Well, dang, it happened. It was one of those things I never wanted to be when I grew up. You know, a whiny “Not in My Back Yard” NIMBY. The folks who move half a block from the airport and complain about jet noise. Or buy a house down the street from a nuclear reactor and gripe because their cats glow in the dark. You weren’t going to catch me turning into one of those people – No-siree-Bob!
It started out fine: a proposed walking path in our eastern hillside neighborhood. Worked for me. But then it was a bicycling/walking path. OK, I can deal with that. But then it was a – yikes – public mountain biking-walking trail mere steps from my back yard. Oh, oh.
OK, I like the public; I really do. I write columns for the public. And I’m a reasonably nice person on most days. I play well with others. I’d like to buy the world a Coke. No need to get hysterical here; just take a deep breath. Remain calm.
So I settled down and looked at the bright side. A few bicyclists rolling behind our house would be kinda cool, right? Of course with my luck the bicyclists rolling behind our house would turn out to be Ozzy Osbourne and Black Sabbath or something. But aren’t bicycle riders non-smoking healthy folks who wouldn’t dream of tossing away a lit cigarette that could create an inferno on our parched hillsides? Of course nobody said they had to be actual “cigarettes,” if you get my drift. Maybe those two spandexed guys on bikes I saw the other day taking a little, ummmm “ciggie” break wouldn’t ride up here in the hills, where it’s so isolated. Nope – no problem there.
And speaking of fires – what’s the big deal? Anybody remember the gigantic fire up here in 1985? Boy that was exciting. Of course we didn’t have actual fire-fighting personnel up here because they were busy fighting fires in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Even El Toro burned that summer. With the smoke and flames spewing out within a few feet of our hillside homes, the area resembled a great big Texas barbecue. But – hey. All the kids got a big kick out of the helicopters flying over our houses all night, and it was good times hosing down our roofs and packing up picture albums and stuff in our cars in case the fire jumped the canyon and we had to make a run for it. Getting 500 homes evacuated on the one and only road out of here would’ve been entertaining, too. So if a fire was to start – not that one would – but if one did and we lost a few homes, so what? The city has plenty of money to rebuild them, right? I mean, it’s hard enough getting fire insurance up here, so the city would just step right in and take care of rebuilding anything that got burned up, wouldn’t they? Not that it’d happen. I’m just saying.
Plus I’m feeling pretty good about the wildlife. If mountain bikes displace a few deer, so what? They just eat the plants anyway. And the mountain lions and wild boar we have up here? Wouldn’t it be a hoot to see one of those big old boars take out after a cyclist? But here’s a thought – those pigs’ ten-inch (or so) tusks would fillet a bicycle tire like nobody’s business so you might want to bring along a couple of extras. Just in case.
Personally, I think it’d be great and promote good health to have a bike trail where we could just zip down the hill on our bikes to pick up groceries. We could be there in record time, seeing how steep the hills are and how fast we’d get going downhill. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too many people actually walking on the trails because who knows how long it’d take to stop once you’re on a good downhill roll. Except I haven’t totally worked out how to carry a gallon of milk, eggs, detergent, and possibly a watermelon back up the hills on my bicycle so I guess I’d just call my spouse to come pick me up, which sort of defeats the whole thing about getting out of my vehicle. Oh, well, never mind.
Aside from all the good features about putting some new trails in my neighborhood, one thing sure bums me out. I guess this spells the end of sunbathing nude on my deck. OK, not that I’ve actually done it – but I might. Plus think about all those husbands wandering around in their previously private backyards in their underwear – good luck getting that to stop. Putting that sort of spectacle on public display would be, well…wrong on so many levels.
In fact I was really onboard with this whole trail thing until some guy on a blog went and said we hillside residents were selfish. That we were applying pressure because we think change is bad. That we were (gasp!) “older” and set in our ways. Ok, you’ve pushed all the wrong buttons now, mister. Old? Old?? Who are you calling “old,” Mr. Blogger Person? I know, I know; some people think if you reach the decrepit age of 35, you should have the good sense to go buy a Porsche and ram it into a tree like James Dean; just disappear in a blaze of glory. Who needs a bunch of doddering old fools hanging around that are, like, over 40, dude! Well, except we older people pay taxes here. Lots and lots of taxes.
So bring it on, Blogger Boy. Some of us “older” neighbors are starting a nude sunbathing club on my deck because, last time I checked, my deck is still private property. Yep – we “older” nude sunbathers could be part of your mountain biking scenery. But hey – I never promised it would be pretty.
Gale Hammond is a 23-year Morgan Hill resident. Reach her at Ga*********@*ol.com.
