I have recently taken up the habit of walking to and from work. Although this extends my total commute to two hours a day, sharing the sidewalk is much more pleasant and personable than sharing the road. Plus the walk to work wears me out just enough to put me in an appropriate work-day stupor, and the walk back revives me from a long day of feeling worn out. It all balances out.
The beauty of walking is in the slowness. Suddenly I become much more aware of the stores I pass (the small, almost unnoticeable ones that I normally whiz by), the placement of the trees on a rolling hill, the way the landscape changes as I progress, the subtle differentials in sunlight as time goes on. Also quite prevalent is the noise; I had no idea how much noise I contribute each morning by taking a car (fortunately I know of a quieter, albeit longer, route to take--once I have learned to ride my bike). I now understand why it is often referred to it as noise pollution. The only thing I really miss is listening to music, but I also realized that Bach's Brandenburg Concertos start playing in my head every morning around 8 am. Operant conditioning at its finest.
Very few people, if any, are out walking on the route that I take. During my first trek home, I ran into a couple who asked directions to a restaurant called Chili Chicken. I knew exactly where it was. I happened to have noted it that morning; the place stood out to me because of its tiny size, and I remembered pausing to reflect on the strangeness of its name. I kept simpering the whole way back: how absurd that I was not only asked that question (people actually go to Chili Chicken??), but also that I knew the answer. All in a long day's walk.