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July 13, 2001/Tamuz 22, 5761, Vol. 53, No.40
Riding into the sunset
Vicki Cabot
Contributing Editor
I said that I didn't want one. Ever.
That even if I had one - which I do - I'd never use it.
And that even if I used it (only for dire emergencies, mind you) it would never be on the Valley's highways and byways.
Wrong - on all three counts. I got a phone. I turned it on. I was hooked. Never became just this once; just this once became occasional; occasional became habitual.
Dire emergencies fast morphed into niggling return calls that seem to multiply as fast as dirty dishes when my kids are home. Dead time in the car was the perfect time to dispatch them. "Yes, I can make the meeting on Monday. No, don't schedule the floor refinishing this week. Sure, lunch on the 17th will be fine."
And niggling return phone calls grew to include hour-long conversations about one daughter's job prospects, another's romantic entanglements and my son's run-in with a recalcitrant computer.
So now you can find me cruising down Central Avenue listening to my messages, heading down the Squaw Peak Parkway catching up with my dad, driving west on 101 making an appointment with my hairdresser or my dog groomer.
Ah, the joys of being connected. Well, almost. Because, like all good things, it can come to an end. Big time.
A recent study by the New England Journal of Medicine showed that using a cell phone while driving increases the risk of an accident by a factor of four. And cell phone use while driving is up. According to a 2000 Gallup poll, 41 percent of 116 million cell-phone owners used their phones while behind the wheel.
Now New York State has passed legislation prohibiting talking on handheld cellular phones while driving. California is considering similar limits. There are rumblings in Arizona that we, too, should follow suit.
And we should. Anyone who has punched in numbers with one hand while turning left across oncoming traffic with the other knows the potential for miscalculation - and I don't mean misdialing. When we connect en route, we're taking not only our phones into our hands but our lives - and the lives of all those who are traveling with us, toward us, behind us, around us.
Too, the attention to the risks of connecting causes us to consider broader issues of cell-phone etiquette. When to leave the phone on - or off? When to give out a cell number - and not? Is it more impolite to talk when in the company of another party, or to put the phone on messaging and refuse a caller what has become an almost inalienable right of immediate access?
And what about the need to disconnect, even for the half hour it takes to drive from downtime Phoenix to north Scottsdale during rush hour?
Traveling east on Shea Boulevard, we can gaze at incredibly restful mountain vistas; going west on 101, we can wonder at a sky streaked with dusty pink and purple. There's something to be said for silence and time to reflect within the natural beauty of our surroundings. It's a rare pleasure.
Sure, it's important to be connected. It's critical in business, intrinsic to family, essential to community. No man (or woman) is an island, but not every island of peace and serenity, even our automobile, must be accessible by phone.
So next time you try to reach me, don't be surprised if my cell is off. I've sworn off on roadway calling and answering. I'm turning off - and riding into the sunset.
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