What Color Is Your Lane?

What do Amsterdam and Austin have in common?

Well, they both begin with the same letter.  And they're capitals:  one of a nation, the other of a US State that was once, albeit briefly, a nation and sometimes acts as if it still is one.

Otherwise, I'd guess that they don't share much.  Then again, I haven't been to the Dutch city in a while, and I've never been to the center of the Lone Star State.

I have just learned, however, that they do share a trait that most people wouldn't notice, unless they were cyclists.  It has to do with bike lanes.

In New York, San Francisco and other American cities, they're painted green. That color was chosen because it stands out against the rest of the pavement and isn't easily confused with, say, a parking or bus lane. While it's great for visibility, it makes a bike lane more expensive to build and maintain because it's a coat of paint over asphalt, which wears away even when it's covered with a clear sealant.  Also, the particular shade of green used on bike lanes is more expensive to make than other colors.  

And there is another problem: Depending on the paint used, the surface can become slippery in wet weather. That might be one reason why Amsterdam doesn't paint its lanes green--or any other color.  Instead, a red  pigment is mixed with asphalt to yield a rather lovely terra cota hue.

Photo from the City of Austin

I don't know whether Austin's planners were looking to their Dutch counterparts when they designed their city's bike lanes.  They did, however, adopt the same system--and color--for the bicycle byways.  One reason is the aforementioned cost.  But just as rain wears paint away, so does heat--which, from what I understand, Austin experiences for months on end. 

While the terra cota shade is not the kind of red used to denote Texas politics, it's still rather ironic that the color is used on bike lanes in one of the state's "blue" islands. 

They’re Not Alone In The Lone Star State

 What do New York, Paris, Amsterdam and Copenhagen have in common?

Well, since you’re reading this blog, you probably guessed that they all have large numbers of cyclists.  

They are also mostly or completely flat, dense and have relatively mild climates, many young workers and students and, perhaps as a consequence, progressive politics (at least in relation to the rest of their nations.

Save for the politics, nothing I’ve said applies to Austin, Texas:  Its sprawl encompasses many long, rolling hills.  And brutal heat smothers the city, not only through “official” summer months, but also for significant parts of Spring and Fall.  It also affects the city’s air quality.

But those aren’t the only, or even the chief, reasons why, although their numbers are increasing, bicycling comprises only one percent of all commutes. 

Rather, Austin residents, like people in other parts of the world, cite “fear of motorist aggression “ and “poor quality and condition of dedicated bike lanes” as deterrents to stepping out of their cars and slinging a leg over a saddle.

Photo by P. Owens, Warrington Cycle Campaign 

What If He'd Stayed?

Yesterday, I wrote about an effort to make Austin, Texas more bike- and pedestrian-friendly. I haven't been there, but if it's anything like the parts of the Lone Star State I've seen, the complaints of its cyclists and pedestrians don't surprise me:  Even Houston, its biggest city (and the fourth-largest in the US) can seem like an expanse of auto-centric suburban sprawl, especially if you're accustomed to a city like mine (New York), Boston, San Francisco or most major European burgs, bourgs or bergs.

Then again, I have to admit I was a little bit surprised that, from what I was reading, bike lanes and sidewalks are so poorly conceived, designed or maintained--or nonexistent outside central parts of the city.  After all, during the past three decades, many young, educated people--the ones who, during the same period, were most likely to become recreational or commuting cyclists--moved to the Lone Star Capital.  And it has a major university, which usually is enough to ensure a significant number of cyclists.

Today I was reminded of another reason why one might expect Austin to be a better place for cyclists.  Now, I know that almost anything that happened more than two years ago seems as distant as the Mesopotamian civilization but, believe it or not, three decades ago isn't so long in, as Doctor King said, the long arc of history.  

Just as there was indeed a time before COVID-19, there was also a time when Lance Armstrong was a kind of "golden boy."  He had just won the World Championship and was seen as an heir apparent to Greg LeMond and the generation of American riders who put their country on the sport's map for the first time in decades.

Well, back then, Lance lived in Austin. Professional cyclists are like other professional athletes in that they aren't "working" only when involved in a race, game or match.  Having been a racer for very brief time in my life, I know that in order to be competitive, you have to pedal for a few hours every day.  It's really as much of a commitment as going to the office, factory, school or wherever you make your living or forge your identity.  In addition, most cyclists, as well as other athletes, spend considerable amounts of time in other kinds of conditioning, such as running or weight-lifting.

Photo by Jeff Wilson for Texas Monthly

But one would think that with all of the cycling Lance--and, most likely, others--were doing, the city would have been more conscious of their needs.  You see, not only was he seen as a "rising star;" he had yet to be tainted by accusations of drug use.  In fact, he may not have been using any banned substances (at least, not in detectable quantities) in those days, before his cancer diagnosis. If you look at pre-illness photos of him and compare them to images of him after he returned to the sport, it's not difficult to believe as much.

Anyway, I couldn't help but to wonder whether Lance, had he retained his status, could have made a difference in hometown's cycle and pedestrian infrastructure.  Maybe he could have.  Then again, maybe he couldn't have:  After all, aside from people who bought Trek bicycles in the US Postal Service Team colors, I'm not sure he influenced much else. 

Still, it makes me feel old to think there was a time before COVID-19--and when Lance was revered.  

Mellow Johnny Sends A Loud, Clear Message

I love food and music.  So, some of you may find it unfathomable, or even criminal, that I've never been to Austin, Texas.

Perhaps I'll get there one day.  In addition to the sounds and savory stuff, there's another reason to visit.

I mean, even if you don't care about bicycles, how can you not want to check out a place called "Mellow Johnny's Bike Shop?"

Apparently, they're part of a chain in the area, each store with its own management.  So, a policy at Mellow Johnny's in Austin might not prevail at MJ's in, for example, Fort Worth.

Actually, that scenario is not as hypothetical as I made it seem. In fact, the Austin shop has done something that the managers of the Fort Worth store aren't--and don't agree with.

Will Black, the general manager Mellow Johnny's--Austin, has announced, on social media, that the shop won't be selling any more bikes to the city's police department.  "It was a staff-wide store decision," he said, "that we discussed for a pretty good length of time to make sure we were all on the same page and doing the right thing." 

No one incident sparked the decision, he explained.  Rather, he and his employees were concerned that, during Black Lives Matter protests in the city, officers were using the bikes to block Black Lives Matter demonstrators.

On Wednesday, when Black announced the decision, Mellow Johnny's was in the second year of a five-year contract with the police department, which has more than 150 bicycle patrol officers in its downtown area police command.   The shop's action follows similar moves in the industry.  BikeCo, the North American distributor of Fuji bicycles, suspended sales to police forces in June, citing the use of bikes as weapons in protest marches.  That move is significant because Fuji had been one of the major bicycle suppliers to police forces in the United States.

"We are not anti-police," Mellow Johnny's post continued. "We believe our local police will protect us from the threats we are receiving right now" on social media.  Thankfully, there have also been messages of support--which, I suppose, isn't too surprising, given Austin's reputation as a "progressive" community--and the sense of fairness and justice I have seen in cyclists throughout my decades of riding and working in shops.

He Survived Combat. Then His Bike Blew Up.

Once upon a time, before X-boxes and I-phones roamed the Earth, kids actually wanted--and sometimes got--bikes for Christmas.  So, after my first bike shop laid me off early in the Fall, the owner asked whether I could come back for a few weeks in December and early January.  

I was surprised that he would want me, even for a few days, in the New Year.  I would learn that some of the bikes we sold for Christmas would be brought in for adjustments, as promised by the shop.  But other kids brought in bikes their parents hadn't bought from us.  Some of those machines were really twisted.  Even more serpentine were the stories they told us.  My favorite came from the parent of a kid whose wheels had folded into the shape of a certain Bachman's snack.  

According to that kid's supposed role model, the wheel assumed its form when the kid "turned the corner" and "the rim bent."

Now, I admit that my knowledge of physics was, at best, rudimentary.  So perhaps you, dear reader, can forgive me for not understanding how something made from two layers of steel could just fold over when a 65-pound kid turned it at a 45 degree angle.

Oh, and that kid's parent wanted us to replace the wheel--for free--on that bike, which wasn't purchased in our shop or, as best as I could tell, any bike shop.

Perhaps you can thus understand my skepticism when anyone claims that a bike fell apart as he or she rode it.  I know, well, that some bikes aren't very well-made, but very few are so shoddy that they will disintegrate under you as you ride.  I mean, I've heard of Lambert's "death forks" snapping when their riders hit bumps, and of various parts failing in one way or another under normal use.  But I don't recall any bike snapping at its frame joints during the course of a routine ride.

That is, until I came across the story of Ronnie Woodall.  

The Austin, Texas resident was riding along 4th street when the welds broke on his $1600 All City bicycle and sent him flying face-first into a construction fence.

The head and down tubes separated from the steer tube.  The result that Mr. Woodall's nose all but separated from his face.  It was "barely hanging on by this left side of my nostril, across the top," he recalls. The impact, which pushed his head back and twisted his neck,  "blew out out all of the vertebrae in my neck," he explains.

His doctor estimates that it will take $2 million to care of him medically in the future.  All City is a brand from Quality Bicycle Products.  According to a company statement,  QBP has  inspected the bicycle and claims to "have not found evidence" that "the bicycle spontaneously came apart," which is "something that, in our experience, bicycles simply do not do."

Whether or not the bike fell apart at faulty welds, or whether there was some other mitigating circumstance, there is another part of this story that is ironic, almost to the point of being incredible: Ronnie Woodall, a retired 30-year Army veteran, suffered his worst injuries, not on a nameless hill in some distant, forlorn country, but on a bike that cost more than most people in some of those distant, forlorn countries make in a year.  And it happened in the middle of the 11th-largest city in the United States.

Bike Share Over The Cuckoo's Nest?

I haven't been to Eugene, Oregon.  From what I hear, though, it's developing the sort of reputation Portland had maybe fifteen years ago:  a town of young artists, old and latter-day hippies as well as other free spirits.  And cyclists.

Someone I know described it as "Madison West."

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. After all, the University of Oregon is there.  And, interestingly, several tech startups first saw the light of day there.  So did a certain company launched by a guy who paid a graduate student $35 for her design.

That graduate student was Carolyn Davidson. And the guy who bought her drawing was none other than Phil Knight, the founder of Nike.

Imagine that:  the designer of the Nike "Swoosh" was paid only $35. But, she says, it led to other things that made her quite a bit of money.

Oh, and the author of a certain book that became one of the texts, if you will, of the counterculture--and, later, a much-lauded film--spent much of his life in Eugene.  I am talking about Ken Kesey, who wrote One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest.

So, I am not surprised, really, to find out that Eugene residents anticipate having something Madison has.  Austin, Texas--another town to which Eugene is increasingly compared--also has it.

I'm talking about a bike share program.  A local business owner is working on a plan for it.  Lindsey Harward's newly-formed company, Eugene Bike Share, will offer rides for a couple of dollars a day as well as yearly memberships.  Her current plan calls for 300 bicycles and 30 pick-up/drop-off locations.

While Eugene has only slightly fewer people than Salem, the capital and second-largest city of the Beaver State, it has only about a quarter of the population of the state's largest city, Portland.  So, while it might not be considered a "small" city, few would confuse it with a megalopolis or world capital.  

I find it interesting that the fastest growth in bike share programs is found in second- and third-tier cities like Portland and Madison.  And you could be forgiven for thinking that the bike-share concept is "trickling down" from world capitals and centers like Paris, London and New York.

The irony is that, as I learned recently, a city with about half of Eugene's population (though on a quarter as much land-area) had the first known bike-share program.  In 1976, La Rochelle, a lovely town on the French Atlantic (Bay of Biscay) coast, launched its fleet of velos jaunes for use by the public.  The current incarnation of the program is called Yelo and still uses, yes, yellow bicycles!

Hmm...I wonder what color Eugene's share bikes will be.

How A More Accurate "Bicycle Census" Could Save Lives

There are a number of reasons why too many bike infrastructure projects--including any number of bike lanes I've ridden--do little or nothing to make cycling safer or more convenient.  If anything, some of those projects--including lanes that lead cyclists straight into the path of turning vehicles or merging traffic--put cyclists in more danger than they'd experience if they rode in traffic.

One reason why so many bike infrastructure projects are ill-conceived, -planned or -executed is that, too often, planners have an inaccurate idea--or no idea at all--of how many cyclists are riding along a particular route or at a given time.  As often as not, planners have only a rough guesstimate of how many people ride per day, month or year.

One reason for that is the planners' methods and equipment for gathering data are designed to give accurate counts of motorized, but not cycling or pedestrian, traffic.  That is at least somewhat understandable:  After all, cars, trucks and buses are easier to detect, whether by humans or devices, than cyclists or pedestrians.  Also, most planners are educated and trained to collect, and pay attention to, "big data"--and their experience reinforces that bias.

"Little data", if you will, is especially relevant in regards to cycling because cyclists--whether they're riding to work, or for fitness or pleasure--take a greater variety of routes and have a wider range of destinations than most drivers.  While one can find clusters of cyclists in certain parts of a city, and along certain routes and certain times, those of us who pedal aren't clustered to the same degree as those who go where they want or must by putting a foot on the gas pedal.

Some researchers in Texas are  aware of what I am describing.  They are working on a pilot program, backed by the Texas Department of Transportation, to find more "nuanced data", in the words of Greg Griffin, about cycling and walking in Austin and Houston.   

The goal, says Griffin, is to better inform, among other things, Austin's corridor project, which will build lanes along nine roads.   That project received funding from the mobility bond Texas voters chose last year, but the City Council hasn't approved construction plans.  A draft of those plans is expected to go before the City Council next year and Griffin, a Texas A&M researcher, hopes to better inform the project and others like it.

He and other researchers are trying a number of methods to count cyclists, such as gathering data from Strava and other apps.  Of course, not all cyclists use them, so Griffin and his team are also installing pneumatic tubes similar to the ones used to count cars along roads frequently used by cyclists.  Those tubes, however, last only a few weeks, so he is trying to have permanent counters installed and recruiting cyclists and others to interview cyclists about their riding habits.

A variety of methods must be used, he says, because using only one would skew the results toward one type of cyclist over another.  For example, merely taking data from apps, he says, would result in "planning for people that are buying apps--instead of your community."

 He and others hope that better methods of taking a cycling census, if you will, will help to lay a "foundation for being able to save lives through infrastructure changes."