of all, no science. Published by the Carnegie Institute, it was a fox in the slovenly hen house of medical education at the time. And, some think, led to the emphasis on scientific (and thus distant, cold, impersonal ) medicine that is now criticized in the most recent Carnegie report.
When in the late 1900’s medical consumers were asked what kind of doctors they wanted, many of their desires were for more communication, more comprehensive thinking; a kinder, gentler and more available doctor. The recently published report ( ) provides some ideas on how to get there. And at the heart of this is the idea of reflective practice.
My own thinking is influenced by mentors like Malcolm Knowles, George Lakoff, and Donald Schoen. What kind of a Venn diagram brings these guys together? Reflection. Knowles’s ideas on adult education are my basis for believing that its possible to learn without being taught in lectures. That students can learn..a central requirement for anyone venturing into the whole field of Inquiry Directed Learning. Lakoff, still stirring up trouble on the Berkeley Campus, is the one who helped crystallize my own idea of how individuals in groups project their thoughts..that we put our conceptualization into a frame (the ‘lens’ alternative has never seemed right to me) which we construct out of mind, and that our minds are inextricably embodied..plagued and blessed with all the joys and woes of sensate existence. Forget the apparent assurance of the lecture hall; lets get going into the messy guts of the world as it is! And Donald Schoen (working with Chris Argyris of course), who worked out how individuals within organizations should use an ‘action/reflection’ model, and that organizations should support and cultivate such reflective practice as an essential part of the organizations mission, and function.
Now the bike path doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes its just grunting against the NW headwind that brings cold air down from Canada. Sometimes its dodging joggers and learners. But on many a fall or winter day, and particularly coming home at night, it can be host to reflection. The gear is all working well..body suit, double mittens, hood, waterproof top keep me somewhere between sweating and freezing. And the bike, although old style with the drop handlebars and very heavy cost only $100 and can get up to enough speed to give the illusion of going fast. Then, as anyone who bicycles knows, its just a matter of round and round and round and round. The bike path is pretty flat…being an old train track…and pretty smooth. Going northeast along the shore, there’s little wind today and this early no traffic at all. Oak Bluffs on the Vineyard is clear enough to make out individual houses. As it Falmouth Heights Casino up ahead. Rock jetties constructed to trap sand stick out into the water, and the fishermen of summer are all gone to home. The sun is rising way South, as we move towards the longest day. Memorial benches, remembering someone who perhaps once walked here, are getting more numerous each year. Up ahead is the first level crossing, so I start looking along the road, peering through the fragmites that grow along Herring Run Pond. Nice swans. Looks like no cars coming, so I slow, but do not follow the instructions to stop and dismount. Then I’m over the crossing, and the path is curving towards the left. It will follow the shore towards the Bourne end of the Cape Cod Canal, where an ancient railroad bridge is still doing active duty. There have been muskrat lodges in the ponds, and there’s another alongside me now. Sometimes the damp trails of the rats as they cross the path from the big pond to the small are visible, but not this morning. But the lodge is percepitably bigger than it was. I picture the happy rats luxuriating in their warm home. It’s a rat’s life.
Now the path crosses another road, with an osprey nesting platform close by. We’re getting to a long stretch with backyards on one side and nature preserve on the other. Back onto autopilot, and reflect a bit.
Imagine how nice Woods Hole would be if most people arrived by train. If we had somehow avoided this rush to get into private cars and instead agreed to develop mass transit. Perhaps then the roles would be reversed, and the bike path would be in place of the main highway, the railroad serving most of the transport needs. The whole parking lot would be a reception area, a place to relax for a moment before moving on to explore the town or get on the boat to Marthas Vineyard. Plenty of hungry and acquisitive tourists to keep businesses flourishing. A place for local artisans to sell their stuff. Ahhh!
Up ahead are The Lumps. A place where trees grow close enough to be uprooting the smooth macadam of the bikepath into cracks and heaves. Have to pay more attention to stay on course. And then theres the level acrossing of the main road, and beyond it the path sweeps behind the Lumber yard and across another street before coming alongside the old Station. Its grown up with 3 inch thick trees on the tracks now, but the other side is a working bus station. A shadow of its former self.
We’re going alongside the town now, through huge parking lots that are empty now, but jam packed with cars in the summer high season. The woods here are broken by businesses and the hospitals parking lots. Then the old railway sweeps left, cleaving to the shore but back from it a bit, and on both sides the glacial remains become evident. Vernal ponds at the bottom of dells left by melting blocks of ice. Rock walls gathered as settlers created usable fields. The Sippiwissett road overpasses high above, each car making crunkeling noises on the loose boards of the roadway. On the right there is the first glimpse of Buzzards Bay, a perfect little arm of marsh, with a central clear lead of water, blue against the sky that has cleared of clouds now. More woods, and the campground on the left, the quickly dug and graded dirt road access to various campsites brutally clear now that the leaves are gone. Two years ago I met two coyotes here at night..or rather I saw them as they continued on their way. The bikepath sags down a bit, and then swoops up a bit, and under another road, and then there is a long straight downhill stretch that opens up in a vivid flash to open marsh on both sides, with the sand dunes of Sippiwissett Beach on the left, and Buzzards Bay tumbling with waves beyond. Remants of quahog clam shells that the gulls have dropped to break open and eat. Coyote scat, piled defiantly in the middle of the macadam. The big summer houses to the right that abut the marsh are mostly closed, but at night there will be at least one light along this mile long stretch. A kingfisher rattles off to somewhere else. I let my gaze drift out across the reddish brown of the spartina, and along the black cutbanks that border the water leads. A few ducks..perhaps mallards. No wading birds today; do they migrate? Very little cattails..its mostly fragmites now. Too bad; cattail are the baseplant of a lot of marsh ecosystems. The wind gusts, and again I remember my job is to continue pedaling. Up ahead, I’ll turn off and visit the West Falmouth Market for a muffin
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