Drive around downtown Miami long enough and one day you'll be forced to consider the eternal time-space riddle: Would it have been faster to walk?
This week, in honor of Earth Day, I gathered two willing friends at The Miami Herald's downtown office for an experiment. We'd have lunch at Taste of Bombay, a little gem at 111 NE Third Ave., which according to Mapquest was just 1.22 miles and a four-minute drive away. To get there, one of us would take the Metromover, one of us would drive and one of us would walk.
Since it was all my crazy idea, I thought it only fair to volunteer for the walk, a suggestion that met no resistance from my dear friends.
Who would get there first?
My money was on Mr. Metromover. Ms. Driver also had a good chance if she managed to find a parking space right away. The one thing I was sure of is that I would come in dead last. ''Go ahead and start eating without me,'' I said as we parted ways at the Herald parking lot at 12:46 p.m.
FEW WALK
Outside of Miami Beach, walking in South Florida is a fringe activity -- something done by tourists, homeless and eccentrics. The rest of us would sooner walk an hour on a treadmill than stroll down the block for lunch. As soon as I started my little adventure I understood why: broken sidewalks, strange road construction, lunatic drivers. And sun. I'd taken an umbrella for shade, but even so, by the time I passed the American Airlines Arena at 12:56 I was soaked in sweat.
This is also where I saw the first walkers, a man and woman who looked like tourists. I wanted to stop and chat, but the clock was running. I don't know if it was proof of newfound purpose or the first signs of sunstroke. But now I wanted to win.
At 1:01, I hit Bayside and jaywalked to the western shore of Biscayne Boulevard. I was just making it to Northeast Fifth Street when my phone rang. Ms. Driver. Heart sinking, I answered.
''Am I allowed to park in a garage?'' she asked.
She hadn't parked yet! I picked up the pace. Then between Third and Second Street, I hit a construction zone that had obliterated the sidewalk. I had to decide. I could cross Biscayne again, losing precious minutes, or I could barrel ahead on the street. What can I say? I wanted to win. I sailed past the site, where the construction workers seemed to approve of my choice.
SHE'S FIRST
I walked into the restaurant at 1:05. I'd made it in just 19 minutes. I looked around for the others. Maybe they were in the bathroom? It took me a few moments to realize it and even then I couldn't believe it: I was the first one there.
Victory had a cost: My hair was now matted to my head. I looked like someone who had just run all the way from the county jail.
''Is it hot out there?'' the restaurant owner M.D. Hussain, asked when he saw me fanning myself furiously. ''I walked,'' I said. He looked at me like I was nuts.
Ms. Driver showed up four minutes later and couldn't believe it.
''Well,'' she said, $4 lighter after parking. ``I did drive slowly.''
Poor Mr. Metromover didn't arrive until 1:18 -- 32 minutes later. But he, too, had excuses.
''I took a wrong turn out of the Metro stop and walked five minutes in the opposite direction,'' he argued, not very convincingly.
Ms. Driver and Mr. Metromover had no regrets. They would travel the same way again.
Me? I'd proved that it is faster to walk. So I took the Metromover back.
It was free, air conditioned and effortless. On the time-space continuum, it's all relative.
