Something really needs to be done about those cyclists who ride on the sidewalks. These non-pedestrians have no consideration for those who amble about on their feet. And to fix this problem, several cruel and unusual strategies have hatched themselves in my noggin. Perhaps I could utilize the old fishline trick and stretch some wire across the sidewalk. Then again, I might simply scatter tacks about and sit by with a newspaper and watch the show. I’ve even thought about employing the old gangster technique, but my violin case is in the shop. But I am not a violent man—but even Patrick Henry said in his famous St. Crispin’s Day’s speech, “Enough’s enough.”
Surely the cyclists know that streets are for vehicles and sidewalks are for walking—they’re not called sidewalks for nothing. In fact, when Noah—or was it Daniel?—Webster invented the word, he was very careful to toss pedestrian into the definition. The conversation between him and great-great-great-great grandfather was recorded somewhere in our family history.
“Billy—that’s what Mr. Webster called my ancient ancestor—I’ve got a problem,” Noah said. “And I think you can help.”
“Speak, Word, speak.” Mr. Webster. (My sources, which are just as good as your sources, tell me that Word was the affectionate term for Noah. Booth Tarkington, however, said that word means damn. But no one believes Mr. Tarkington.)
“Well, you see, I have a quandary. You know, a predicament: a difficult, trying, or perplexing situation, condition, or state.”
“Oh, Wordy Webster, I’ll give you what help I can,” my great-great-etc. grandfather assured him. “I’ve always been one to speak my mind and to stand by what I speak, even if it’s wrong. You know that.”
“Sure, Billy,” Mr. Webster continued.
“So what’s on the old noggin, or, as my grandfather would say, ‘What’s rattlin’ aboot in the on cranial cavity?’”
“Ah, yes. The head, or as some, employing the Samuel Johnson’s fourth edition of the Thesaurus, would say, ‘crown, brainpan, noodle, scalp, or cranium.’ Well, I am trying to figure out a new word, term, utterance, articulation—a sound or a locution that communicates a concept in the mind—in short, a word that will express a place where pedestrians may walk that is free more carriages, wagons, vehicles, carts, and other items that move, transport, or carry people, humans, mankind from place to place.”
“Is this item the street?”
“No, it’s beside the street.”
“Ah, beside the street!”
“And it’s not for driving?”
“No, it’s for pedestrians, people who use their feet to move their person from one place to another.”
“Such as, walk?”
“Exactly. They ample, saunter, meander, stroll, jaunt, stride, toddle, pace, and some will stagger, totter, lurch, wobble, flounder, teeter, and stumble on this certain thing. In short, they will walk on it.”
“Well, if it’s beside the street and it’s for walking, why not call it a besidestreet?”
“No, that won’t do. It has to express what it does.” (And that's how 21 questions was started.)
Two or three hours and approximately 52,461 words later, they decided upon a sidewalk, which, Webster insisted, was a place where pedestrians walk.
Now certain persons within out society have decided that the sidewalk, which is for walking, is really a street for riding their cycles. I must confess that when I was a boy, I was once such urchin that employed the sidewalks wrongfully. There, my admission is out. Since then, however, I have matured enough to realize that a sidewalk is as much for bicycles as a knife is for scooping peas. It can be done, but it’s not the purpose of the item.
I first thought about organizing a campaign promoting the use of sidewalks for walking and not for riding after I came within millimeters of meeting my death by a bicycle. (That would be a great mystery for Agatha Christi, Death by a Cycle.) I was at the university walking quietly to class—the university wasn’t walking to class; I was—when out of the blue, or rather through a crowd of pedestrians, tore this lunatic on a bicycle, almost leaving me looking like the skunk on main street, road kill. Of course, he wasn’t so rude. An echo of his apology came back as he never slacked speed but continued in his headlong rush across the campus, “SOOORRRYYYYY MURTHHAAAAAAAA!” I can’t say I forgave him as I began picking up my books and papers that were scattered about in a thirty foot radius of where I was.
Recently, I had a similar encounter with this sort of villainy. Only this time, I got the upper hand. On the same campus, at the same university, I was walking along minding my own business, which is normally normal for me. As I sauntered, strolled, ambled, in short, walked along the left hand side of the SIDEWALK, I saw a young lady in front of me. Being the polite and chivalrous being that I am, I began to move to my right. Behind me I heard a voice sputter, “Wait! No! Stop! Agh!” Those weren’t his only terms. He tossed a few nautical words in for good measure. I looked right behind me and there was cyclist pulling his bicycle from the bushes. Ha! It serves him right for using the sidewalk for a street, and what’s worse, for creeping up behind me.
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