Grinding to a Halt

On Saturday night Tom and I watched The End of Suburbia, a documentary about some of the mostly unpleasant ways our lives will change as oil becomes less and less available: many won’t be able to drive back and forth between their jobs and their homes, yet lots of suburbs lack services and businesses that would make it feasible for people to stop traveling to cities. Ultimately, said one commentator, the end of the era of cheap oil will reverse globalization: what we eat will need to be grown very near where we’re going to eat it, because we won’t be able to truck food hither and thither. And all of those goods that now come from China and other countries may no longer make it to our shores if there isn’t fuel for the tankers.

Over the weekend I was reading an interview in Tricycle with a professor in the East who observed that it doesn’t matter too much whether we use disposable diapers or not, or whether we choose paper or plastic bags at the supermarket. Those things don’t have huge effects, she said. What makes a big difference is our choices in regard to transportation and housing. Do we own a vast house that requires heating and cooling, and is it tens of miles from our job, so that we need a steady flow of gasoline to get back and forth? I suppose the ideal is not to own a car, and to live in an energy-efficient space that is close to one’s job. Where there is greater population density, mass transit systems are possible, whereas they are not so feasible in areas of suburban sprawl.

I tend to think I’m reasonably well-positioned, as I live in a densely populated area and get around by bicycle, but I’m sure I’m in for a lot of horrible surprises. There are many, many little things I take for granted: My electric toothbrush. Whitening toothpaste for sensitive teeth. Cat food. Tuna from Thailand. Chocolate from Venezuela. That when I turn the tap, water, even hot water, will come out.

(I picture myself a few decades from now saying to a child, “People used to have things called ‘sinks’ in their homes. The sinks had handles that you could turn, and then water would come out, right in your own house! You could have as much water to drink as you wanted, and you could actually fill a large tub with water that was hot and lie down in it, as a means of bathing. It wasn’t like now, where you stand in line once a month to take a shower at the public showerhouse, with all your neighbors watching. There was a place called Whole Foods, full of every kind of food you could think of, including a lot of kinds of food we no longer have today. You could walk in there anytime and buy meat, chicken, turkey, all kinds of fish, all kinds of cheese, bread, fruits, vegetables, dozens of kinds of cookies and pastries and candy and doughnuts, sauces, crackers, cereals, ice cream.”)

Tom observes that bike parts have risen appreciably in cost over the past year or so. When I went to Rainbow on Sunday, I expected the total to be about $40 (i.e., extremely little; last week I spent $160) because I was buying mostly vegetables. I was surprised when the total was more than $90! It seems a little bottle of vanilla extract now costs $13 or $14, and I had bought zucchini out of season, to the tune of $11. One thing I may do is start shopping at one of the many weekly farmers’ markets. My expensive zucchini was shipped from Mexico. Buying vegetables at the farmers’ market would support local farmers, ensure that produce isn’t transported as far, and also would keep me from unwittingly buying foods out of season.

I think my greatest trepidation about the post-Peak Oil era has to do with the possible behavior of my fellow Americans, most of whom are already, objectively speaking, the most privileged people ever to walk the earth, yet some of whom behave with extreme aggression in the most mundane of circumstances, as if they are unbearably put-upon:

“Why do I have to wait one second for this pedestrian to finish crossing the street? Can’t that idiot see I need to go right now?” I always wonder just where they’re going that requires such a rush. I said to David C., “It’s as if they think they’ll get a million dollars if they get to the next red light two seconds sooner.” He said, “No, they’re afraid someone will take a million dollars from them if they don’t.” It’s possible that they’re rushing to a breakfast engagement with their favorite movie star, but probable that they’re just going to work or to the supermarket. And will they be in a good mood when they get there after working themselves into a Type-A rage en route? (I often think of Thich Nhat Hanh saying, to paraphrase, “If you don’t enjoy washing the dishes, you also aren’t going to enjoy having dessert once you’re done washing the dishes.”)

The other day I was on my bicycle at a red light, waiting to turn left onto Valencia from 19th St. A massive pickup truck pulled up behind me. I pointed to the left to indicate my intentions. I always do this again right before the light turns green, in case the driver behind me missed my first signal, since I don’t have a continuously blinking turn signal. When I made my second signal, the driver yelled out his window, “All right, all right!” Then, as we began moving, he added, “Why don’t you get out of the way?” (Any cyclist gets to hear this quite frequently. My explanation, which I never get to deliver, begins, “Well, it has to do with California Vehicle Code section 21202.” Once the legalities are out of the way, we might get into common courtesy and sharing the public resources; we might even mention the Golden Rule.) Finally, to make sure his general sentiments were clear, as he drove by, he added, “Bitch.”

Here we have someone who has a big, expensive vehicle that he presumably can afford to fill with gas. He’s driving it in one of the most vibrant neighborhoods in one of the loveliest cities in America. If he chooses, he can go to Whole Foods and stock up with food, or out to dinner, or to the movies, or to see a show, or, judging from his behavior, to visit his meth dealer. If he wants to take a nap, he can go to his apartment or house and get in his bed; he doesn’t have to build a shelter under a freeway overpass. If he wants a snack, it’s right there in his fridge. And he is enraged out of his mind because he has to wait .5 seconds for another legal user of the roadway to proceed before he can move his gas hog.

How will this person behave when there is no more gas to fill up his truck? When vanilla extract goes to $50 an ounce due to shipping costs, or isn’t available at all? When his house or apartment can’t be heated because there is no fuel, period?

I had an apocalyptic vision of having my bicycle stolen out from under me by one of these former SUV drivers when an SUV is nothing more than a large piece of immobile industrial art, or being mugged for my trusty old rubber raincoat, suddenly a hot commodity.