And now, this fine fall morning, and me toppled over in the gutter. I’m all right! I thought and jumped up. Everything was fine, perfectly fine! A bloody knee, scraped palms. Nothing broken. But — what if I’d fallen in front of a car and died? Would people say at my funeral, she was doing what she loved? Or, that’s what you get, riding a bike when you’re over fifty five?

No wonder we’re moving so slowly on climate change. One person’s citizen activism can look an awful lot like foolishness. It’s hard to make oneself uncomfortable, knowing that it might not be the best, or most effective, or even the right solution to a problem. We might not ever become a people who bicycle or use mass transit. We might become brains in vats.

But climate change is here. Obesity is epidemic. Oil supplies are finite and precious. Leadership is anemic. Gas is cheap (in Copenhagen gas costs $6 a gallon). I limped home, washed and bandaged my wounds, got on the bicycle and pedaled to the gym. There were no eagles that day, but the sky was blue, and the air crisp. The bandages made me feel kind of macho.

Maybe this year, twice a week.