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The big oil companies made me do it. I could have jumped in the car and been done in a matter of minutes. Fifty-cents-a-gallon ago I would have jumped in the car to run an errand just up the road.

But when I realized I had less than 1/16th of a tank left in the minivan with nearly a week to go before payday, a cliche light bulb illuminated over my head. Why not walk?

I used to walk everywhere when I was a young, license-less teenager. And the places I traveled by foot were much farther from my parents house than the errands I needed to complete.

With memories of hiking over to the arcade, convenience stores and friend's houses floating through my brain, the adrenaline began flowing and I prepared to embark on my car-less adventure.

I picked a roomy, yet lightweight pocketbook so I could drop everything I needed inside -- keys, file folder, CD, mini-portfolio with pad and pen, flash drives -- and flung it over my shoulder.

My sneakers practically tied themselves in anticipation of the impending errand adventure. As I slipped each arm into my sweater, it was hard not to notice the perfect, sunny, cool walking weather outside.

After locking up the house and retrieving my sunglasses from their cubby in the car, I bounced down the driveway and headed up the street.

Spring flowers were blooming throughout the neighborhood. The colors seemed more brilliant without a glass windshield obstructing my view. The fragrances were sweet and fruity. It had been so long since I strolled by flowers that I'd almost forgotten that they emit such wonderful scents.

Not long into my stroll, my cell phone buzzed. Pulling it from its holster, I interrupted my appreciation of spring and began talking business. However, walking, breathing a little more deliberately than usual and taking a call were more challenging than expected.

I thought about stopping to finish the call, but I wanted to keep up the pace. Had there been sidewalks in place on my route, it would have been easier to walk and talk. But the area of the city in which I reside is still awaiting sidewalks. While talking and walking, I had to negotiate driveways, gravel, grass, mailboxes, ditches, litter, pet excrement and traffic.

And people worry about driving while talking on a cell phone.

Finally, after wrenching my ankle and nearly dropping the phone, I had to reschedule the conversation for later in the afternoon when I'd be safe and sound, sitting at my desk and able to breath at a more relaxed pace.

Once I had my phone back on my hip, I had more time to concentrate on other things, like my pocketbook choice. While it was the best from my collection for the purposes at hand, I quickly learned that it was not exactly perfect for the walk.

After the billionth time I had to slide one or both of the straps back onto my shoulder, I could see that there was a pocketbook shopping trip in my future. Psychic abilities run in my family.

New shoes wouldn't be a bad investment, either. While I loved my comfortable sneakers, it became clear a little more than a half-mile into my adventure that the sneakers were a little too comfortable. The traction had all but disappeared -- which would explain the ankle-wrenching during the phone call -- and I could feel nearly every piece of gravel along the way.

When I arrived at my destination, I decided to walk very slowly across the parking lot in an effort to stabilize my breathing. I actually felt great once inside, though I probably stayed a little longer than I would have had I driven, as I was not in a hurry to begin the trek back.

To make the return trip easier, I decided to stop after a couple of blocks for a yogurt parfait and some tea. The snack gave me the second wind I needed to make it back home with my strap-challenged pocketbook and thin footwear.

Turning the corner onto my street, pride welled up in my soul. I got some exercise and saved gas. And with the money saved by not filling up the gas tank, I could buy a new pocketbook and some walking shoes.

With that kind of happy expression on my face, it was strange that my neighbor, upon seeing me walk up to my house, asked if my car broke down. "No!" I said, grinning, "My car is fine. I'm just saving up for a shopping spree."

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, ÒRelative Expressions.Ó She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.