Commuter Geography

Clipping the apex of the curve of the onramp this morning as I made yet another commute from home to work, I noticed the expanse of rabbitbrush in nearly full fall bloom cascading down the slope from the elevated roadway. It's not that I hadn't seen it before, rabbitbrush in northern Nevada blazes bright yellow every fall as the temperatures dip and the sun slants obliquely on its' slide toward the Tropic of Capricorn. This particular patch of Chrysothamnus nauseosus was another reminder for me that I won't be breathing through my nose until every grain of pollen from this autumnal beast is frozen into wintry oblivion.

This experience, which may have taken 5 seconds of my 15 minute drive to work, is one of dozens of unique scenes we all take in, regardless of means of transportation, every day on each of our well-worn routes to our places of employment. In my very typical, read "dull and thoughtless," subdivision, houses are packed in at 7 per acre. There was no thought of creating a pedestrian easement at the end of the cul-de-sac to allow school children to walk efficiently to the bus stop or all the way to school. Rounding the circuitous route out to main road reveals more inefficiences in design. Trails that end abruptly or do not connect, forcing walkers and bike riders through ditches on volunteer pathways.

I weave through chicanes of landscaped islands and ease along traffic calming curvilinear boulevards on the way to the freeway. Several massive cottonwood trees were spared the chainsaw and provide welcoming relief against the backdrop of 3-inch caliper trees struggling to take hold in the boron-laced soil of the original desert beneath. Wilder Nevada becomes apparent as I leave the pre-packaged subdivision behind. Open ditches front homes in widely variable states of repair. Trailer, trailer, clapboard ranch, faux-Georgian plantation home complete with massive RV garage, trailer, trailer...residential monotony replaced with architectural dissonance over the course of a mile.

Then the commercial buildings appear as the freeway comes in to view. Hay for sale along side a school district bus yard. Nondescript office buildings painted brown against the backdrop of the soaring mountains to the west. The road gets serious toward a major intersection with wider shoulders, steel guardrails and concrete medians made to keep cars going in one direction at a time. I've ridden my bike alongside this stretch on the weekend and have discovered massive culverts stuffed with shopping carts and garbage underpinning the road above. Detritus that has been ejected in one way or another from passing vehicles piles up in drainageways, unseen by motorists but well known to the rabbitbrush.

A stylish outdoor shopping center blurs by my speeding car as I race toward the apex. In the foreground of the view to the east, before the cookie-cutter houses line up to the base of the Virginia Range, a few 100-year-old ranch houses dot the landscape. Black and white cows stagger around the ranch fields, condensation blowing from their noses in the cold morning air. I hit an expansion joint that jumps the car slightly left. Correcting as I fly through the curve, my rabbitbrush scene flashes by and I am on the freeway.

Amidst other drivers slumped over their steering wheels, jockeying for position on the race to the office, I see a redtail hawk sitting on a light pole. The bird is huge, probably the size of a cocker spaniel with wings. It spots something on the rocky bank across the freeway, leaps from its perch and wheels around to cross the road perpendicularly. I approach his flight path at 65 mph and the hawk is flying low, perhaps 10 feet above the screaming cars. I turn to look as the bird zeroes in on whatever breakfast it may have spotted. Reality roars back and I am forced back to the task at hand of driving. One of my fellow motorists has opted to drive 45 mph on the freeway and people around me are standing on their brake pedals. I do likewise to avoid rear-ending the offending Hyundai Sonata that is weaving from lane to lane for no apparent reason.

Another half mile and there's my exit. It's a long sweeping off-ramp that hits you with a right then a left curve. I try to do this one at 60, though it's posted for 45. I make a good run at it and hear my lunch box tumbling over in the trunk, indicating that I may have hit the second curve a little to quickly. When that fun is over, I turn right past the In-N-Out Burger, which smells delicious even at 9:00 in the morning. A few people are walking down the street, though there are only intermittent sidewalks and then precarious paths on the edge of the travel lane. Lights in Reno are not timed at all and I hit the two between the offramp and my office. At the last intersection, I'm looking at a gas station, empty lot, car parts store and a drug store on each of the four corners. 0.2 miles later, I pull in to the lot and shut off the car. The engine clicks and ticks as it cools off and I lumber into the office, leaving freedom in my wake.

One day in the near future, I will pass that offramp and not look back.