Saturday in May, Rome. A group of "ordinary human beings" gathers to ride bikes together through one of the immense parks where this city's millennia of history never fails to astonish you. Everyone pedals at their own pace: some independently on their own bikes, others in tandem, some on a two-seater with a comfortable seat, others riding independently but on a hand bike setup…, a couple with their wheelchair positioned on a platform attached to a three-wheeled bike. Some have battery-assisted bikes, others don't. Yet all of us manage to enjoy a fine ride with the wind in our faces. The heat isn't too oppressive, and mercifully, no one suffers from allergies—though the grasses are in full bloom, along with poppies and yellow daisies. During the ride, between a catacomb and the secret garden of a basilica, you see people slip who you'd least have expected to; and you also discover another—even more surprising—with the breathing of a true cyclist who never leaves the pedals and who, if needed, even stands up off the saddle.
Some came from Bologna, others from Ciampino: in both places there are communities where people live and care for one another. Others from Rome belong to fellowship communities that forge bonds of friendship among those who experience disability more or less directly. One person is here from the United States for a university study-abroad program. Someone knows all the communities involved and took the trouble to organize the day, scout and choose the route, and set up a small spread that, at journey's end, refreshes everyone. All equal? Not in the slightest. Is someone more special than others? Not at all. Without each person's participation, the day would have unfolded differently—it might even have fallen apart. With the right number of us—about thirty—we breathed in one of those rare atmospheres where equity takes on real shape and substance. Starting as children to practice it, why not at school? In the end, that seems like a genuinely good idea.