One spring day in 1999, author Steven King was walking on the shoulder of a road in Lovell, Maine, where he owned a home. The driver of a Dodge Caravan, approaching him from behind, lost control of his vehicle when a dog in the car distracted him. The car struck Mr. King, seriously injuring him, changing his life forever.

The daughter of my Mom's best friend was killed under similar circumstances, walking on a country road in Nova Scotia.

I think about things like this when Kathy and I are walking up and down Pond Street - a street which essentially has no shoulder - nearly every morning. We do this for exercise -- for our physical and psychological health. We enjoy what the walks do for our bodies, for our relationship, and for our peace of mind.

What are the odds, I ask myself, of continuing this, without incident? We do our best to make ourselves visible to drivers. We walk single file, as close to the edge as possible, whenever a car approaches from either direction. We walk on the left side of the road, so that we can see the eyes of approaching drivers, to see whether they notice us or not. We have begun to recognize nearly every car and driver, since nearly all who drive this road in the morning are our neighbors. We hope that they might expect to see us, by now, so that might improve our odds.

When we started this, over a year ago, we drove over to Larter Field and walked the paved, half-mile oval, round and round. We gradually built up the distance, but found that when we reached eight laps or so, we began having trouble keeping track. When the weather turned to snow, the track became icy, and walking became dicey. We began to drive over to Pheasant Lane Mall, which is open to walkers from 8 to 9 in the morning. We had the same problem with keeping track of laps, so we began to simply watch the clock, and quit after an hour. We couldn't help but feel, however, that walking both Larter Field and the mall, with their lap orientation, felt a lot like exercise. And it always seems kind of silly, in a way, to have to drive somewhere to be able to walk.

In contrast, walking up and down Pond Street is interesting and fun. We run into neighbors. After some initial rough edges, we became friends with the neighborhood dogs. The walk has some gentle hills, and that just feels better than flattened out laps. We note the progress of the work on a new house, and wonder how long it will take for one particular house, which has been on the market for a while now, to sell. We note the rising level of Massapoag Pond, after an extended rain. Rather than feeling like exercise, this just feels like we're actually living here.

I know how it feels, as a driver, to have to slow down to pass people walking or bicycling along side the road. It's very easy for a bit of resentment to kick in. I know that it's easy to get distracted and not notice pedestrians and bicyclists until you're nearly on top of them. These country roads are beautiful, but they're narrow. In the past fourteen years, I have nearly been driven off the road, many times, by drivers coming from the opposite direction who don't seem to have a good sense of what constitutes their fair share of the road. And it seems the more familiar people are with the road, the faster they tend to drive.

Inevitably, it comes back to calculations. We weigh the benefits against the risks, and the rights of drivers against the rights of pedestrians. Ultimately, it seems, rights only matter when it's too late. Before that, it's all about good will.

I have to tell you, this walking thing is wonderful. Thanks to all of you who drive these beautiful, country roads carefully, and attentively, and who are so generous in spirit as to not hold it against those of us who want to enjoy the road at a slower pace. Also, thanks to you walkers and bicyclers who go single file when traffic approaches.