Life And Death On The Wauwinet Freeway

To the editor: I recently endured something that no human being should have to endure in a civilized society.

I had traveled out of town with nothing more on my mind than taking a serene evening walk. Following the bike path on foot, I decided, upon reaching Wauwinet Road, to make the left turn toward the harbor to watch the sunset.

In my imagination, it was the perfect Nantucket scene: evening light, quiet marshes, and the possibility of a kaleidoscopic starburst sunset.

I had gone no more than half a mile before realizing I had entered a dangerous situation.

Wauwinet Road, as it turns out, is less a country lane and more Nantucket's answer to the New Jersey Turnpike. I knew traffic was a concern from previous years, but I hadn't realized just how bad it had become.

Had the traffic been coming from only one direction, the vehicles could have simply drifted around me. But traffic was coming steadily from both directions. There was nowhere to go. No shoulder. No escape route. No safe place to stand.

Each approaching vehicle forced me off the pavement and into the grass.

That was when I discovered the ticks.

Soon, I found myself performing an involuntary roadside dance as I alternated between dodging traffic and checking myself for ticks.

Every approaching car sent me scrambling into the weeds. Every retreat into the grass triggered another round of frantic inspections, swatting, and imaginary crawling sensations. Before long, I could no longer distinguish actual ticks from the phantom ones.

Meanwhile, the procession of vehicles continued unabated.

Contractors' trucks. Landscaping crews. Delivery vans. Rental Jeeps piloted by tourists apparently late for hors d'oeuvres at Topper's or racing to catch the sunset at Great Point.

At one point, panicked, I reached into my backpack for my marine VHF radio and briefly considered issuing a distress call.

"Pan-pan, pan-pan. Pedestrian in distress on Wauwinet Road. Request immediate assistance."

Another pickup truck roared past, forcing me deeper into the grass.

"Correction. Pan-pan has been upgraded to Mayday. Mayday. Pedestrian trapped between oncoming traffic and what appears to be an organized tick insurgency."

A few moments later, after another frantic inspection of my pant legs, I was prepared to provide my final coordinates and dictate next-of-kin information.

The traffic, however, appeared determined to beat the ticks to the finish line.

Then salvation arrived in the form of a man named Tom.

Seeing my predicament, he pulled over and offered me a ride. By this point, I was one pickup truck away from issuing a full Mayday, so his simple offer of, "Need a ride?" sounded to me like:

"Calm down, sir. I'm here for you."

In a world where people increasingly hurry past one another without making eye contact, Tom did something extraordinary. He noticed. He stopped. He helped.

Thanks to Tom, I survived to tell the tale.

As I stood there watching the sunset over the harbor, I couldn't help but wonder whether Wauwinet Road might someday make room for a bike path.

In the meantime, walking remains an option.

But only for those willing to combine scenic beauty with a modest chance of death.

Charles Dundee