Holtville: A parable?

After a long hot detour from the interstate I sat outside a food market an had lunch (tuna for protein, corn chips and soda for calories) and came to a kind of disturbing realization. Everyone driving by seemed normal enough. People driving to the store seemed normal enough. But everyone walking or cycling to, near or around the store seemed to be a cripple or mentally retarded. It was odd at first, though I didn't think too much about it. But as I left, my knees aching, I began to wonder what that said about me-- was I too a cripple? Was I a retard for biking somewhere instead of driving? Why was I doing this?

Almost out of town I passed a man slumped in a wheelchair, in the street, facing traffic. He looked defeated, resigned to his fate. And I thought I should do something, and I thought about all the times off the bike on a lonely roadside, people passing and not acknowledging me. Ceasing to exist. I didn't need help, but I wanted someone to offer. To reassure myself I'd make it through this desert, this oddysey in one piece. But everyone is too busy going somewhere to stop. Now I was the one too busy-- trying to get to a campsite before dark-- so I looked back and grimaced, but didn't stop pedalling. And I see I'm no different than the people in the cars after all.