Birmingham

Post-Zombie Apocalypse Survival Skills

According to the 2010 Census, the Birmingham-Hoover area holds approximately ¼ of Alabama’s population. If this is so, they were all on vacation this weekend. I’ve never seen a “downtown” seem so vacant. We actually referred to it as “post-zombie apocalypse land” all weekend. I went for a run Saturday morning and with the exception of a few homeless people, some other questionable meanderers and a crazy man on his bicycle; I saw no signs of civilization whatsoever. Those who may speak up on behalf of Birmingham please hold your piece and remain patient, as I will give Birmingham it’s due… in time. I ran three and a half miles around city blocks in an attempt to discover the city. Not knowing what I was looking for, it was a relatively fruitless venture. I was amazed by the city’s lack of life. It felt like I was on a movie set where all of the buildings are staged and the production people would add the effects of people and sound later. I decided since I was in Birmingham that I’d like to visit the site of the Civil Rights Institute. Using my Droid app, Map My Run, I figured out how to get there. However, I had a tag-a-long. As I ran the streets of Birmingham, I kept encountering a man on his bicycle, he has now become known as “the crazy man on his bike.” He first spotted me – or I first spotted him – as I was evaluating my map to determine my route to the museum. Perhaps it’s my own fault because as I studied my route I was also doing some stretching, so it’s possible I inadvertently invited the attention. I ran along the streets listening to Birmingham FM radio through my head phones, feeling proud of myself that I have mastered the “look like I belong” demeanor – minus the occasional gaze at my map and rubberneck at an obscure city sculpture. It wasn’t until I was nearly to the Institute that I noticed my friend cycling down the street as  

I was standing evaluating exactly where the Institute was in reference to where I stood. I’m fairly certain he was shouting something as he rolled down the hill, but the little walking man had jumped up on the pedestrian traffic light, so I chose to ignore what may or may not have been directed at me. I approached Kelly Ingram Park, excited by the poignancy of what I was about to witness. As I paused to evaluate on my map where exactly I was, my crazy friend on his bike came whizzing by, again almost certainly shouting something, but the wind and my FM radio made it so that I was unable to know exactly what. I found the Institute, took some pictures and discovered the Park was actually more interesting. They have a March Route set out on the perimeter, representing different milestones in the Civil Rights Movement. I would have loved to take pictures and read all of them, but my crazy man on his bike kept whizzing by. 

The irony was not lost on me that I was at a place that represents a struggle against intolerance and a people’s unwillingness to be understanding and accepting, and there I was in broad daylight, literally, running away from a man whose only real insult was probably that he liked the way I looked and was bored. He had a helmet. He was safety conscious, illustrating some level of sound mind. He just also had a few less teeth than I’d prefer most people I stop to chat with alone, in an unfamiliar city would. Some might call it intolerance. I call it survival of the fittest… how else do you think I survived the zombie apocalypse in the first place!?

That’s it on Birmingham for now. I’ll get to the wedding and Birmingham’s redemption soon.

Want a little taste of what’s to come? Think Pancake House – not “International House of,” but worlds better!