I’m still getting used to this whole Living Downtown thing.
I’ve already mastered the art of finding a regular parking space, figured out where all my delivery places and other dining options are, and I’ve learned to get used to the constant din of bar-hoppers, trucks and other noises that never cease, but there is one thing that is taking a little longer to get accustomed to.
Walking.
Downtown is incredibly walkable; food, shopping, banks, entertainment is all within a few blocks of my new pad. The RiverWalk is one of the most relaxing spots in town. But while it’s helping me get off my lazy butt on a regular basis, I feel like I’m taking my life into my own hands.
When I lived on Brady Street, yellow signs pointed out crosswalks and meant that motorists were to yield to pedestrians. For the most part, it worked. But each day I set out on foot now to cross Kilbourn Avenue, it’s like taking my life into my hands.
Three crosswalks between Water and Old World Third are marked with the fluorescent yellow signs, yet every time I dare cross it seems somebody hits the gas with the intent of turning me into a hood ornament.
Perhaps it’s my naive, non-hipster appearance, or maybe my own fault, but I thought the sign meant I have the right-of-way. I guess I have to go back to the old-fashioned stop light crossings, because I have this nervous feeling my quest to get in shape will land me in traction.
I’ve already mastered the art of finding a regular parking space, figured out where all my delivery places and other dining options are, and I’ve learned to get used to the constant din of bar-hoppers, trucks and other noises that never cease, but there is one thing that is taking a little longer to get accustomed to.
Walking.
Downtown is incredibly walkable; food, shopping, banks, entertainment is all within a few blocks of my new pad. The RiverWalk is one of the most relaxing spots in town. But while it’s helping me get off my lazy butt on a regular basis, I feel like I’m taking my life into my own hands.
When I lived on Brady Street, yellow signs pointed out crosswalks and meant that motorists were to yield to pedestrians. For the most part, it worked. But each day I set out on foot now to cross Kilbourn Avenue, it’s like taking my life into my hands.
Three crosswalks between Water and Old World Third are marked with the fluorescent yellow signs, yet every time I dare cross it seems somebody hits the gas with the intent of turning me into a hood ornament.
Perhaps it’s my naive, non-hipster appearance, or maybe my own fault, but I thought the sign meant I have the right-of-way. I guess I have to go back to the old-fashioned stop light crossings, because I have this nervous feeling my quest to get in shape will land me in traction.
