Cyclists, get a bright light; Rhetoric, fiction and truth; Hiking is a great pleasure

Cyclists receive a bright, flashing, forward-facing white light

I have been an avid recreational cyclist for over 50 years. I have cycled through Switzerland, England, Canada, and the USA, east and west. Early in my career, I commuted from Lafayette to Boulder by bike every day. I have cycled tens of thousands of miles.

When driving, I also pay attention to cyclists, drive considerately and, if possible, keep a generous distance from cyclists.

Recently, however, I was unlucky enough to miss a couple of cyclists on the road twice. One was speeding down the Peak to Peak Highway and the other was speeding down Broadway in Boulder. I looked both ways. Twice. And still, I didn't see them.

In both cases, the cyclists were not visible due to their inconspicuous clothing and the shadows on the road. Fortunately, collisions were avoided. But both were unpleasant encounters for me and I am sure for the cyclists as well.

When riding on the road or coming into contact with vehicles anywhere, I think bikes need bright, flashing, forward-facing white lights. Similar to motorcycles. Think about it: Why do motorcyclists ride with their headlights on? So they can be seen. And cyclists present a smaller visual profile than motorcyclists.

Cyclists must take responsibility and ensure that they are clearly visible in all lighting conditions.

Get a light. Get a bright, flashing, forward-facing white light! And use it.

Greg Hine, Boulder

Rhetoric, fiction and the truth

We long for truth in simple terms that we can understand. For Mahatma Gandhi, truth represented the reflection of the Divine on this earth – he called it non-violence and made it his life.

Today, truth can get lost in rhetoric that borders on fiction and stretches reality into a dreamlike state. But truthful rhetoric can be powerful. There are numerous examples of how films that expose our social ills have become a lightning rod for change.

The lives of us ordinary citizens are affected by political decisions we make every day. We have no control over them. We can vote at crucial moments, but then the future is not in our hands. Nevertheless, the decision in the voting booth has consequences. Would the Vietnam War have taken so long to turn out to be cruel and unjust if we had not voted for Lyndon Johnson? Perhaps the Iraq War under George W. Bush would not have broken out if we had voted for Albert Gore. These are “catastrophic” examples of politics that begin in the voting booth. But there are many, many others that affect our lives in small ways.

And yet we keep moving forward. The economy, a word that says it all, is a web of many stories. Its complexity also gives it malleability. It survives by adapting.

But back to the question of how truth changes when it is buried in rhetoric that borders on fiction. It seems that truth can be highlighted or suppressed by rhetoric.

Rishi Raj, Boulder

Hiking is a great pleasure. We should do it more often.

For Albert Einstein and Niels Bohr, walking was not only a great pleasure, it was also an indispensable part of their thought processes. When Werner Heisenberg first came to Copenhagen, Bohr greeted his young friend with the words: “Let's go for a walk.” They walked for three days, talking about physics and making up games along the way.

Einstein's love of hiking was well known and when someone asked him why hiking was so important to him, Einstein replied, “If I hadn't hiked, there would never have been an Einstein.”

When Einstein and Bohr first met in 1920, Bohr was staying with Max Planck, who lived in a suburb of Berlin. When Einstein returned from Switzerland, the trams were on strike, so the next morning Einstein walked the 15 kilometers to Planck's house, where Planck was very happy to introduce the two men. The three talked for a while, and then Einstein and Bohr walked the 15 kilometers back to Einstein's house for dinner. Bohr brought some delicacies that were almost impossible to get in Germany. Bohr later wrote, “I shall never forget our conversations on the way from Dahlem to your house.”

Len Barron, Boulder