A Bicycle Ministry For The Poor

Everyone needs a place to live.  To get or keep that, most people need a job.  

To get or keep a job--or simply to survive--most people have to go to appointments with doctors, social workers and agencies.  They may have  training sessions or meetings with support groups.  Or they might be in school.

To get to those meetings, appointments, classes and jobs, they need a way to get to them--i.e., transportation.  In the US, there is little or no public transportation outside of central neighborhoods in large American cities.  Even within such communities, those trains and buses may be inaccessible for one reason or another.  Or their fares might be out of reach for someone without a job or home.

A person who is trying to get his or her life together may not have a car, or may not be able to drive.  That makes getting to work, school, meetings or appointments difficult, if not impossible, for things are usually not within walking distance.

Thus, a bicycle may be the only way for such a person to get around.  Of course, if the person doesn't have income, he or she can't buy a bike.  But even if someone is given a bike or finds it on the street or in the trash, it will probably need to be fixed.  Even the most minimal repairs--even if the person in need can do them--cost money.  A new tire and tube or cable, let alone a shop's labor to install them, can really set someone's budget back.  If "they have to pay $50 or $60 for a repair," says Stephen Bently, "that is money out of their pocket they can use for something else--food, clothing, basic needs."  Not having to pay "is a huge savings for people who are trying to survive on the street," he says.



Bently is a Deacon at St. John's Episcopal Church in downtown Stockton, California.  A little over two years ago, he started a ministry called HUB (Helping Urban Bicyclists) in an old storefront owned by his church.  In that time, he has worked on 250 bikes, including one belonging to Ghafoor Khan.  "I rely on it a lot," says the 50-year-old who is trying to get back on his feet.

He might become one of Bently's success stories:  folks who got jobs and, in some cases, saved up enough to buy cars--and donate their bikes back to the ministry.

Bently says that his work is part of his role as a deacon, which is to "minister to people who have particular needs."  For the people he helps, that need was transportation.  That is why he fixes bikes, and even builds them from scratch.  It gives the people he serves one less thing to worry about, he says.

The Future In A Milk Crate?

Perhaps it has to do with having gone from living as a guy named Nick to a woman named Justine. Or maybe it's just a result of aging.

Although I still like long rides--and, sometimes, to pedal as long, fast and hard as I can--my attitudes about cycling have been changing.  Now I can see how arrogant and, frankly, elitist--at least when it came to cycling--I was not so long ago.  Sometimes I still find remnants of those old notions within me: I still get annoyed with riders (these days, many of them on Citibikes) who twiddle along and take up just enough of the lane or road to keep me from passing.  Those dilettantes!  But now I understand how such snobbishness--whether against riders who aren't kitted out in the latest lycra uniforms or bikes that aren't what riders in the Tour would ride--has kept bicycles from becoming the vehicles for change (pardon the pun) they can be.

To be more precise:  Such attitudes have kept people (like yours truly) from allowing the bicycle to transform our cities and our lives in, well, ways that would make our cycling more pleasant as well as practical.  Too many planners see planning only in terms of painting lines on a streets and calling them "bike lanes"; in turn, too many people see those lanes--as well as bike share programs as entitlements for privileged young people.  

As much as I love my nice bikes and rides, I know that if cycling has a future, it lies with the unemployed and minimum-wage workers who ride so they don't have to spend large portions of their incomes (or savings) to buy, maintain, fuel, park and repair cars.   It lies with people pedaling to their schools, offices and shops, and those who go for a spin with their kids or parents or neighbors at the end of the day--as well as those who want to have schools, offices and shops to ride to, and people to ride with.

Last year, I wrote about how city planners and non-profit groups came to recognize these facts, and re-thought what makes a city "bike friendly". They came to see that in Reading, Pennsylvania, where they were working, it meant creating a network of bike lanes that actually allowed people to pedal quickly and safely all over to the city.  They also realized that, in a poor post-indstrial city that has little mass transportation, they had to make bicycling more affordable and convenient for residents.  So, bike racks were installed on city buses, and when Reading's first bike shop opened, it concentrated on selling used bikes and affordable parts, conducting safety and repair workshops--and loaning tools.

Now, I don't know whether planners in Stockton, California have been paying attention to what the folks in Reading have done.  It seems as if they have been:  The city's latest plan calls for a series of bike lanes that will allow cyclists to pedal out of their neighborhoods and ride all over town.  But these lanes won't be just lines on the street:  They will be separated from motor vehicle traffic by barriers or raised medians.  In some areas, traffic lanes will be removed in order to make room for cyclists.

Whether or not the planners in Stockton followed the work of their peers in Reading, they at least seemed to be listening to the concerns of everyday cyclists like Alfonso Macias.  He is a 56-year-old farm worker who doesn't own a car.  Bungee cords hold a grocery crate to the rear rack of a bike he pedals to the store, where he buys the food he carts to his house.  Along the way, he has to share streets that don't have bike lanes, or even shoulders, with drivers who weave around him, or around whom he has to weave.  "Thank god I've never been hit," he says.

Now, he is cycling out of necessity.  Others, who could choose to leave their cars home and ride for errands and such, are deterred from doing so because of the hazards Macias faces.  Here in New York, people have expressed similar concerns, and even wondered how I could ride in this city's traffic. "Aren't you scared?," they wonder.

Even if people perceive cycling as more dangerous than it actually is, their fears need to be heard.  So must the concerns of folks who tie grocery crates to their bikes so they can go shopping.  They, not the wannabe racers encased in lycra, are the future of cycling.