Cross With The App

What would you think of an app that signals your approach at an intersection?

Well, the city of Santa Clarita, California--in partnership with Sensys Networks Inc--is piloting such a system along the Chuck Pontius Commuter Rail Bike Trail (Say that three times fast!), which parallels Soledad Canyon Road.  

The system consists of a GiveMeGreen! smartphone app, which allows cyclists to be detected 300 feet in advance of an intersection.  Once detected, the app's signal applies the normal timing function for pedestrian crossing.  This lets pedestrians and cyclists use the same signal phase and "will not cause any delay for motorists," according to a Santa Clarita Gazette report.

While that stated purpose both intrigues and troubles me, I think there might actually be a benefit for cyclists:  Motorists are often confused when they see pedestrians and cyclists at intersections, especially if pedestrians are crossing by one signal and cyclists another--or are following the same signals and timing as motorists.  

It seems that half of the new system already exists on Soledad Canyon Road:  There are bicycle- and pedestrian- only signs to alert turning motorists that cyclists and pedestrians could be crossing the intersection.  This system has a bicycle-only light to tell the cyclist he or she has been detected.  From what I understand, however, these lights are not connected to an app:  Apparently, they rely on cameras or some other detection device at the intersection itself.

I would be interested to see whether this app and its system actually makes cyclists safer when crossing intersections--which, I believe, is the most perilous thing we do, especially if we are crossing a roadway intersection from a bike lane.  Then again, I am not sure of how detectable I want to be--or, more specifically, of who I want to detect me, and from where--while I'm riding!

Fighting For Scraps At The Edge In The Mile High City

When I was writing for a local newspaper, a kinda-sorta-somewhat high-ranking (Is that vague, or what?) police officer admitted that  he didn't make arrests or even give summonses for some low-level offenses.  "Is it because you want to spend your time and energy on more important things?"

He shook his head.  When I reassured him that our conversation was off-the-record, he admitted that he doesn't give tickets or arrest people for some of those minor infractions because, well, he has committed "most of them" himself at some point or another in his life.  

Now, as I understand, here in New York, as in many other places, police officers are exempt from some of those charges.  The same holds true in Denver, where they cannot be charged with an offense they rarely ticket:  riding a bicycle on a sidewalk.

The Mile High City's statutes on this matter are similar to those in many other places:  The rule doesn't apply if the sidewalk is part of a designated bike route. Also, police who are riding their bikes as part of their uniformed duties, as well as other uniformed city, state and federal employees are exempt.  So are newspaper deliverers.

Denver police officers on the 16th Street Mall during the 2008 Democratic National Convention.

Oh, one other group of cyclists is allowed to ride on the sidewalk:  Those within one block of preparing to dismount their bikes.  That alone is probably a reason why cops don't enforce the policy:  How are they supposed to know that a cyclist is going to dismount on the next block?

But the vagueness of that part of the law is not the only reason why it's infrequently enforced in Colorado's capital. According to a recent report, the officers themselves admit that cycling on some of the city's streets is simply unsafe, and the sidewalk is the only viable alternative.  

One officer added that his exemption from the law is not the only reason he violates it.  "I'm not going to get hit," he explained.  He, perhaps not surprisingly, admitted that he has never ticketed anyone for the violation.

Jill Lancatore, Executive Director of the nonprofit advocacy group WalkDenver, says that officer's perception hit the nail on the head.  Though she acknowledges pedestrians are frustrated, she cautions against making the issue one of pedestrians vs. cyclists because "So much of our public right of way are dedicated to cars that everybody else is pushed to the fringes and we're fighting for scraps at the edge of the roadway."

I have not cycled in Denver but, based on what I saw in other parts of Colorado, I imagine it's more spread-out and car-centric than my hometown or places like San Francisco or Portland. From reports I've read, streets are particularly narrow, probably as a result of constraints of construction in the mountains.  That, in and of itself, is a reason to make cycling safer and thus more enticing to more people.  

But there is another reason:  In part because of its altitude, Denver has some of the worst air quality among major American cities.  So, working to make cycling safer can only help to improve residents' health as well as safety.

Until then, cyclists, pedestrians and other non-motorists will "fight for scraps at the edge," as Lancatore says.  And cops like the one I mentioned will look the other way.

I Am Such A Menace!

I guess I shouldn't be surprised to read another article that vilifies cyclists.

Most such drivel blames cyclists for traffic jams and all matter of quality-of-life issues in a city because, if they are to be believed, we all run red lights and run over someone's grandma who's carrying a puppy or a kitten she just took in from the shelter.

Well, there's a new twist on this theme today, in the Washington Post blog.  It starts like this:

  Scenes of Washington life include pedestrians on the streets with headphones, or cell phones or perhaps a purse.  The city's streets are also home to bicycles and bike riders.  And every now and then the pedestrians and the bicyclists do not mix well.

Its author, Martin Weil uses this opener as a Jaws-style setup:  Just as some unwitting swimmer has a cut or barely-concealed body part (a breast, perhaps) that causes the shark to smack its lips and think "LUNCH!", those poor, innocent pedestrians' head phones, cell phones and purses are bait for bad, bad people on bikes.

A real menace 2 society!

Yes, Mr. Weil writes about a string of purse- (and head- and cell-phone) snatchings committed by...a guy on a bike.  Specifically, a young guy or adolescent male on a bike.

Well, I guess I'll have to watch for that when I'm off my bike and crossing a street.  But at least it's good to know that, as a middle-aged woman, I don't fit the profile of the perps Mr. Weil describes.

Now I'm going to tell you a secret:  That's the reason I changed my gender.  I didn't want to seem like the sort of menacing young urban male who preys upon unsuspecting pedestrians at busy intersections! :-)  Heck, I don't even fit the profile of scofflaw cyclists who run red lights and run over old ladies with puppies and kittens.  After all, I really can't bring myself to harm someone when I look at someone and that person is a mirror.

Drones And Crits Don't Mix

When riding in the city, a cyclist has to be aware of--in addition to motor vehicles and their drivers--pedestrians.  All it takes is one darting across the street at mid-block, or someone ambling through an intersection while looking at an iPhone screen, to send a cyclist tumbling to the pavement.  

In fact, I have incurred two falls--one on Broadway in SoHo, the other in Coney Island--caused by pedestrians who barrelled across a street without looking in the direction of the approaching traffic (which included me).  In the SoHo incident, said pedestrian--who was shopping with a friend--at least stopped and apologized. In the other mishap, the boy who plowed into me--who appeared to be about 14 or 15 years old--simply kept on going.  

I wasn't hurt in either incident, but things could have been worse.  Even scarier, though, were two instances in which I didn't actually crash, but could easily have taken a hit and a tumble.  Both happened when I was riding down mountains and an animal crossed my path:  a deer in Pennsylvania; an Alpine Ibex just after I crossed the border from France into Switzerland.  

During my brief career as an amateur racer, I went down once and had a near-miss.  Both were the result of other riders who jackknifed in front of me.  In the crash, I wrecked an expensive front wheel but, fortunately, not the bike--or me.  In the near-miss, another rider incurred similar damage when he and a couple of other riders hit the pavement a bit further back in the pack from where I'd been riding.

Now it seems there's a new hazard that can take a racer out of the game, or leave a rider with  road rash or worse:



It almost sounds like one of those excuses I'd hear from a student who didn't show up for class the day a term paper was due.  (That's happening to me this week!)  "I got hit by a drone".  At least, that's now more plausible than "My drone ate it!"

Seriously, though:  We have to watch for low-flying or falling drones.  Imagine if one caused a pileup in, say, the Tour, Giro or Vuelta!

Metamorphosis: NYC Streets

Anybody who's been cycling in New York for a decade or more knows that riding this city's streets is much different now from how it was then. 

The most obvious changes are the bike lanes--which were all but nonexistent in the early 2000s--and, of course, Citibike.  Also, there are purely and simply more people riding--and, as I've recounted in other posts, I encounter other cyclists while riding along streets and in neighborhoods where, not so long ago, I would be the only person on a bike.

As I've also discussed in other posts, I don't think the changes have necessarily made this a better city for cyclists.  Some of the lanes are poorly designed (a few lead to nowhere) and built.  Perhaps even worse is that the building of bike lanes and installation of Citibike ports doesn't seem to have accompanied a reduction in motorized traffic.  Streets can't be made any wider, so the bike lanes that run along major streets and avenues were created by blocking off one of the traffic lanes.  That has led to more traffic congestion and greater tension between motorists and cyclists--and between cyclists themselves. 

Some riders, most of  whom wouldn't have been riding had the bike lanes not been built, are as rude and aggressive as some of the worst drivers I've seen.  Years ago, I knew--at least by sight--most of the cyclists I'd see on a given day.  Even if we didn't know each other by name, we looked out for each other:  We signaled turns.  We didn't cut each other off. We alerted each other to broken glass and other hazards. Today, it seems, a lot of the newbies are riding as if they have blinders on.  And the ones who ride motorized and electric bikes are even worse!

So, even though I enjoyed the film I am including in this post, I do not share the view of filmmaker Clarence Eckerson Jr. that this city is more bike-friendly as a result of the changes it shows.  Still, the film is interesting to watch because it visually chronicles some of the changes in the appearance as well as the rhythms of the Big Apple:

 

Less Stressful Than The Greenway

 

Yesterday, after co-leading a workshop in the Bronx, I had an errand in Chelsea. The ride, about sixteen kilometers, would have taken me across the 145th Street Bridge and up a couple of short but fairly steep climbs in the Sugar Hill and Strivers' Row sections of Harlem.  Then I would descend, probably at 129th or 125th Street (Believe it or not, they intersect in the far western section of Harlem!), under the IRT Viaduct to the Hudson River Greenway, which I would have ridden down to 18th Street.

I followed the itinerary I've outlined up to the hill climbs.  Yes, I did pedal up them, and felt invigorated on a mild autumn afternoon, but decided to ride down the "Valley"--Manhattan Avenue--from 125th to 110th Street before turning toward the river and Greenway.

At 110th, I took a quick left on Riverside Terrace and rode (the wrong way, but there was no traffic) a block, where I crossed Riverside Drive and entered Riverside Park and, finally, the Greenway.

Hudson River Greenway

I shouldn't have been surprised that so many people were cycling, running, strolling,skateboarding, rollerblading, riding Segways, walking themselves and their dogs and stopping to kiss their loved ones along the Greenway on such a beautiful Saturday.  And, really, I can't begrudge any of them:  Only a mole wouldn't want to be outdoors, by the river, on a day like yesterday.

But some of the strollers, skateboarders and others were--not surprisingly--texting.  Actually, a few looked as if they were playing video games or doing other things that required them to interact only with their electronic devices.  Perhaps it's because I came of age in an era of high crime and was victimized a couple of times---or, maybe, because I grew up without the electronic devices--I still can't understand how people can walk, skateboard or whatever and text at the same time.  I simply can't divide my attentions in that way and--again, this may be a result of having lived through the age of "Fort Apache, The South Bronx"--I feel that I must remain aware of my surroundings.  
Only the cyclists and runners seemed to be going about their way without electronic distractions.  

To be fair, most people moved aside when they heard me. A couple of knuckleheads wouldn't get out of my way even after I rang my bell and shouted, and they seemed to make a point of making it impossible to maneuver around them.  

After dodging and weaving for a few minutes, I exited the Greenway at 96th Street and started riding down Riverside Drive.  I pedaled all the way to its southern end, at 72nd Street, without seeing a single driver of a car, bus or other motor vehicle.  In fact, the only vehicles I saw were parked along the side of the drive.

Then, after turning left on 72nd and right on West End Avenue, I encountered another major thoroughfare that was all but traffic-free.  To my knowledge, neither WEA or RD was closed to traffic.  Nor was 11th Avenue, which is what WEA becomes south of 59th Street.  There, I played tag with a few cars and a couple of buses--probably going to some event or another at the Javits Center--but stopped only once--at 34th Street, one of the busiest streets in Manhattan--on my way to 18th and 9th Avenue.

I still can't get over the irony of it all:  Riding the streets from 96th to 18th was actually relaxing--almost bucolic, really--in comparison to the Greenway.

I Tried To Be Graceful. Spoiler: He Was Gracious.

The last time I rode to Connecticut, I made a wisecrack about how the Swiss boarding schools might still be teaching good manners after all.  Well, I saw evidence of that today when—you guessed it—I rode to Connecticut.

I was riding—coasting, actually—down the same street that prompted my quip.   Although there wasn’t a street fair, a lot of people were there, shopping in the boutiques—and walking around with the frappucinos they got in Starbuck’s. (I guess the coffee purveyor is the street’s concession to mass market!)  Even though I was controlling myself, I was going at a pretty good clip, as the street slopes downward.

Sign on a shared path in Perth, Australia.  Photo by Jo Beeson.  From ABC News Australia.

A man stepped into the street, his back turned to me.  He was talking to a woman who I assume is his wife.  Both were dressed in a similar sort of high-dollar casual way.  As they talked, they stepped into the street.  The woman, a step or two behind him, tried to pull him back.  I rang my bell and shouted non-obscenities. (I guess I was trying to show that you don’t have to go to a Swiss boarding school to learn good manners!)  I couldn’t steer out of his path, as not more than the thickness of my glove separated me from a line of cars descending to my left. 

I hit my brakes—and him.  Well, not quite hit:  It was more than a graze, but I careened off his rear left side.  He staggered a couple of steps but didn’t fall.  I stopped.

Before I could ask whether he was OK, he intoned, “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”  I meant it.  It’s the sort of street lots of people cross without looking, and the drivers seem to anticipate it. If I could have steered out of his way, I would have.  It’s useless, really, to scream at pedestrians in such a place.

“I’m really, really sorry.”

“Are you OK?” I finally asked.

I took off my sunglasses.  He looked into my eyes. I waited for him to cross.  He flicked his right hand.  “After you,” he said with a deferential smile.

“Have a good day,” I said.

“Likewise.”

They really do teach good manners in Swiss boarding schools—or Deerfield or Andover or Groton or wherever he went to school. Or maybe he’s just a gentle, polite man.  Whatever the case, I really couldn’t be angry.  And, to tell you the truth, I didn’t want to be: It was a beautiful day and I was having a great ride.

Two Stops, Two Conundrums

Today I rode to Point Lookout again.  It was not a perfect day, by most people’s definitions, but more than good enough for me:  clouds moved across a sunny sky, seemingly carried by the wind that I rode into on my way out to the Rockaways.  The temperature didn’t seem to rise above 25C anywhere I rode—the ocean water was only a couple of degrees cooler.  That might be the reason why I didn’t see very many people on the beaches or boardwalks, and the Point, like Jones Beach, across the cove, was deserted.  

The ride made me happy, even if it didn’t include any great developments or epiphanies.  I felt as if I got into a good rhythm while riding Arielle, my fixed-gear Mercian.  Most important of all, I didn’t feel achy or fatigued at the end of my ride:  I just felt as if I’d gotten a good workout and had a good time.  I really don’t ask for anything else.

Probably the most unusual things about this ride happened at two traffic stops—one in Atlantic Beach on my way out and the other in Sunnyside on my way back.

At the first stop, the light had just turned red.  I had about another half an hour—maybe forty minutes, given that I was riding into the wind—of riding to get to the Point.  Not that I was in a hurry:  I wasn’t worried about any commitments or even about the coming of night.  But I had, as I mentioned earlier, gotten into a good rhythm, and was trying not to stop. 

The light had just turned red and a man who looked like he had a decade or two on me was crossing the street.  Some guy in a Lexus tore through the intersection, against the red light.  Fortunately, the old man hadn’t gotten very far into the street, so he was in no danger of being struck.

What I found strange about the encounter, though, was the man kept on staring at me.  I wasn’t sure of whether he was surprised that I, and not the driver, stopped for the light. Or, perhaps he’d been directing stored-up anger over other cyclists who’d ignored traffic signals—or, maybe just stories he’d heard about them.  Whatever his motivations, he kept his head turned toward me until he stepped onto the curb on the other side of the street.

At the other stop, I was about two kilometers from my apartment.  Sunnyside is, like Astoria, an old blue collar-to-middle class neighborhood that never really deteriorated and is becoming home to increasing numbers of young professionals and creative people who work in Manhattan.  It’s also one of those neighborhoods where, at one time, I wouldn’t see anyone else on a bike but, over the past few years, I have been seeing more and more cyclists every time I ride through it.

Anyway, I stopped at an intersection of 48^th Steet, one of the neighborhood’s main arteries.  Trucks often come barreling down 48^th, coming from or going to the factories and rail yard that separate the neighborhood from Long Island City, so I don’t take chances when crossing it.  Neither do most people who live in the neighborhood.

A woman who looked like she was thirty, at most, crossed in front of me, with her son and daughter—neither of whom looked more than four years old—in tow.  She seemed like a nice person; we exchanged smiles.  “I’m sorry,” she simpered.

“For what?”

“For stopping you.”

“You didn’t stop me.  The light did.”  I pointed to the signal; it was turning yellow. She and her kids scampered to the curb.  “Have a nice day,” she shouted.

“You do the same.”

As pleasant as she was, I am still as puzzled by her reaction to my stopping for a light as I am to the man for his.

Photo by Darryl Kotyk

How And Why A Cyclist Struck A Pedestrian In Central Park

I very rarely ride in Central Park.

Perhaps that makes me a jaded, cynical New Yorker—you know, the kind who think “only tourists” go to the Statue of Liberty, take in a Rockettes show or go to the Village and expect to see musicians, artists and writers living “bohemian” lives.

To tell you the truth, I’ve never been to the Statue or Radio City Music Hall.  And I can’t remember the last time I walked around in the Village.  

I also don’t go into the Park very often for any reason.  Don’t get me wrong: It’s a lovely place, a masterpiece of urban landscape architecture.  And a couple of laps in it can give you a good mini-workout.

Something that happened yesterday reminded of why I so seldom pedal into, or around, the Park.  A 31-year-old man was riding at a good clip when a woman nearly twice his age crossed into the lane.  He shouted for her to get out of the way.  Neither he nor she had time to get out of each other’s paths.  Even if they had, they probably wouldn’t have had any room to maneuver:  On a clear, mild day, the bike lanes are full of cyclists of all kinds:  racers, wannabes, other athletes-in-training on bikes, those who are riding to unwind, the ones (usually tourists on rental bikes) who want to take in the sun and a leaf-fluttering breeze with the skyline as their backdrop and those who want to be seen in the latest team kit and the most expensive bike they could find.

In other words, the bike lanes are clogged with cyclists of varying abilities, pedaling at various speeds and with even more disparate levels of awareness of their surroundings. 

Even the least alert cyclist is probably paying more attention than some people who are strolling across the meadows and around the lake.  I don’t mean to impugn all pedestrians in the park; I am simply saying that those on foot—especially tourists—are more likely to let their guard down while walking through the park than cyclists are while rounding the turns.

That is not to say that neither the woman who was struck—or, for that matter, the cyclist—is to blame.  Rather, the incident should serve as a cautionary tale for everyone who goes to the Park.   That is also not to say the Park can’t be enjoyed by all: Those who ride, walk, run, skate, skateboard or otherwise venture into, around or through the park simply need to act more or less as if they all were motor vehicles on the streets.

As for me, I probably won’t be riding in Central Park any time soon because it’s become so crowded.  I actually feel as though I have more space on most streets.  And the traffic is more predictable.

The woman--Jill Tarlov of Fairfield, Connecticut--has been declared brain-dead.  The cyclist--identified as Jason Marshall--has not been charged, though the NYPD says they're still investigating the incident.