One of our regular riders and supporters is a barber who appears to know pretty much everyone in our town. Every night, he rides a taxi around the city for about an hour or so. I've driven him twice now and both times it has resulted in some really great conversation and, to my pleasant surprise, overwhelming evidence that a sense of community does still exist. Despite the fact most people I know barely know their next door neighbor, have put up a privacy fence, or wouldn't think of knocking on a door to borrow a cup of sugar, I'm pleased to report this isn't the case everywhere.
While we're driving, the barber is invited to block parties and birthday parties. If we smell a barbeque, he's intent on finding it and stopping in, and has apparently done so with other drivers. Everyone we stop and talk to knows him by name and he knows theirs or at least knows something about them. He constantly reassures me that no one will "mess with you" or any of the bike cab drivers because we're friends of his. Good to know.
Our first time out, I saw one of the most beautiful things an avid runner could ever witness. It was just about dusk as we turned down a one way side street. The street lights that had just turned on revealed the silhouettes of a line of children, standing shoulder to shoulder across the street. They varied in age and height but by my estimate they were all probably between four and ten years old. "Go!" someone shouted and half of the kids came barreling down the street towards us as fast as they could. The half that wasn't running was cheering and laughing and jumping and clapping. The children who were racing crossed the "finish line" which was composed of the outstretched arms of an older girl standing in the middle of the street. After a winner was determined everyone fell back behind the imaginary start line.
We had gotten closer to the kids at this point and the barber told me to park along the side of the street. The kids came up to us as if we were Santa and Rudolph sitting in a sleigh. At this age, it appears to be a chore to even stand still for a few seconds, so you can imagine the excitement when the barber said he had a prize for the winner of the next race.
Their little feet, many of them bare, lined up behind the imaginary start line again. This time it was a relay race. The smallest children went first with the tallest lined up at the end of each line. I noted there was no complaining about sore feet, no fighting over teams, no pushing to go first. It was as if they'd raced down their street a thousand times before, and they very well may have. "Go!" yelled the girl at the other end of the street. Feet pounded the pavement as each child put his or her heart and soul into running as fast as their little legs could carry them. One boy in particular, running in a pair of shorts, no shoes and no shirt, was a speed demon. The look on his face as he ran back from the turnaround point was that of an Olympic sprinter. He was no more than six but I'm sure he could have beaten a high school athlete.
He, and every child on that block, was running for the pure joy of it. I couldn't stop smiling for a few reasons. First, I've experienced the euphoria you can get from running, the alive feeling you get when everything is in tune and nothing is in pain. I felt their joy. Second, I was smiling because it made me think of how the simplest things can make you happy. These kids didn't have the latest running gear, Gatorade or energy gels. They had nothing but an empty street, and they were clearly completely satisfied.
After a victor was declared by the girl at the other end of the street, the winning team celebrated, and the barber gave each team a prize that, without us even asking, they promised they would all share. You'll share? I asked to be sure no one was left out. "Yes," they replied collectively, "because we are neighbors."
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