A Path Through Vermont?

 

Image by Markus Spiske via Pexels

Someone, I forget whom, quipped that the definition of a Canadian is someone who lives as close as possible to the United States without living in it. That makes sense when you realize the country’s largest cities—Toronto, Montréal and Vancouver—all lie within 100 miles of the border.

That same wag might’ve said that the idea of US Route 5 might’ve been a highway as close as possible to New Hampshire without actually crossing into the Granite State. That is exactly what the thoroughfare does for much of its Vermont segment along the Connecticut River, the Green Mountain State’s boundary with New Hampshire.

Route 5 is extremely popular with tourists, as it passes through many towns and villages that are more picturesque than any place has a right to be. It also links the rest of New England with Québéc.

And, having cycled in Vermont, I can’t recommend it highly enough, whether in the spring, summer or its incomparable fall foliage season. The one drawback I could see is that being mainly a rural state, you have to know it—or go with a local—if you want to ride the less-trafficked roads. That can make it more difficult to plan a multi day tour or even a commute and, perhaps, keeps cycling from being even more popular than it is.

Now the Vermont Agency of Transportation, commonly known as VTrans, is taking feedback from municipalities along Route 5 for a possible bike route that would parallel the corridor from Vermont’s southern boundary with Massachusetts to its northern border with Québéc. The route would consist of separate protected lanes for some of its length and on-road painted lanes in other parts.

One of the difficulties in building such a route is that it would require the cooperation—financial and otherwise—of the many towns and villages along its way. While some balk at the possible cost and time commitments, others—like Fairlee—also see an opportunity because such a bike route would link already-existing bike routes as well as the towns themselves.

My hope for such a project is that actual cyclists are involved in planning, designing and building it.  Too many bike lanes I’ve ridden seem to have lacked the understanding that comes from spending time in the saddle.

For A Professor, Comic Relief From Bicycle Face

One of my graduate school professors said, "If you can't say it in English, say it in French.  If French doesn't work, go to German.  If you still can't say what you're trying to say, try Latin. If that fails, there's always ancient Greek."

Well, I could follow his advice only partway:  Although my French was, and is, good, I had reading, but not conversational or writing, ability in Latin.  And I only knew all the German I learned in one semester and while biking through the country, just as I know a few words of Greek acquired just before, and during, my most recent trip.  (I wonder, though, how much Socrates' Greek was like the language I butchered in the marketplaces of Milos and cafes of Thissio.

I got to thinking about my old professor's advice when I heard about another professor--Louis Vivanco, a cultural anthropologist at the University of Vermont.  His specialty is the anthropology of environmental movements, and he had a particular interest in cycling.  So, not surprisingly, he spent a lot of time looking at old newspaper articles about the "maladies" that afflicted early cyclists in Vermont, and other places.  There were warnings about "bicycle face," a mask into which a cyclist's face contorted itself,  as well as explanations about "cyclist's neuralgia," a condition that manifested itself with, among other symptoms, shriveling penises in men and "spinsterhood" (oh, my!) in women. 

He wanted to present his findings to a wider audience.  That brought him to a crisis:  He realized that an academic paper could not do them justice.  For a researcher like him, that's akin to a writer learning that words don't do justice to anything  (You mean they don't!) or a mathematician realizing that numbers can't express the relationships he or she is trying to elucidate.

His "crisis", if you will, came to a head while he attended a symposium on comics in academia.  At the end of a lecture, he went up to the presenting professor and asked "How can I do this myself?"

That professor's advice:  "Go get yourself an illustrator."

Such advice is sound, except for one problem which I, as an educator, can relate to:  Vivanco couldn't afford to hire such a professional.  So, he decided to "give it a shot" and draw the illustrations himself.  "I try to be kind an idiot savant:  I look at art and books and comics and then I do my best to reproduce what I see."

That work has led to comics about cycling throughout history, and in the present. They illustrate, if you will, much about the way larger society related to cycling and cyclists.  Today we lobby for better cycling infrastructure, or to get any such infrastructure at all.  So did cyclists 120 to 130 years ago, in Vermont and other places.  The difference, as Vivanco points out, is that because bicycles were far more expensive in relation to people's incomes than they are now, cyclists tended to be well-off and well-connected, and therefore had connections to leaders or power-brokers, if they weren't those leaders or power-brokers themselves.  Thus,  cycling clubs in places like Brattleboro and even larger cities were part of the political establishment and were quite effective in getting safer roads and other amenities.  Today, in contrast, cyclists are, in most places, organizing and lobbying as outsiders looking in at the lawmakers and institutions they're trying to influence.

From what Professor Vivanco says, media like comics are a way to help open the doors by making information more available to non-specialists.  He points out something I know very well:  Academic discourse has a language and culture all of its own and, because they are learned by relatively few people, reach very few people.  The same could be said for any number of professions related to urban planning and policy-making, such as law, engineering and environmental psychology.  Comics and other graphic media can also help people who are not specialists--and busy professionals who don't have the time or inclination to read lengthy tomes or ponderous articles on topics outside of their fields--to better understand how the struggle to get better conditions for cyclists is related to other efforts to make cities and other environments more livable and sustainable. 

Most important, perhaps, comics like Professor Vivanco's can show how demands for better air quality and bike lanes are not new, and are not battles that can be won today and forgotten tomorrow.

I'll close by saying that I like Vivanco's drawings:  They remind me of the work of Rick Morrall, who did the illustrations for Tom Cuthbertson's bike-related writings.  At least, I think that's what Morrall's work would look like if Bike Tripping  had been published in 1892 instead of 1972.

Is Snow The Only Thing Falling?

I woke up to snow fluttering down my window.  The flakes weren't turning into mounds, or even a scrim of powder on the streets, so I thought I'd go for a ride--and, maybe, catch some snowflakes on my tongue. (It's one of my guilty pleasures!)  But, as soon as I got out the door, the snow turned to sleet and the streets and sidewalks were being glazed with slush that, in spots, would slick with ice.  Even on my bikes with fenders, I wasn't going to ride in that.  

In my youth, I might've.  Actually, I more than likely would have.  Riding in conditions nobody else would was a point of pride, almost of definace.  I think now of the time in Vermont when the temperature dropped from 50 to 15F (10 to -10C) and a partly cloudy day turned to rain, sleet, then snow, the latter of which fell as I was descending a mountain.  I also remember the time I rode down a virage in the French Alps, near Arly-sur-Praz, on a fully loaded bike as rain fell and a loaded lumber truck rumbled--and, was that a skid I heard?--around one of those hairpin turns.  And, when I was a bike messenger, I had to ride in conditions worse than what I saw today.  

Am I getting lazy, soft, or just old?  I don't think the day was a waste:  I read, wrote and had lots of cuddle time with Max and Marley.  Still, I have to wonder about what's becoming of me.  Perhaps I no longer cast a shadow.  Then again, nobody does on a day like this.

Photo by Roland Tanglao

In Autumnal Mists

If you read some of my earlier posts, you might recall that I actually enjoy riding in fog.

That's kind of ironic when you consider one of my rules about riding in the rain:  I won't do it if the precip is falling so densely that I can't see more than two bike lengths ahead of me.  Somehow, though, it's easier (for me, anyway) to navigate--and pedal--through even the densest fogs.  Hey, I've actually ridden through clouds, when ascending and descending mountains in Vermont and the French Alps.  Compared to that, navigating a mist is easy.

Perhaps my enjoyment of riding under such conditions has to do with the structure of my eyes:  After all, I love riding (or walking or just about anything else) in the diffuse light of places like Paris, Copenhagen and Prague, and of overcast days at nearly any seashore.

Perhaps the best thing about such light and mist is the way it brings out autumnal hues:

From Favim

 
What is it about bikes that they are (to my eyes, anyway) best photographed in the fall?