cautionary signs
I know this problem exists in Cincinnati, but it’s really, really prevalent south of the river in Northern Kentucky. Drive through Covington and chances are that you’ll get stopped at a light. When the light changes, you still can’t go.
Because the guy standing on the corner chose to cross the street the second the light turned green.
I used to think that these people were color blind. Now, I think they’re just obstinate. Not impressed by the German cars, hulking SUVs or sleek convertibles cruising through town on their way to the Levee. They’re showing you, they’re unafraid. That even without a car they control the streets of Covington.
In Oregon, if someone steps out on a crosswalk, you have to stop. That’s the law. It’s something I have to remind myself of whenever I am visiting. Typically, my instinct is to just aim my car for any color-blind pedestrian.
I’ve never actually hit a person who crosses against a light. I just fantasize about it. Actually, unlike a lot of people, I will wait until they safely cross the street. I worry that if I accelerate, it would be the one time that they’d trip and fall in their slow trek to the other side.
Before you say I sound like a grouch, and that jaywalking exists in all cities, consider this: there’s little to no congestion on the sidewalks of Covington. Except for late-night in MainStrasse, when every able-bodied kid living at home and going to NKU shows up to suck down a boot of beer, the streets are relatively empty. It’s just not a walking town. At least, not to the extent where jaywalking might provide some relief to any sort of sidewalk congestion.
So I just don’t buy any argument for jaywalking in Northern Kentucky. And sure, I get impatient with the traffic around here. Roll my eyes when the guy with the Butler County license plate slams his brakes at every corner he passes. But then I think, eh, who cares. I’m often stopped while I’m out walking and asked for directions to various destinations in Northern Kentucky. It doesn’t upset me. I’m glad to help and will usually throw in my two cents about what’s good at the restaurant… who my favorite server is… the cheapest place to park that’s still reasonably close.
Ask some of the other locals where something is located and they’ll claim they have no idea. They’re stubborn. Threatened by outsiders.
And despite the brazen way they amble out into the road when the light turns green, I think they’re frightened too.
Because the guy standing on the corner chose to cross the street the second the light turned green.
I used to think that these people were color blind. Now, I think they’re just obstinate. Not impressed by the German cars, hulking SUVs or sleek convertibles cruising through town on their way to the Levee. They’re showing you, they’re unafraid. That even without a car they control the streets of Covington.
In Oregon, if someone steps out on a crosswalk, you have to stop. That’s the law. It’s something I have to remind myself of whenever I am visiting. Typically, my instinct is to just aim my car for any color-blind pedestrian.
I’ve never actually hit a person who crosses against a light. I just fantasize about it. Actually, unlike a lot of people, I will wait until they safely cross the street. I worry that if I accelerate, it would be the one time that they’d trip and fall in their slow trek to the other side.
Before you say I sound like a grouch, and that jaywalking exists in all cities, consider this: there’s little to no congestion on the sidewalks of Covington. Except for late-night in MainStrasse, when every able-bodied kid living at home and going to NKU shows up to suck down a boot of beer, the streets are relatively empty. It’s just not a walking town. At least, not to the extent where jaywalking might provide some relief to any sort of sidewalk congestion.
So I just don’t buy any argument for jaywalking in Northern Kentucky. And sure, I get impatient with the traffic around here. Roll my eyes when the guy with the Butler County license plate slams his brakes at every corner he passes. But then I think, eh, who cares. I’m often stopped while I’m out walking and asked for directions to various destinations in Northern Kentucky. It doesn’t upset me. I’m glad to help and will usually throw in my two cents about what’s good at the restaurant… who my favorite server is… the cheapest place to park that’s still reasonably close.
Ask some of the other locals where something is located and they’ll claim they have no idea. They’re stubborn. Threatened by outsiders.
And despite the brazen way they amble out into the road when the light turns green, I think they’re frightened too.
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