Raleigh News & Observer
11/14/99

Point of View: In an auto-matic age, no wonder we sprawl
By CAROLYN CURRIE HALL

RALEIGH -- Speculating about the causes of the obesity epidemic
in this country? In my view, with our cities built around the
needs of the automobile, it's no wonder people are developing
spare tires.

Suppose, for example, that you live in a typical fin de
millennium household in a city not unlike Raleigh . . . On
weekdays, you're up at 5:45 a.m.. You needn't be at work until 9,
but you've got two carpool routes to drive. Your daughter's high
school is half a mile away, but there's no way she can cross
Minefield Road this time of day, so you grab your commuter cup
and head out the driveway at 6:30.

You pick up Amanda one cul-de-sac over, then drive 4 miles
through attractively winding streets to Katie and Laura's house.
It actually backs up to Amanda's, but, because it's in a
different subdivision, you can't walk or drive from one to the
other without returning to Creepmore Road and doubling back.

You reach school at 7:10. Your daughter hates hanging out for 40
minutes before school starts, but you've got to get your son to
his middle school, 2 miles in the other direction. He'd love to
ride his bike, but the bike route is a 6-foot-wide strip along
the edge of four lanes of traffic and, what with people making
rights on reds onto Cutthroat, you're terrified at the prospect.

Picking up your son, you pass again through the gates of Paved
Farm, carefully avoiding the preschoolers on their Tot Wheels.
You've only two kids to pick up, and they're both in Oak Relic,
so you usually make it to school with five minutes to spare
before the final bell.

You have just over an hour to get to work. During rush hour, the
20-mile trip takes 45 to 55 minutes, assuming there are no
accidents or disabled vehicles to impede your crawl. Today, you
arrive in plenty of time, but you're famished. You hit the
vending machines.

During lunch, you need to stop by the bank, pick up your dry
cleaning and fill your gas tank. (You'd like a more
fuel-efficient car, but to stay in the carpools, you need the
Guzzler.) You drive to Concrete Commons and pull up to the
drive-in window at Bank-in-a-Box. Making your withdrawal, you
contemplate walking to the dry cleaner's. (Thirty minutes, three
times a week is your goal.) The dry cleaner is in the next
shopping center, about 150 yards away, but it's up a little hill
and there's no pathway, let alone steps, so rather than
scrambling up the embankment in your good shoes, you ease back
onto the highway, wait at the light, turn into the entrance to
Asphalt Meadows and look for a parking space.

You spot one after just seven minutes of circling, and pick up
your suits. You crank up the Behemoth again for the trek to
Gas'n'Go, two blocks away on the far side of No Hope. You wait
through two light cycles to get across. By the time you've pumped
your gas, lunch hour's almost over, so you maneuver your way to
Blimpo's drive-through and order a Clogger. (You'd meant to make
a salad for lunch, but you were out of lettuce. Environmentally
aware, you weren't about to drive to Superlo for just one item.)

Coming home from work, you find your daughter in a snit: she
can't start her math homework until you drive her to MegaMart for
graph paper. Traffic's not bad; you're back with the paper in
just under 45 minutes. Your son reminds you that tomorrow is the
day his report on arachnids is due; you still haven't taken him
to the library to do research. He told you about the assignment
three days ago, but Monday you had to take your daughter to her
music lesson, Tuesday, to a
dental appointment and Wednesday, to a classmate's in Distant
Acres to work on a group project for English.

You'd planned to pick up some fresh fruit for dessert (you've got
to improve your eating habits), but the library's nowhere near
any grocery store; the cookies in the pantry will have to do. You
read an article on fitness while your son makes notes on
web-spinning.

Home at 7:40 p.m., you nuke some Readi-Meals, wondering about
their fat content. You should have spent Saturday preparing
low-fat meals for the coming week, but, with the grocery
shopping, taking your son to buy shoes and your daughter to a
party, plus changing the oil in the Leviathan, the time got away
from you. You've got to get more organized.

After dinner, you suppress a twinge of guilt that you're not out
jogging around your (sidewalkless) neighborhood, or at least
driving to the gym to work out. Maybe you should buy a stationary
bike. You vow to do better tomorrow.
------

Carolyn Currie Hall is a free-lance editor and writer who is
fortunate enough to live within walking distance of Cameron
Village.

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