Is This California Law A Lemon In Orange County?

Back in October,  a North Carolina law went into effect that, among other things, requires drivers in the Tar Heel State to give cyclists at least four feet of space while passing them.  At the time, both cyclists and motorists praised that provision of the law (House Bill 959), as well as another that allows drivers to cross the center line to pass a cyclist as long as there's "an assured clear distance" ahead and no oncoming traffic.

I have not seen any reports as to the effect the law is, or isn't, having on cyclists' safety.  To be fair, it may be too early to gauge because a change over the course of a few months in either direction could be just a statistical "blip".

Perhaps one could also say it's too early to tell whether a similar law the California Legislature passed in 2014 is having its desired effect.  That law, however, mandates only three feet when a motorist passes a cyclist.  Before the North Carolina's policy went into effect last fall, drivers were only required to give two feet.

I would like to hear what the folks in North Carolina say about their law next year.  If nothing else, it will be interesting whether they recount different experiences from what David Whiting, an Orange County Register columnist, reported after reviewing the coroner's records in his county.

Cyclists in the bike lane of the Pacific Coast Highway in Newport Beach, CA on 9 May.  From the Orange County Register.

Whiting, who says he has cycled roads in his area "for decades", writes that the past decade has averaged one cyclist killed by a motorist every month in Orange County.  That rate has been pretty consistent; so far this year, three cyclists have met their fates at the hands of motorists on Orange County roads.

For the purposes of his report, Whiting counted only those cyclists who were killed in encounters with motorized vehicles and not the ones (smaller in number) who were killed on trails, from falls or when they crashed into parked cars or other vehicles or objects--or the one who was run over by a train.  That makes sense:  Such deaths could not have been prevented by a two-, three- or four-foot, or any other distance, rule.

However, it also makes sense (or seems to) that such rules, whatever the correct or optimal distance may be, might prevent a few motorists from running down cyclists.  It is also fair to ask whether such rules actually work.

If Whiting's conclusion that the law is having little or no effect in Orange County is valid--which, I believe, may be the case--then I think it's necessary to ask why.  

Cyclist and advocate Bill Sellin, who has worked with the Orange County Transportation Authority, says the law has been good for "raising bicycling awareness" but otherwise "ineffective".  One problem, as he sees it, is that the penalties for passing cyclists close enough to scrape off their jerseys are lighter than those for littering.  Another problem, he says, is drunk and otherwise impaired driving.  But even more important, he says, is "addiction to cellphones".  Too many people, he explains, "are no longer paying attention to driving, but paying attention to a device".  

Sellin makes a lot of sense.  Perhaps a three- or four-foot rule, by itself, will not make cyclists safer.  However, if other laws are passed and, more important, enforced in tandem with it, we could see safer roads for both cyclists and motorists.  

Here in New York, we have a law against talking on cellphones while driving that is simply not enforced.  Some, especially among law enforcement in this city, argue that it's unenforceable or that there are "other priorities".  That, I don't understand:  A distracted driver is just as much of a danger, not only to cyclists, but to public safety in general, whether on city streets or rural highways.  

So is one who is intoxicated or under the influence, or with abilities impaired (which, by the way, are not the same thing). While local law enforcement officials and newspapers like to trumpet how many arrests they make, or summonses they give, for such violations, offenders too often get off with light penalties or, if they lose their licenses after repeat offenses, get back their driving privileges in relatively short order.

Whiting, for his part, makes points that make a lot of sense. One of them is that rules requiring motorists to maintain a certain distance won't, by themselves, make cyclists or motorists safer.  Only, as he points out,  more courteous behavior between cyclists and, as Sellin maintains, enforcement of rules against impaired and distracted driving, will make a three-, four- or x number-feet rule meaningful.

As I Was Saying...

If you've been reading this blog, you know that I am, in general, not a big fan of bike lanes.  At least, I don't like bike lanes as they're (mis)conceived, designed, constructed, regulated and maintained here in New York, and in too many other US locales.

And I have another peeve about bike lanes--again, mainly about the ones here in the Big Apple.  One of my posts from a few days ago began with it:

One of the reasons I don't like to use bike lanes, at least here in New York, is that motor vehicles frequently pull in and out, and sometimes park, in them.

Well, wouldn't you know it...This is what I encountered while riding to work this morning:

A few weeks ago, a new bike lane opened on the north side of Hoyt Avenue, the wide boulevard that straddles the entrance to the RFK Memorial Bridge.  Traffic is westbound, one-way on the north side, above which the bridge's pedestrian-bike lane arcs.  (Traffic is eastbound one-way on the south side.)  The lane runs eastbound--in the direction opposite the traffic.  There are two rationales for that, I guess:  1.) The lane is intended, at least in part, to provide access to the bridge's pedestrian/bike lane; and 2.) The lane is "protected", meaning that there are pylons separating it from the motorized traffic.

Although the lane hasn't been open for very long, this wasn't the first time I've seen a vehicle parked in it.  Worse, I've seen a truck or van in the lane, and another motorized vehicle on the sidewalk: There are maintenance and storage facilities in the real estate around the bridge pillars. 

Woe betide the cyclist who unwittingly turns on to the lane: If both the lane and the sidewalk are blocked, there is no choice but to ride in the traffic lane--against traffic--or to make a U-turn back on to 26th Street, which is one-way. If the sidewalk is free, a cyclist can use it as long as some highway cop with too much time on his hands isn't looking to meet his ticket quota for the month.

For the time being, I think I will take the route I had been taking most days before the lane opened:  I will ride up 23rd Street to the south side of Hoyt Avenue, turn at 27th Street, cross under the bridge overpass and access the bridge's pedestrian/bike lane from there.

I must say, though, that in spite of the obstacle, I had a pleasant commute.  As you can see in the photo--which I hastily took with my cell phone--it was a beautiful morning.  And, when I stopped to take the photo a nice young lady named Rachel--who probably thought I was looking at a GPS or some other app-- asked whether I was trying to find something.  I explained what I was doing and told her about this blog.  And she told me about some rides that might start soon on Randall's Island, where she works--and through which I ride during my commute!

Spring Fever---Now?

So...Yesterday I experienced a change of seasons--or, perhaps, climates (all right, weather) while riding my bike across a bridge.

Today I didn't experience anything like that.  I did, however, see driving habits change.  Or so it seemed.

My ride took me down Hipster Hook into Brooklyn--DUMBO, to be exact.  After stopping at Recycle a Bicycle, I pedaled up through some central Brooklyn neighborhoods up to the other end of my neighborhood and the north shore of Queens.  

It seemed that everywhere I rode--even through the quietest residential areas--I saw more traffic.  Not only that, it seemed that teenagers of all ages had taken over the roads.  They were sideswiping each other, swooping as close to pedestrians trying to cross streets and honking their horns for no apparent reason.  In short, they were driving like kids who'd just gotten their licenses--or who were going to the beach on the day after they graduated.

At least they keep their eyes on the road!

Or, perhaps, they were driving under the influence of Spring Fever.  Even though the season doesn't officially arrive for almost another month, today felt like the first Saturday of spring.  In the very young--again, of all ages--the first wave of warmth and sunshine seems to stir up their hormones or shake their brains.  

In a way, seeing their behavior was kind of funny.  (I guess I can say that because I didn't, thankfully, have any close encounters with any of them.)  Why?  Well, this evening a storm brought us wind, hard rain and, in some places, hail.  As I write this, the temperature has dropped considerably from its earlier highs, and is expected to fall further.  Tomorrow, the weather is supposed to be more or less seasonal, which will seem almost polar compared to what we've experienced during the past few days.

I have to wonder whether those drivers I saw today will calm down--or return to hibernation.

Leaving Perfection Behind

I hold an advanced degree.  My professional life brings me into contact with some very intelligent people.  And according to the standardized tests, I am of above-average intelligence.

Now I will give you an opportunity to question the validity of standardized tests.

If you've been reading for the past week, you know that I've been in Florida and, for most of that time, have had nearly perfect cycling weather.

Well, I'm leaving it all behind me.  Yes, I'm going back to New York in January.  Flying into JFK, no less.

Neutral Tones

This semester, and last, I assigned--among other things--Thomas Hardy's poem "Neutral Tones" in my intro literature classes. 

We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod;
—They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.

Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles of years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro
On which lost the more by our love.

The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing …

Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with grayish leaves.

Where I live, and where I rode yesterday, can hardly be compared to Hardy's Wessex countryside--which, actually, wa even deader than the love lamented by the speaker of his poem.  Wessex was an Anglo-Saxon kingdom the Danes invaded a millenium before Hardy started writing.  Today it consists of Dorset, where Hardy lived most of his life, and neighboring counties in southern England.

But we are entering our season of "neutral tones":  the incandescent of Fall has burned away, and even the lastflickering and smoldering hues of dying embers have faded away.  Here in New York, we can see some of those "neutral tones" in the trees, even in the light of the sky--and manmade structures:

It wasn't particularly cold, though the temperature was beginning a precipitous drop, propelled by the wind, that would continue through the night and this morning.  So, I was the only cyclist--and one of only a few people--on the waterfront park just south of the Brooklyn Bridge.

I am not lamenting a lost love--or much of anything, really--right now.  I am just tired from the heavy workload I took on during the past few months--and from the election and the ensuing tumult.  All right, maybe I am ruing the relative civility, and concern for the truth-- or, at least, the appearance of those things-- of the past few years.

The other night, I was having a conversation with someone I've come to know a bit during the past few months.  We both agreed that we are now in a completely different world from the one in which we first met:  as I recall, some time late in the summer.  We can see it in the faces of people; most important, we can feel it, we agreed:  the air of resignation and defeat in places like the neighborhood in which I work, and the belligerence (manifested in an increasing number of attacks against people who are, or look like, Muslims, LGBT people or anyone Trump scorned or mocked) in other places.  

"But you know, we created all of that.  Everyone did.  Just as Americans created the Soviet Union as much as those folks in the Kremlin did."

I reflected on that observation as I stopped along the Brooklyn waterfront.  Obviously, humans created that bridge--which I love.  But we also made the "neutral tones" of that sky and the trees.  The hues were those of winter until we made them neutral--when, as in Hardy's poem, love is lost or, worse, abandoned. 

I had another insight, for whatever it's worth, about why Christian (white ones, anyway) and Jewish fundamentalists voted for Trump.  He famously declared climate change a "hoax".  (His unique spin, of course, was to attribute the ruse to the Chinese.) The religious folk might not like the fact that he made much of his fortune from casinos and other unsavory businesses, and that he's been married three times--or that his views on abortion are those of the last person who discussed the issue with him.  But what he said about climate change aligns completely with the most fundamental tenet of Abrahamic religions (as I understand them, anyway):  that of God's sovereignty.  That notion is challenged, to say the least, if you believe that human-generated pollution can cause a rise in sea levels and average temperatures, and can wipe out entire species. 

And to think that Trump came from the same city I inhabit!

Then again, I don't think he ever took a bike ride along the Brooklyn waterfront on a winter afternoon--and saw what I saw.

My Morning Commute: Only In 1984. Only From Cannondale.

On my way to work today, I saw only one other cyclist.  I wasn't surprised because this morning was the coldest we've had since February.  And it was windy, which I really noticed when crossing the RFK Bridge.  

That cyclist, though, was riding a bike older than he is.  That, in itself, is not so unusual, as I often see people--particularly the young--on machines passed on to them by parents or older siblings, or found in basements, garages, barns or yard sales.

Some of those bikes could fetch money on eBay as "vintage" items.  In a way, that's very funny to me, because I remember when they were the sorts of things you'd see every day.  Most were good for the sorts of rides and riders they were designed for, but we never thought they were exceptional in any way.

But the rider I saw today was pedaling a rig that was unusual when it was made--and simply strange today:

Cannondale made its first mountain bike in 1984.  It's the one in the photo above--and the one ridden by the fellow I saw today.  Unfortunately, I didn't get to take a photo of the bike.  But, from my brief glimpse of it, I don't think it had been ridden very much.  

When that bike was made, mountain bikes were still new to most people who didn't live in northern California or, perhaps, upper New England.  It seems that those who were involved in the then-evolving sport of mountain biking hadn't developed any notions about what mountain bikes were "supposed" to be.  

At least, their notions seemed fluid compared to those of us who were road bikers, even those as young as I was:  While the designs of certain components had evolved and refined, a good road racing, touring or sport-touring bike had more or less the same design and elements (lugged steel frames with a certain range of geometries) they'd had for about two or three generations before us.  

On the other hand, the first mass-marketed mountain bike--the Specialized Stumpjumper-- began production only three years earlier.  Its design was a kind of cross-breed of the custom mountain bikes Tom Ritchey, Gary Fisher and a few other pioneers had been making for about half a decade.  Although the first shipment of 125 Stumpjumpers (built in Japan) sold out in six days and subsequent runs sold even more quickly, the Stumpjumper would not set the standard for mountain-bike design--at least, not for very long. 

The truth was that even folks like Ritchey, Fisher and Chris Chance were still figuring out how to design their bikes, which had begun with Schwinn cruisers retrofitted with multiple gears and caliper brakes.  By the time the Stumpjumper came along, they and folks like Charlie Kelly were building lugged or fillet-brazed frames of chrome-moly tubing with long wheelbases--which, really, were lighter (yet stronger) versions of the old cruisers.  

According to the information I've come across, all of the early mountain bike frames--including that of the Stumpjumper--were built from steel.  That is no surprise when you consider that about 99 percent of bikes were still being fabricated from that material. The only difference was that the lighter, more expensive bikes used alloy steels--maganese molybdenum (Reynolds 531) or chrome molybdenum (Columbus and Tange), while cheaper, heavier bikes used carbon steel.  

Although bikes were made from it as early as the 1890s, aluminum was little-used as a frame material until the mid-1970s, when the "screwed and glued" Alan frames were built.  A few years later, Gary Klein designed an aluminum frame with wide-diameter tubing to make it stiffer.  In 1982--the year after the Stumpjumper first saw the light of day--Cannondale made the first mass-produced aluminum bicycles.

Those first Cannondales were road bicycles--racing, touring and sport models.  If you rode one of those early Cannondales, as I did, you know that their design has changed quite a bit.  So, I think it's fair to say that if Cannondale was still figuring out how to make aluminum road bikes, they were really starting from "square one" with that first mountain bike.  But it's also fair to say that no one else knew how to design aluminum mountain bikes, for--at least, from the information I've gathered--no one else, not even Klein, was building them at that time.

For all I know, the fellow I saw today on an early Cannondale mountain bike may have no idea about the history I've just described.  He probably just knows that he's riding a funny-looking bike.  Maybe he doesn't care.

Still, I can't help but to wonder who came up with the idea of designing a bike around a 24 inch rear wheel with a 26 inch front. As fluid as ideas about mountain bikes were at that time,  Cannondale was probably the only bike maker that could get away with doing such a thing.  And 1984 was probably the only year they could have done it.

It's Not My Fault, I Think

Confession:  For a brief time in my life, I worked in market research.  

In those days, we didn't have what are now called "social media".  And only the computer geeks were using the computer networks that would later help to form the basis of the Internet.

So we did our work with paper and telephone surveys. The former were mailed or given to people, while the latter--then as now--reached people while they were eating dinner, or at some equally inconvenient time.

The money was decent.  So why did I leave it?  No, I didn't have any sort of existential crisis or moral pangs.  And I didn't get bored:  After all, in what other kind of work can you learn such interesting and useful facts as people's consumption habits?  At the time, interestingly, people in Puerto Rico bought more Cheez-Whiz and Hawaiians purchased more Spam per capita than anyone else in America.  And the average New Yorker--surprise, surprise--bought more Wonder bread than anyone else.

Egad!  Had I known that such data would be stuck in my cranium all of these years later, I would have quit even sooner than I did.  But I left market research, in part because I went and did other things that, I thought, were closer to my own talents (such as they are) and passions. The biggest reason, however, for moving on to other things was that I realized my MR job was the most profound waste of time in my life.  I still feel that way about it.

On that job, I learned that simply asking people questions wasn't the surest, best way to get accurate, much less truthful, information about people.  We all know that there are those loves, those passions, that dare not speak their names.  To this day, I don't know what led me--or anyone else with whom I worked--to believe that people would always tell us what they wanted, liked or felt.  Sometimes they wouldn't.  Sometimes they couldn't.

I found myself thinking about my MR experience after I heard the election results and the disbelief of the pollsters and pundits.  Surely, they told us, Trump hadn't a chance:  He was too vulgar, too sexist, too fill-in-the-blank.  He had no government experience; running a company or hosting a reality TV show isn't like presiding over a country.  As if people were thinking in such terms!

Their surveys and algorithms (Was that the theme music for a certain campaign in 2000?)  couldn't detect something I've noticed while riding my bike.  

From Regated

I wish I'd photographed the lines of "Trump" signs posted on front lawns along the Connecticut, Westchester and New Jersey streets I rode last Friday and Saturday.  Some of them stood next to signs calling for Hillary's incarceration.  

Through the past spring and summer, such signs sprouted, like fungi after a rainstorm, with increasing and alarming frequency, along my bike routes on Long Island and even in parts of this city, the bluest of the blue.   

Of course, being on the road, I saw plenty of "Trump/ Pence--Make America Great Again" bumper stickers.   And, let me tell you, they weren't all on pickup trucks:  I even saw one on a Prius, of all cars!   

But what if I'd presented some pollster or talking head with photos of Trump signs and bumper stickers, or other evidence of Trumpmania I observed?  Would they have paid any attention to me?  Somehow, I think they wouldn't have, any more than the market researcher I was would have listened to someone who actually spent time in clubs, dance halls and the like in order to determine what music people were listening to.  Or the store manager who can tell you what is selling and what isn't.  

So, even though I didn't take those photos or otherwise record the evidence of Trumpophilia I saw from my saddle, I guess I'm not responsible, after all, for his election.  Or so I'd like to believe.

We Can Use The Jump, And The NY Post Needs To Get A Grip

The other day, I chastised the Mayor of Montreal for his plan to paint lanes that would be shared by bikes and buses on some of his city's main thoroughfares.  An editorial in the Montreal Gazette  lambasted the idea--rightly, in my opinion.

Today the script is flipped, if you will, in my hometown:  a sensible piece of bicycle policy is proposed, but an idiotic newspaper editorial denounces it.

You probably wouldn't be surprised to find out that said editorial is in the New York Post: you know, the rag that became famous for headlines like Headless Body In Topless Bar and has lately become the print media's biggest cheerleader for Donald Trump's candidacy.  They've published a lot of diatribes against cyclists and this city's attempts to be more "bike friendly".  Some of the latter, to be fair, were on the mark, if for the wrong reasons,  such as their early criticisms of bike lanes.

Today their editorial begins thusly:

It seems it's not enough to ease up on anti-social behavior, from urinating on the street to public pot-smoking:  Next, the City Council may let cyclists legally jump red lights.

Here in New York, many intersections have traffic signals with four-way red lights and "walk" signals that precede the green light by 20 seconds.  In principle, I think it's a good idea, because it allows pedestrians to enter the intersection before, and thus be seen by, motorists who might make turns.  If anything, I think the interval should be longer along some of the city's wider streets such as Queens Boulevard, along which many senior citizens and disabled people live.

The City Council proposal would allow cyclists to follow the pedestrian signal in crossing an intersection.  Frankly, I think a 20-second interval for "jumping" red lights makes even more sense for cyclists than it does for pedestrians, especially for cyclists crossing intersections from bike lanes.  Twenty seconds is plenty of time for cyclists to cross just about any intersection, and even the slowest cyclists at the widest boulevards will have enough time to get through the immediate traffic lanes and avoid motorists making right turns.

The Post does have one thing right:  Many cyclists already do that because we know that it's much safer to cross that way than according to motorists' signals.  But I guess I shouldn't be surprised that a paper of their caliber compares legalizing the practice to tolerating public pot-smoking and urination.

If you follow the logic, if it can be called that, of some of the Post's other editorials and articles, allowing public urination unfairly privileges 49 percent of the population (of which I am not a part:  boo hoo).  So, perhaps, it's not surprising that the esteemed editors would follow the passage I italicized above with this:  It's not as bad as it sounds.  Then, they use even more tortured, to put it kindly, logic to dismiss the City Council proposal.

Usually, when folks like Denis Cordierre propose wrongheaded policies about cycling and pundits endorse them (or oppose good ideas), I can attribute it to a lack of knowledge about-- usually because of a lack of experience in-- cycling.  The Post, however, has magnified that lack of knowledge with an apparent inability to construct a cogent argument. Had any of my students submitted anything like it, he or she would see lots of red ink upon getting it back!

I wonder what Alexander Hamilton would think of that editorial--or the Post?

What Are They Trying To Say--And To Whom?

Unless you do all of your cycling on unpaved surfaces, you are bound to see road signs during your rides.

We don't notice, or think about, most of them because we see them so often.  Others simply don't apply to us.

But some are really strange. For example, there was the one that said, "Graffiti is a crime camera enforced".   Was that sign trying to tell us that graffiti is camera-enforced?  Or that graffiti is a camera-enforced crime?

Then there was the one that warned us, "Use of cameras prohibited and strictly enforced".  Now, perhaps I'm not the smartest person in the world, but I can't, for the life of me, understand how something can be prohibited and strictly enforced.

Some signs leave you wondering who is their intended audience and what, exactly, they are trying to tell said audience.  I saw an example today not far from my apartment.

About a kilometer from my place, next to the East River (which isn't actually a river), there's a Con Ed power plant.  It's located on Vernon Boulevard, which rims the river, just south of the bridge to Roosevelt Island.

(Interestingly, there's a Moishe's storage facility across Vernon Boulevard that used to be a factory that made Loft candy.  Now I wonder how much I--and members of my family ate!  Well, I guess I shouldn't worry yet:  Nobody's glowing in the dark!)

Anyway, a bike lane now runs along the western edge of Vernon.  As it happens, the lane directly crosses the path of the Con Ed plant's driveway, through which trucks enter and exit.

The traffic lane that borders the bike lane handles southbound traffic.  A driver headed in that direction would not be able to read the sign, except perhaps in a rearview mirror.  The northbound traffic is so far to the right that most drivers probably wouldn't see the sign.  Even if they did, it probably wouldn't matter, as neither the driveway nor the bike lane enter, or intersect with, the northbound traffic lane.

The bike lane is sub-divided into a northbound and southbound lane.  As with the auto traffic, southbound riders wouldn't see this sign.  Even if they glanced back to look at it, the sign would be useless to them, as they would have already crossed the driveway.

So, I have to wonder:  For whom was this sign intended? (Or, in market-research speak:  Who is the intended audience?)  And what was the sign's creator trying to tell the intended audience?

You have to wonder what some people are thinking when they make and post signs.

From Sunshine To The Empire

Today I leave my parents, and Florida.  I took some great rides on bright, sunny days and spent time with my parents on the chilly, stormy days.  Make what you will of that.

In New York, I might experience a winter like the previous two, with weeks of snow and ice on the ground.  Or it could be a very mild season, as we had a few years ago.  One thing is certain:  I will be with bikes that are much nicer than the one I rode during the past week and, most important, my own.  The question is how much I will get to ride them during the next couple of months.

Goodbye, Sunshine (State)--for now, anyway. Hello, Empire (State), my home for more than three decades and most of my life.  Going from Sunshine to the Empire.  Hmm...what do I make of that?

A Lot Of Good It Did...

Most of us, if we're working for anyone (or any entity) besides ourselves, are evaluated on our performance.  We're rated on a number of factors, some of which vary from job to job.  There are, however, other factors that seem to be more or less universal in personnel evaluations, such as knowledge, efficiency, communications skills and professionalism.

Another such trait is "effectiveness".  Some have tried to measure it, mainly without success.  For example, since No Child Left Behind began in the early "aughts", students' test scores have been used to determine which teachers are effective.  But things aren't that simple:  a bad teacher almost certainly won't get good results, but sometimes a very good teacher can't overcome other things in a child's life that might impair his or her performance.  On the other hand,  in some occupations, effectiveness is easy to see:  folks like salespeople bring in money, mechanics and plumbers fix things that stay fixed and others meet, or help to meet goals. 

I think that effectiveness is easier to see in things:  Effective things do, well, what they're designed to do.  A derailleur that gives quick and precise shifts is effective; so is a brake that stops quickly or gradually, as needed, with a minimum of fuss.

It's also easy to see ineffectiveness, as I saw while riding across the RFK Memorial Bridge today:

Graffiti is a crime?  Someone obviously didn't get the message.
 

A Couple Of Views From The Saddle

Is a ride ever defined by what you see on the horizon?

During the past week, I pedaled into two very different, yet distinctly of-this-season-vistas.

As I pedaled north on the Hudson River Greenway, the sun--invisible even in the cloudless sky--refracted off the dull metallic surface of the river and shrouded the towers of the George Washington Bridge about three miles in front of me.

The other day, I was rolling down 38th Street in Astoria, just a few blocks from my apartment.  There sun, again invisible, would make its presence known only through the bare branches of the tree a mile or so down the street.


Are these the dying embers of a season, of a year?

Approaching Weather, Seen Clearly

In Florida--at least the part where my parents live--you can ride under a cloudless, sunny blue sky and see a downpour on the horizon.  That storm might soak you in an hour, or even less.

The reason why oncoming weather (or the weather you're about to ride or drive into) is so visible is that the landscape is flatter than any of my jokes fell the one time I went to an open mike and there are no tall buildings.  That means, of course, that you would never see approaching weather so clearly here in New York, especially in Manhattan.

Or would you?

This morning I took a spin up the Hudson River Greenway up to 125th Street.  The chill in the air turned to outright cold as I approached the river, but I did not mind:  It was invigorating and the surroundings are stimulating.  However, I think I was able to see the rain that local meteorologists are predicting for tonight.  Interestingly, it is supposed to come from the north--the direction in which I was riding when I took the photo (The George Washington Bridge is behind that veil of clouds)--rather than the west, as weather usually does.

August in Florida comes to November in New York. Who'd'a thunk?

A View During My Commute

One morning last week, fog hung low across the skyline.

To my eyes, it made the scaffolding on the building in the distance stand out all the more.  I wonder whether there is a purpose in that color scheme.  Or did the contractors just use whatever happened to be available to them?

I almost want the building to look like that when it's finished.  Somehow, it would fit in the industrial area surrounding it. 

24-Karat Stupidity

A few months ago, I wrote a post in which I related something a police commander told me once:  "Lucky for us that most criminals are stupid."

Citibike--the bike-share program in my hometown, New York City, is fortunate that at least one thief was foolish.

Yesterday, when I was on my way to meet a friend for lunch, I saw a bike propped against garbage cans in front of a row house.

I took a photo of it which I, unfortunately, deleted accidentally.  However, the bike looked very much like the one in this image:

The perp took a Citibike and sprayed it with gold paint.  Said crook covered the serial number and anything with the Citibike logo  However, he (as a former male, I am assuming--not unreasonably, I believe--the thief is male) did not spray the front of the bike.  Thus, the head tube and fork showed the familiar Citibike blue:  a shade not found on very many other bikes.

Also. as you can see from this photo, the frame's distinctive shape, as well as the integrated front baskets and fenders, make Citibikes difficult to camouflage, even with a heavy spraying of paint.

As if the ham-fisted paint job wasn't vain enough as an attempt to hide the bike, the voleur chose one of the worst possible colors for the job:  metallic gold.  In the first photo, I spray-brushed the bike with the color, of the ones available on my app, that came closest to what I saw on that bike.  The hue is about right, but the thief used a brighter, more metallic, version of it.

I thought about calling Citibike when one of their vans pulled up.  I'm guessing that someone saw the bike before I did and called.  I wonder whether that person was chuckling, as I was, about the thief's color choice and lack of painting skills.

I'm Such A Fast Woman That....

Since April, when I visited my parents in Florida,I've been cycling more than I've cycled in a while.  That, after a winter of little riding.  Still, I feel as if I'm getting back some of my former condition:  I'm passing other riders who would've left me in the dust back in March.  Also, I see that--without even trying--I'm shaving time off my regular rides.

Am I turning into a fast woman?  Yes!  How fast?  Well, the next post you read from me will be from another time zone.  Actually, it will be a few time zones from my home.

I'll tell you more about it in that post.  For now, I'll just say I got luckier than I've been in a while.  I hope it's a sign of things to come.

A really fast woman: Rebecca Twigg.  Photographed by Annie Liebowitz

Killing A Cyclist Is A Misdemeanor? What's The Alternative?

My dealings with this city's bus drivers have been, for the most part, respectful and courteous. I try not to make their job more difficult and I think most of them actually to do the same for me. Then again, if I can't communicate verbally, I try to signal with nods, winks, thumbs-up, eye contact and the hand signals (for turns and such) they used to teach in school.  I try to avoid using my middle finger, and most of the time I succeed.
  
They have a tough job. I try to be the cyclist they're thinking of when they complain about us.  There are other cyclists who think and act as I  do--I've seen them--and I hope the drivers remember, if not us, then at least their interactions with us.

Photo by Yanina Manolova

I really don't want anything to make our relationship more hostile.  After all, whether or not it's their intention, they are helping to reduce the number of cars in this city.  And, quite frankly, I am more confident about their commitment to safe driving than that of a lot of other drivers I encounter.

As I've said in other posts on this blog, the best way to create an environment that's safe, let alone friendly, for cyclists is for motorists to understand what it's like to ride.  That is best accomplished when large numbers of motorists are also, or have recently been, cyclists.  Such is the case in many European countries.  Increasing the hostility between cyclists and motorists helps no-one.

That is why I'm really troubled by a bill that's just passed in the New York State Senate. I'm also just as troubled by the situation it's supposed to remedy.

As it's written, the bill would exempt bus drivers--as taxi drivers and others paid to drive--from the same consequences other drivers face when they hit or run down a pedestrian or cyclist.  If the bill is enacted (i.e., if the State Assembly votes for it), the police would not be able to detain any bus, cab or livery driver who strikes a cyclist or pedestrian who has the right of way.  They would also not be held at the scene of an accident for reckless endangerment, assault or other violations that aren't covered in the traffic code.  As long as the driver remains at the scene, has a valid license, is cooperating with police and  isn't suspected of being drunk or high, law enforcement can only issue him or her a desk appearance ticket.

In other words, the bill would make killing a cyclist--as long as the driver responsible is a professional--a misdemeanor.

Of course, as a cyclist, I find that outrageous.  However, at the same time, I don't think that automatically slapping the cuffs on a bus or cab driver if there's a pedestrian or cyclist lying in front of his or her vehicle is the best policy.  While I've seen reckless drivers, I suspect that the majority of cases in which cyclists or pedestrians are struck or run over by bus or taxi drivers are accidents--terrible ones, but accidents nonetheless.  

So, I can understand why the transit workers' union wanted the bill that's just passed at the same time.  On the other hand, I can't help but to think that they want it only because the only alternative they've been presented is one that automatically assumes the guilt of the driver.  I'm no Constitutional scholar,or even a lawyer, but it doesn't sound like either the bill or the automatic assumption of guilt squares very well with the foundational document of this country's jurisprudence.

As we say here in the Big Apple, There's Gotta Be A Better Way.

Misty Morning Ride

The last couple of mornings, heavy fogs have shrouded the Queensborough Bridge towers.  

The cyclist you see in this photo soon disappeared as he descended through the fog on the Manhattan side of the bridge.

The Upper East Side, Long Island City, Astoria, Roosevelt Island and the the southern tip of the Bronx all seemed to dissolve into a soup of steel pores and ashen light that the East River had become.  

I actually enjoy riding on a misty morning.  Perhaps it's because I have no choice but to focus on what's around, rather than ahead of, me.  

A Tale Of Two Beaches--And Rides

Compare and contrast Rockaway and Flagler Beaches.

Comparison #1:  I rode to both of them within the past few days.  Rockaway is a bit further from my apartment than Flagler is from my parents’ house.  But while neither are particularly long rides, I feel a sense of satisfaction, if not accomplishment, from either.

Contrast #1:  This one is obvious:  Flagler is in Florida, Rockaway is in New York—the borough and county of Queens, to be exact.  Flagler, on the other hand, shares its name with that of the county.

Comparison #2:  You have to cross a bridge to get into either one.  The SR 100 Bridge arches over the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway, while the Veterans Memorial Bridge spans Jamaica Bay.  After crossing either bridge, you find yourself on an isthmus that separates the body of water spanned by the bridge from the Atlantic Ocean.

Contrast#2:  Almost everyone who crosses the bridge to the Rockaways lives in Queens or one of the other boroughs of New York City.  You are as likely to encounter someone from just about any state in the US—or Quebec or Ontario—as a Floridian on the bridge as well as Route A1A, the road on the other side of the bridge.

Comparison #3:  You’re likely to encounter cyclists while crossing either bridge or riding along the roads that parallel the beaches.  Said cyclists could be riding anything from an old beach cruiser rescued from someone’s basement to the latest and most exclusive road and mountain bikes.

Contrast #3:  People riding high-quality bikes to or in Rockaway Beach are almost invariably residents of Queens—though not of Rockaway Beach or any other part of the Rockaway Peninsula—or Brooklyn or Manhattan.  If someone’s riding a really good bike to or in Flagler Beach, he or she is most likely from someplace else,  or lives in the area part-time.  Also, a high-end bike in Flagler is usually a Specialized, Cannondale or Trek and has a carbon-fiber or aluminum frame, while one in Rockaway could be one of those or could just as easily be a classic steel road or mountain bike.

Comparison #4:  You’re likely to pedal into or with the wind while riding to or from either place.  If you’re  lucky, you ride into the wind while going and with it while coming back.

Contrast #4:  The temperature might drop a degree or two when you cross the bridge into Flagler Beach.  The temperature could drop a bit more while crossing into the Rockaways, especially early in Spring, when the water temperature in Jamaica Bay and the Atlantic is around 5 to 8 degrees Celsius (40 to 45 F).   On the other hand, the temperature of the Atlantic where it meets Flagler Beach is around 15 C (60 F) at this time of year.

Why is there so much more rust on the right side of this handlebar than on the left?

Comparison #5:  Both beaches have their wizened, grizzled characters who live on the streets or beach, or who “couch surf”.  

Contrast #5:  Surprisingly, Rockaway has more such characters.  I say “surprisingly” because they are usually more common in larger beach communities where the weather is warm, or at least mild, all year round.  What that means, of course, is that more of those characters are living such a lifestyle by choice in Flagler (or Daytona Beach) .  In the Rockaways, there are now more of those characters than there were three years ago.  Many of them are living as they are as a result of Superstorm Sandy, where much of the devastation still hasn’t been repaired.  Seeing such people in the Rockaways makes me think of the film Atlantic City, in which the "busted valises", as Ring Lardner used to call them, were abandoned by another kind of tide that ravaged, then turned away from, them.

One final contrast:  Whenever I‘ve ridden to Flagler, it’s been on someone else’s bike.  I’ve never ridden to or through Rockaway Beach on any bike that’s not my own.  That includes today, when I took Tosca, my fixed-gear Mercian, out for the first time since the snowstorms buried and iced us in January.  She’s looking—and feeling—better than ever, if I do say so myself.