E-Bikes On The Boardwalk?

It looks like electric bikes, or e-bikes, are here to stay.

Although I don't plan to start riding one any time soon, I have nothing against them.  If anything, they're good for people whose knees are giving out on them, or for other people who--whether through aging or some other cause--don't have the strength or stamina they once had but still want to pedal two wheels.

What makes them controversial, though, is their relationship with unmotorized bicycles, other motorized vehicles--and traffic, whether it consists of pedestrians, cyclists or motor vehicles. Specifically, should they be subject to the same rules and regulations as, say, motorcycles?  Or should they categorized with non-motorized bicycles and be allowed to share designated bike lanes and paths with them?

Cities, states and other jurisdictions are coming up their own mandates.  Beach resorts and towns face another question:  Should electric bikes be permitted to roll alongside regular bicycles on boardwalks?

The City Council of Ocean City, Maryland will have to come up with an answer to it when it meets on Monday.  Last week, Councilman Tony De Luca introduced an ordinance that would have amended the city's traffic and vehicle codes to allow Class One motorized bikes--ones that stop assisting the rider when a speed of 20 MPH is reached--on the boardwalk.  Class Two and Three e-bikes, which have a throttle and can reach higher speeds,  would have been banned.

DeLuca's proposal didn't garner enough support to become part of the city's law.  On Monday, the Council will hear opposing recommendations from the Bike Committee and the police commission.  The former cites e-bikes' usefulness for people who are rehabilitating from an injury or have bad knees, while the latter points to difficulties in enforcing e-bike rules and the fact that cities like Virginia Beach ban them altogether.

 

Early-Winter Blues

Coney Island Boardwalk in early winer.  From Kinetic Carnival

Since Hurricane Sandy, I've ridden to a boardwalk that has been completely washed away and another that has been ripped apart in some sections and collapsed in others.  While others have hopes, however unrealistic, that their beloved seaside promenades (or some reasonable replica thereof) will be ready for next summer, I mourn the loss of them right now.  I know I won't be able to ride them this winter; I am not entirely sure they'll be ready for next fall or winter.

Although I occasionally ride on a boardwalk when the weather is warm and the sun is high, I much prefer them when the sun is lower in the horizon (or when it's overcast) and a chill, or even pure-and-simple cold, blows in off the ocean.  Sometimes I take such rides with others; more often, I do them in solitude.  In fact, sometimes solitude is the very reason I take such rides:  During such rides, thoughts seem to come as clear as the winter sky and  feelings as intense, and even sharp, as the crisp salty air.

So, while others fear what they might lose to Sandy next year; I am mourning the rides I can't do now and won't be able to do during the coming weeks and months.  On the other hand, I count my blessings:  Other people have lost far more to the storm.  Some are my students, and I have met others.  At least I still have some things to offer them, even if they refuse.  And I still have hope for those winter boardwalk rides, if not this season.

Is It Still A Boardwalk?

Yesterday, before meeting Avi and Jesse (the guys who were riding "stacked" bicycles), I'd ridden along the Rockaway Boardwalk.  That is normally part of my trek to and from Point Lookout.  However, part of it was closed because it was being reconstructed.

The past couple of years, and this past winter in particular, have not been kind to the boardwalk.  Many of the wooden slats were rotting away or had grown brittle even before the bad weather, and it seems that we've had more coastal storms during the past two or three years than at any other time I can recall.  

I guess the city's Parks Department saw how much hard wood costs these days and decided to use concrete instead. I'm guessing that it will hold up to the elements better or, at least, won't splinter and rot the way wood does.  

Some cyclists might actually prefer the smoother concrete surface.  But there's still a part of me that likes the clackety-clack of my tires across those boards.

Romantic notions of seaside rambles aside, there is one very good, practical reason not to like the new concrete slabs:

There is a section of the eastern part of the boardwalk, near Far Rockaway, where the work is complete and the concrete boardwalk is open.  There are two gaps, as large as the one in this photo, that run along the length of the walk.  

Of course, it's a good thing that there are only two such gaps, as opposed to the dozens of spaces between the wooden boards.  On the other hand, the gaps between these concrete slabs are much wider than the ones between the wooden boards, and are thus more likely to catch a bicycle wheel.  Plus, falling on concrete is more painful than falling on wood--assuming, of course, that you don't get splinters.

Even though I'm not so crazy about the aesthetics of the concrete walk and worried about the gaps, I'll reserve my judgment until I've ridden the concrete at least a few times.

Still, I must ask:  If it's made of concrete slabs, can we still call it a boardwalk?

When A Favorite Ride Changes

I, of all people, should not be fazed by change.

But how do you react when one of your favorite bike rides is about to be altered, possibly beyond recognition?:

I guess I shouldn't be so worried about what's going to happen to Rockaway Beach.  This guy looks like he might not survive the changes.


Just for  the heck of it, I decided to see how close I could ride to him.  How close I got to him surprised me.  What disturbed me was the reason why I could:

Not only is his wing broken; he was even more sickly than he looked from a hundred feet away.  


I may not be much of a naturalist, much less an orinthologist.  But I think it's a pretty safe to say he won't be there come next spring's cycling season.  I wonder who else won't--and will--be.


Much of the boardwalk--like many of its counterparts up and down the East Coast--hasn't borne the brunt of this year's storms very well.  So it's being rebuilt:

I always wondered what a boardwalk would look like if it were built in the Brutalist style.  Well, all right, I never did.  But now I know.  


My dislike of this boardwalk is not only from an aesthetic point of view.  The lines between the slabs are even sharper than the ones between the weathered wooden boards of the old boardwalk.  Those slabs are not always perfectly level with each other, and even if they were, the edge of a tire could skid against the edge of one of those slabs and cause a nasty spill.


As much as I dislike them, I can understand why they're being built that way. For one thing, it probably fits in with the row houses that are being built on the streets leading to it.  But more important--at least to the builders--it's probably cheaper than rebuilding with wooden boards.  It also won't weather and splinter the way wooden boards do, though concrete doesn't always age well in damp places, either.  


The latter, by the way, is the reason why builders have gotten away from the Brutalist style.  That, and the fact that raw concrete slabs can be unbelievably depressing, especially under the gray skies that one sees about 250 days a year in much of Northern Europe and northeastern North America, where so many of those buidings went up.


My question is:  If it's made of concrete, can it still be called a boardwalk?


Anyway, I have to wonder what next spring's--or even this winter's--rides will look like.  I hope that some of the old bungalows will remain:

Well, whatever happens, I guess I should be happy if the concrete replacement for the boardwalk remains open to cyclists.  I can tolerate almost anything that's by the ocean, so I guess whatever they're building will work, in some way or another, for me.


Still, I can't say I am happy about the prospect of a ride I've done for about 25 years being changed irrevocably.  All  I can hope is that at least something about it will be for the better for us.