To the surprise of no one who’s seen my physique, I am hardly a paragon of physical fitness. Charles Atlas was, though, and his system for exercising continues to build strength a half-century after his death (at age 80, no less) — and spawned a term that flexes brain power, too.

The term is “dynamic tension.” It’s defined multiple ways; an encapsulation that resonates for me is one muscle group contracting against another to create resistance. Dynamic tension revolutionized workouts.

Just writing about it, I feel stronger! Give me a moment to hydrate and let my flexors, abductors and lumbricals recover …

… OK, back.

Dynamic tension emerged as a thought bubble while reflecting on the most recent Chico City Council meeting. Two deliberations, seemingly unrelated, fit on a throughline of perceptions about the community.

The deliberations: South Park Drive and an airport lease.

• influencing what will be.

In both instances, sepia-tone memories of old Chico collided with sharp-relief realities of new Chico.

I wrote extensively about the park in an article Sunday and the airport in a column last Friday, so I won’t dive too deeply into specifics. Just as a refresher, split votes advanced a plan that will keep cars off South Park Drive after roadwork next year and restored tenancy at the 100 Lockheed hangar to a business owner who’d relinquished his rights.

What connected these distinct discussions was wistful nostalgia expressed by speakers in support of their positions. The park proposals inspired several residents to invoke Annie Bidwell, namesake benefactor of Chico’s crown jewel, whose life preceded the widespread adoption of automobiles. The lease appeal prompted several investors in airport ventures to invoke a “my word is my bond” culture of handshake deals that’s apparently permeated business there.

Pick a city issue — homelessness, housing, parking, roads — and you won’t have to strain too hard to recall similar harkening.

I’m a relative newcomer by Chicoan standards, having arrived in 2006. That’s smack dab in the midst of a decade in which (per census data) the population grew from 59,954 to 86,187, then to 101,475 in 2020. The 2025 figure (per state data) is 113,847.

So, anyone who stayed after Y2K has seen a doubling effect over a quarter-century.

Yet, as I reiterated last week, Chico is a small town masquerading as a city. I’m one degree of separation away from myriad people who trace their local heritage three or four — or more — generations back. When I smile and say hello to someone, whether stranger or friend, I receive the same warm greeting in return far more often than not.

That said, Chico is a city. The council approved a $204 million budget for the coming fiscal year. Around half that amount goes to operations, the rest to infrastructure improvements around town, including the $2 million South Park Drive project.

Can the city afford to operate on handshake deals? Does the word of a mid-level manager who can’t approve contracts override the authority of officials who can? Apparently, yes, because that’s what all the councilors except Katie Hawley and Mayor Kasey Reynolds decided in regards to the 100 Lockheed lease.

South Park Drive planning didn’t entail legality, unless rumblings about ADA (the Americans with Disabilities Act) court a challenge on accessibility grounds. Here, the decision pivoted on preferences.

Once upon a time, I’m told, cars were free to meander the full length of both South Park Drive and North Park Drive (now Petersen Memorial Way — or Petersen Memorial Drive, depending on which map you read). Some meandered rapidly, their drivers unconcerned by speed limits or blood alcohol levels. Ah, to be young and invincible in a small town!

Now, of course, South Park Drive only allows cars between the western entrance to Caper Acres. It’s been that way a while. Cars, bikes and pedestrians share a ribbon of pavement that in places resembles reptile skin.

In many ways, the park remains timeless. I imagine the tranquil areas evoke the same emotions now as when Annie Bidwell admired them.

In just as many ways, Bidwell Park isn’t the park of Annie Bidwell. It’s got a golf course where patrons enjoy beverages the prohibitionist sought to ban. Mansions crest a ridge overlooking that area. And, of course, there’s vehicle traffic.

I’m a historian, at least by college degree. I value tradition. But time passes; things change. What was informs what is — but doesn’t in itself define what’ll be.

Reach weekend editor Evan Tuchinsky at etuchinsky@chicoer.com