GHENT, N.Y. — My wife makes fun of me for many reasons. But, one of the most persistent is my propensity to wave at people along our quiet country road.
Motorists. Bicyclists. The occasional pedestrian. I do it while I’m standing still, walking, riding my own bike, or sitting behind the wheel of our car.
I prefer to think of the gesture less a tic than a tradition. It started with my grandparents, who bought the house where we live in the 1940s. They waved, too. Back then, legend goes, the road was so lightly traveled that the traffic consisted of one vehicle. It made its way up the road in the morning and returned in the evening. My grandparents recognized the driver, of course, and they waved.
Traffic on the road has increased significantly since then, but it still hasn’t reached county route, let alone state highway, proportions. I haven’t stood there with a clicker and counted. But, my hunch is that no more than a dozen cars an hour pass our driveway, and on weekends it’s fewer than that.
However, I have noticed an increase in traffic during the pandemic; perhaps because people want to appease their wanderlust the safest way possible — from the air-conditioned safety of their car or SUV.
Whatever the explanation behind the traffic pattern, and depending on my mood, I still try to greet each one with a wave. I like to think of it as a good neighbor policy. I suppose the reason my wife makes fun of me is because this ritual seems increasingly anachronistic. Chances are pretty good that the passing motorist is a stranger. Chances are even better that that motorist wonders who the weirdo is doing the wave.
But, I’ve come to consider it an obligation of sorts, especially in these divided times. So what if they think me strange? It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’m extending the hand of friendship, typically around shoulder height. I’m saying that whatever our differences, whatever our politics, there’s still a place for civility in society.
And I’m not waving wildly. I’m not doing my best Steve Martin imitation in “The Jerk.”
Of course, it depends on the situation. When I’m riding my bike I’ll subtly raise my left hand off the handlebars — I’m not one of those showoffs who rides with my hands at my sides — to acknowledge their presence and also to express gratitude that they’re not gunning their vehicle in my direction.
I also spend a small but significant amount of mental energy trying to determine whether my hand waves are appreciated or taken as proof that the driver did the right things by hitting the lock button as soon as he or she entered his or her vehicle. And if they forgot, are doing so now.
The gesture is generally reciprocated. I’d say around 75 percent of the time. And when it’s not, I attribute it — again, my observations are totally unscientific, based on glimpsing a face partially obscured behind a windshield moving at moderate to high speed — less to anger or antagonism than to self-consciousness and, in some cases, fear. Sadly, we’ve been coached to suspect the other.
When I’ve raised my waving habit with people, they assume locals would be more familiar and receptive to it than weekenders, of which the pandemic has brought many more to the area full time.
It’s hard to generalize, but here goes: I find those behind the wheel of shiny Mercedes and BMW SUVs to be as likely to return the wave as those driving pickups. Perhaps more so. Perhaps because they’re grateful they’ve been able to flee to the countryside and eager to embrace what they assume to be its customs.
Of course, in analyzing the reception I receive for insights about the state of the Republic, I tend to overlook the impression I make on people’s decisions about whether to reciprocate my wave or avert their eyes.
My appearance may not instill confidence, especially when I’m riding my bike.
It’s less Lance Armstrong than aging 12-year-old. I’m not dressed in a retro Italian cycling jersey and padded bib shorts. I’m wearing whatever T-shirt and shorts I thoughtlessly had on when I left the house, plus crocs. Indeed, if motorists come upon me as I’m trying to negotiate a steep hill — if there’s a minimum speed one can maintain without falling off your bike, I’ve found it — their default reaction probably isn’t alarm, but concern and pity.
So, I’ll keep waving. What’s the worst that can happen? That passing motorists will think me impossibly quaint? It’s a small price to pay to help keep society running smoothly.
Ralph Gardner Jr. is a journalist whose work has appeared in The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times and New York Magazine. He can be reached at ralph@ralphgardner.com. The opinions expressed by columnists do not necessarily reflect the views of The Berkshire Eagle.