Years ago, as I was cycling through the Swiss Alps, I had time to observe the local goings-on while riding uphill for what could be a dozen kilometers in one go. Because I was hauling 20 kilos of pack, I had to grind slowly up these stretches in a tiny granny gear.
On more than one occasion, I passed through public works: the road, bridge, and tunnel repairs necessary at all times in a region of moving tectonic plates and constant water drainage from glaciers, fast rivers, and weather. One day, on my way toward a pass to Italy in the far south of the country, I passed a roadwork, initially unassuming, the tableau of which etched itself more and more deeply into my mind over the years. The project was being done right. Across time, my understanding of that tableau evolved into a sort of guiding philosophy.
What I found there along the way was a partially completed project, a piece of road fallen off during a winter storm being put back together in the fair months. I was struck by how tidy the worksite was. It was late afternoon, and the crew had gone home for the day. But their tools were stacked neatly to one side, the working area, carefully fenced, the rest of the road near the project, swept off. I could even see the broom, leaning with the other tools. Not a speck was out of place.
