From A City That Almost Became A Cycling Utopia To One That Claims To Be One

 Before Portland became, well, Portland, there was a moment—say, about 30 years ago—when it seemed that Seattle would become what the “Rose City” has become in America’s —and the world’s—consciousness. (Sorry to sound like a grad student trying to imitate their favorite professor!) 

San Francisco’s countercultural spirit and much of its sheer charm was being ground down (some would say it had already been ground down) by tech- and finance-industry wealth; other cities’ creative communities and bohemian enclaves—if they ever had them in the first place—were similarly destroyed or co-opted by corporatization and gentrification. While “indie” culture, which was largely defined by its music (think Kurt Cobain, Pearl Jam et al.) was Seattle’s trademark and gave  “The Emerald City” a reputation as a haven for people who did things their way, it is very different from what “keeps Portland weird.”

But, because I am writing about cycling and not a cultural history of the United States, I am thinking of a particular way in which Seattle almost became, in essence, Portland before there was Portland—or the notion of Portland, anyway.  That is to say, Seattle seemed destined to become America’s “Bicycle City.”

I tried to find, in vain, reports I read during that time saying that Seattle had more bicycle shops, per capita, than any other US city and that it was building what we now call “bicycle infrastructure” decades before most other cities’ and other jurisdictions’—including Portland’s—planners had even thought of it. If indeed my memory of such things is correct, I could attribute that interest in cycling and cycling infrastructure to traits shared by many who moved to Seattle during the ‘80’s and ‘90’s and who moved to Portland a decade later: They loved outdoor activities, including cycling. Perhaps more important, at least a few fled car-centric cities and suburbs and wanted their newly-adopted hometowns to be more bike- and pedestrian-friendly.

Given this history, it’s understandable that Seattle Bike Blog author Tom Fucoloro would expect to find a cycling utopia during his recent visit to Portland—and surprising that he didn’t. Lest you think that his judgment was a matter of envy or civic pride, he offers some very specific criticisms of cycling in the city which, he says, he enjoyed. 

Tom Fucoloro and his son cycling in Portland.

His most trenchant observations are of downtown bike lanes. One is the lanes’ lack of connectedness: Some begin out of nowhere and take you nowhere, much less to another lane. (That is also one of my pet peeves about New York’s bike lanes.) Another is that there aren’t protected lanes in high-traffic downtown areas.

I share his consternation that a city that touts itself as a cyclists’ haven, and claims to encourage transportation as well as recreational cycling, doesn’t do something that might entice more people to abandon their cars, at least for short trips. Then again, I’m not surprised, as I live in New York, where the situation isn’t much better—but at least we have more extensive, if overburdened, mass transit systems .

I Didn’t Know It Well. I’ll Miss It Anyway.

Last week, an after-work ride zigzagged me through northern Bronx and Westchester County. Along the way I pedaled down a hill (I was on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike) to McLean Avenue in Yonkers. I had ridden McLean a number of times before but, ironically, last week was the first time since I’ve moved to my current place: From here, it’s only about 7 kilometers but about 30 from Astoria, depending on which route I took.

Anyway, on McLean, I couldn’t help but to notice a store that looked like it was being stripped to the walls. I stopped; indeed it was. Then I noticed a few bicycles, some with tags, bunched together in the middle of the floor.

I asked a man whether any of the ones without tags—which included a Cannondale road bike from, I believe, the ‘90’s, an early Schwinn Traveler and a Giant hybrid with a Brooks B17 saddle—were available. “They’re all accounted for. Sorry.”

I glanced to my left and saw another racing bike leaning against the wall. “Then I suppose that Eddy Mercx is also going to somebody.” He nodded.

I asked him why the shop closed. The shop’s founder retired; his son took over and things went downhill.  There was a “sugar rush” during early in the pandemic followed by a “crash”: when supply chains reopened and new merchandise was available, people who already bought bikes and accessories weren’t buying more, he explained.

Both parts of his story—the bike shop passing from one generation to the next and the pandemic boom-and-bust—are familiar narratives behind long-established bike shops that close. It later occurred to me, however, that there may be at least one other reason County Cycle Center has closed.

It was one of many family-owned businesses that have lined McLean, the main artery of a longtime Irish enclave that straddles that part of Yonkers and a slice of the Bronx next to Van Cortlandt Park. Like so much of my city and its surrounding areas, it’s changing as longtime residents die or retire to the Sun Belt and their kids and grandkids move away. County Cycle, which graced McLean for nearly six decades, seemed to be the sort of shop where parents bought their kids bikes for Christmas or their birthdays, and those kids would return later to buy their kids bikes and, perhaps, “grown up” bikes for themselves. (It was an authorized Schwinn dealer and later took on Fuji, Trek, Cannondale and GT.) Such shops depend on relationships they develop with people in the community; when those people leave or die, those who move in—especially if they are young or from different cultural backgrounds—may not feel inclined to get to know members of the neighborhood’s “establishment.”

I have inferred the story about the shop’s relationship to its community after I got home and realized I had stopped in that shop on at least one earlier ride and remembering that the man I met—the founder?—was curious about my bike because it was something that didn’t normally pass through his shop. I think I bought a small tool or water bottle, and he was happy for my business.

He may not be able to get you a custom frame or a replica of whatever won the Tour or Giro or Vuelta this year. Folks who ride integrated carbon fiber cockpits may turn up their noses at him and his shop. But folks like him are interesting and thankful for small things.  I will miss him and them.

Who Wreaks More Havoc?

 

Photo by Owen Zwiliak, Chicago Sun -Times

A few of my recent posts have dealt with drivers' and cyclists' attitudes about, and perceptions of, each other.  As I've described, irate motorists see us as over-privileged scofflaws who endanger the public order.

At least one person perceives otherwise.  James R. Anderson, a Chicago cyclist, wrote a letter to his hometown newspaper, the Sun-Times about drivers who behave badly.  As he correctly points out, they are a more egregious danger to cyclists and pedestrians than we can be to them in part because they are driving two to four tons of metal, often at two to four times the speed at which we ride (not to mention how much faster and more massive they are than pedestrians). But he makes another point:  Too many motorists (including drivers of pickup trucks and SUVs) are looking at their screens rather than their surroundings; they, and other drivers sometimes block crosswalks or bike lanes and blow through red lights, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they've done anything wrong.

Oh, and he also brings up another little-discussed fact:  That most fatal crashes are caused by drivers, not cyclists or pedestrians.  For one thing, even in cities like Chicago and New York with large numbers of cyclists, we are far outnumbered by drivers.  And a driver's error or carelessness can be magnified to a much greater degree--because of the vehicle's speed and mass--than any misjudgment a cyclist or pedestrian could make.

To spare you from having to navigate a paywall, I am reproducing Anderson's letter here:

I have seen letters to the editor recently from car drivers complaining about “sharing the road with bike riders while bike riders break all kinds of laws.” The letter writers say they’ve seen bicycle riders run stop signs.

My question is: Have they seen the behavior of car drivers? Last week on Hubbard Street, I was stopped at a stop sign — because it’s a stop sign and because there was a pedestrian in the far crosswalk — and three drivers buzzed around me to blow the stop sign and endanger the pedestrian.

Drivers in giant SUVs and pickup trucks, with no idea what’s happening around their vehicles because they’re too busy playing with their phones to have a look or check their mirrors, run red lights with alarming frequency. I don’t mean they just missed the yellow; the light was red, and they decided to go anyway.

Drivers turn right on red without stopping or looking for pedestrians on the right, often in contravention of “No turn on red” signs.

Drivers block bike lanes and crosswalks and fail to stop for pedestrians in crosswalks, with no idea they’re doing anything wrong.

By the way, it is drivers, not bicycle riders, who usually cause car crash fatalities, including more than 1,300 in 2021. Plus, they inflict injuries great and small, plus cause billions in property damage.

Bad bicycle riding is inexcusable, but its impact is microscopic compared to the harm of bad car driving. It’s like the difference between a nuclear missile and a fly swatter.

James R. Anderson, Near West Side

The Right Kind

 Today is National Taco Day.

I observed the occasion by eating three soft-shell tacos after riding to Fort Totten.

At least I didn’t have to fix—or replace—another kind of “taco.”