He'll Have Lots Of Time For His Imaginary Friends

In more than three decades of cycling in New York City, I have had a few encounters with police officers and have observed many more.  I have come to the conclusion that the officers can be classified as follows:

• The ones who are actually cyclists and understand how it's different from being a pedestrian or motorist.  These, I believe, are the smallest group.

• The ones who act is if they know cycling, and the law.  This is a larger group.

• The ones who charge messengers, members of minority groups and any cyclist who doesn't appear to be white and well-educated with violations of actual or imaginary laws.  In this group are the ones who stop cyclists for Riding While Black.

I thought I had the whole NYPD covered until I heard about this:  an officer who wrote a summons for a cyclist who doesn't even exist.

Yes, you read that right.  Varon Shepard, a 49-year-old 19-year veteran of the force, showed not only his disdain for cyclists, but also his bigotry, overall ignorance and sheer avariciousness in writing a ticket to one "Carlos Dejuses."

I think he meant "De Jesus."  It wouldn't have surprised me if that mis-spelling had alerted someone.  But the thing that led to Shepard being shepherded out of the Department is that the time of the ticket is 11 am on 25 February.  His supervisor, as it turns out, saw him in the 17th Precinct Station house--six blocks away from where the bogus infractions were supposed to have taken place--until 12:45 pm that day.

Oh, and for the work of his creative imagination, shall we say, Shepard billed the New York Police Department for four hours of overtime.

For his efforts, the NYPD is giving him a conditional discharge.  The condition is that he resign from the force.

I am sure "Carlos Dejuses" would be happy--and hope that Varon Shepard has no hard feelings toward him!

They Extended The Road Ahead Of Him

If you've been reading this blog, you know that I take, on average, a trip to Florida every year.  Really, I go to visit my parents!  But you know that I enjoy the cycling and, if I'm lucky, good weather.

If you've read any of my posts about my time in Florida, or have spent any time in the Sunshine State, you also know that it's car-centric.  People travel greater distances to shop or do just about anything than we do in New York, mainly because development is more sprawled (at least in the parts of Florida I visit).  I don't even need to ride my bike to buy groceries when I'm home.  I know that no one in my parents' part of Florida enjoys that level of convenience; I doubt that very many people anywhere in the state have it.

Still, I see a fair number of people on bikes whenever I visit Florida, even when the weather is unusually cold, as it was last year.  (The temperature actually dropped to 23F one night!)  Some, like me, are visiting; others are "snowbirds" who spend part of the year in the state and the rest in some point north or west.  

There are, however, cyclists for whom their two wheels and pedals are their sole means of transportation.  These day-to-day riders include a whole range of people, from homeless veterans to latter-day hippies and those who can't drive because they're too poor or for other reasons.

Among those reasons is age.  While Florida's regulations on senior-citizen drivers are, not surprisingly, less restrictive than those of most other states, they still mandate shorter license renewals and vision tests for older drivers.  Moreover, the state's Department of Highway Safety and Motor Vehicles, which issues licenses, also conducts unsafe driver investigations upon requests from family members and others.  As a result of such investigations, as well as vision and driving tests, the state can also impose restrictions on elderly drivers, such as a ban on nighttime driving or a requirement that the driver has to wear a hearing aid or glasses.  In a few cases, senior citizens are banned from driving if they are believed to pose a safety hazard to themselves or others.

So, I suspect that at least a few of the seniors I've seen on bikes--and a fair number of those I've seen on three-wheelers--are pedaling because they can't drive anymore.  And, I suspect, at least a few are riding their bikes because they can't afford to drive anymore, or just enjoy cycling.




Whatever his reasons, Bob Wingate's bicycle was his only means of transportation.  The Cape Coral resident parked it at the Winn Dixie supermarket in his town.  A thief cut the cable he'd used to secure his bike.  Field Training Officer Ken Cody and Officer Trainee Guang Song of the Cape Coral Police Department were called to the scene.  

After taking the report, Cody and Song decided they couldn't let Wingate be without a bicycle.  So they went to a nearby Walmart and bought a new one, which they brought to Wingate's house.  Before they left, they even adjusted the seat and handlebars for him.

Those officers not only gave him back his means of transportation and his independence; they may have ensured that he'll live well beyond his current 80 years.  I suspect that other senior citizens I've seen on bikes in Florida, and elsewhere, realize that when they are on the road (or trail), there is more road ahead of them.

Are We 19 Percent More Lawless Than We Were Last Year?

Are New York City cyclists committing 19 percent more traffic violations than they were last year?

As of 1 October, the New York Police Department handed out 23,452 summonses to cyclists in 2017.  During the same nine-month period in 2016, cyclists in the Big Apple were issued 18,991 summonses.

"Ticket blitzes" are a common topic of conversations I have with other cyclists in this town.  Of course, the NYPD--like just about every other police department--denies that its members engage in such practices, or are under pressure to meet quotas.  It does, however, seem that we are ticketed en masse over certain hours, days or weeks.

It also seems that we are ticketed disproportionately compared to drivers.  I take that back:  There is evidence of this.  Officers often say that, under the law, we are operating vehicles and are therefore subject to the same regulations.  They are mostly correct about that. However, I have witnessed many drivers running red lights or talking on their phones while driving.  I have never seen any pulled over and ticketed.  Drivers routinely "gun it" through yellow signals in the intersection nearest my apartment,  and none ever seem to be penalized for it.  

Photo by Billie Grace Ward

And their actions can have far more serious consequences--but not to themselves, usually.  The metal surrounding them offers protection--to them, but not the cyclists, pedestrians (some of whom are residents of a senior center on the corner) or anyone else who happens to be on the outside.

Also, many cyclists feel "targeted" by the police.  I know I did when I was summonsed last year in Harrison:  The cop, on a motorcycle, followed me for about a kilometer to the intersection where I was charged with pedaling through a red light. The fact that it was near the end of the month and the officer told me to plead "not guilty" and just happened to be at the front desk when I appeared in court leads me to think that as a cyclist, I was simply an easy mark.  And, I am sure, other cyclists in New York City and other places are ticketed for that reason alone.

Or it could just be that the NYPD is under some mandate to raise 19 percent more revenue than it raised last year?  Who knows?

It Didn't Stop Him

In my time, I've been praised as a "tough" rider.  I won't deny it:  I've ridden long and hard in all manner of conditions and across all sorts of terrain.  I've cycled when I was ready to fall asleep and even in altered states of consciousness. (You can ask.  I might not answer!) . And, yes, I've pedaled in, and through pain.

When it comes to riding my bike with infirmity and discomfort, though, I have nothing on a fellow in South Nashville, Tennessee.  

Just after midnight this morning, police officers responded to a "shots fired" call on Lafayette Street.  There, they found a man struggling to ride a bicycle before he collapsed in the street.

Turns out, he had a gunshot wound in his leg.  Officers believe he got it somewhere near a barber shop in the neighborhood.  

Officers took him to Vanderbilt University Hospital, where it was determined that his injuries were not life-threatening.

That's what I used to tell my old training partners and riding buddies on those rare occasions when I got hurt: "It's non-life-threatening." And I would keep on going.

Now, whether I was tough or just stupid is a fair question.  Either way, I had nothing on that guy in South Nashville.

A Day In Court---For....?

Which is worse:

• laws, policies and regulations that govern cyclists but are conceived and enacted by people who don't ride bikes, or
• enforcement of said laws, policies and regulations by people who don't cycle?

A few months ago, I was caught in a "perfect storm", if you will, between the two.

It was around noon on a warm, late-summer day.  The sun shone brightly in a clear sky.  That meant something unusual for that time of the year in this part of the world:  very little humidity, which is probably the reason why I felt the light wind wasn't slowing me down, even though I was pedaling into it.  

At that moment, I was about two thirds of the way from my apartment to Greenwich, Connecticut.  So, unless that wind changed direction (it wouldn't), I could look forward to it giving me a "boost" on my way home.  Most important, though--at least at that moment--I was feeling really, really good:  I was astride Arielle, my Mercian Audax, and each pedal stroke seemed to invigorate me.  

Somewhere along  Halstead Avenue, one of the major thoroughfares in the Westchester County town of Harrison, I noticed a police officer perched on a motorcycle.  Alfred Hitchcock once said that if you are going to show a gun on a mantel, it has to be used to shoot somebody at some point during the movie.  I actually remember thinking about that--why, I didn't know--when I saw that officer.  

A couple of minutes later, I came to the town's major intersection: where Halstead crosses Harrison Avenue, next to the railroad station.  I saw trucks and construction crews on the other side of Harrison; as I approached the intersection, I could hear more trucks rumbling behind me.  

(Here is a Google image of the intersection, without the construction crews.)

Focusing on the construction work and trucks ahead of me, and seeing that no traffic was crossing Halstead from either side of Harrison Avenue, I increased my speed through the intersection so I could stay ahead of the trucks I'd heard rumbling behind me. I figured that I would be safer if they saw me ahead of them:  Truck drivers, in my experience, tend to be more careful than most drivers and give the right of way as long as they see you.  Also, I thought that if I crossed the intersection ahead of those trucks and whatever other traffic might be approaching behind me, I could more safely navigate the construction zone.

You can probably guess what happened next:  The cop on the motorcycle zoomed up alongside me.  At first, I didn't think anything of it.  Then he yelled, "You, on the bike.  Pull over!"  

I did. In front of a funeral home.  

"Let me see your license."

"What's the problem, officer?"

"You went through that red light."

"I did?"

He then lectured me about how New York State law says that bicycles are, in effect, vehicles and are governed in the same way.  That meant I had to stop for the red light at an intersection.  "You know, if there had been cross traffic, it could have ended really badly."

"But, officer, there wasn't any."

"You're still supposed to obey traffic signals."

I tried to explain to him that doing so could've landed me underneath one of those trucks.  He was hearing none of it.  Instead, he ran my license through his computer.  He ordered me to step back as he read the screen and printed out the summons.

"Have you ever dealt with the police before?"

"No, sir."   

Then, sotto voce, he told me to mail in the summons with a not guilty plea and the pre-trial date would be set.

Well, that day was the other day.  I went to the Harrison court house and stood on a line with about three dozen other people who had traffic summonses of one kind or another.  A man at a desk called each of us by name.  He called mine, and said that he was going to do me a "favor" and, as a result, I wouldn't have points on my license or a record of any kind.  

I then realized he was the officer who pulled me over and wrote the summons.  "Go to the line on your right, Miss Valinotti," he ordered. "Have a good day."

While waiting on line, a few of us got to talking.  It seems that Harrison has a reputation for issuing lots of traffic tickets.  One person remarked that it's the town's second-biggest source of revenue, after property taxes.  He might not have been kidding.

(Maybe I'm not the first one to think the town should be re-named "Harassment" or "Harrass-son".)

Anyway...I should mention that the day I was pulled over was the last Saturday in August.  Although the officer who stopped me--or, for that matter, any other officer--would probably deny that there was a "quota" system in place, it's hard not to believe that I was stopped for any other reason.  

It was probably the easiest way for the town of Harrison, New York to get 175 dollars from someone who doesn't live there--and who might not ever pass through again.  

Bicycling While Black In The Windy City

Two decades ago, I was living on Bergen Street, on the northern side of Park Slope, Brooklyn.  I was midway between Fifth Avenue, then one of the area's main shopping strips, and Flatbush Avenue, one of Brooklyn's main throughfares. 

The latter street was often called, in a grim joke,  "The Mason-Dixon Line."  The difference between the two sides of the Aveune was literally black and white.  I ended up on the white side.  Some time after I moved there, I realized that all of the apartments the agent with whom I'd dealt showed me were on the side of Flatbush where I lived.  

The local precinct house was just on the other side.  I often heard stories about how differently each side was policed.   It was during that time I heard an expression that may be familiar to you: Driving While Black, or DWB for short.

Of course, the phenomenon was not limited to that neighoborhood--or, for that matter, to any particular American city, or to the US.  It's also not surprising to realize that there's a two-wheeled equivalent:  BWB, or Biking While Black.

From phmelody.com

Yesterday, an article by Chicago Tribune reporter Mary Wisniewski revealed that of the ten community areas with the most bike tickets from 2008 to September 2016, not a single one has a white majority of residents.  Seven of those neighborhoods have an African-American majority, while Latinos are the majority in the other three.

What must be most galling, particularly to Black and Hispanic cyclists in the Windy City, is that the neighborhoods with the greatest numbers of cyclists are mainly-white enclaves such as West Town and Lincoln Park, whose cyclists didn't come anywhere to getting as many summonses as those in such communities as Austin and North Lawndale.


But African-American cyclists are bearing the greatest burden of constabular harassment, according to Wisniewski.
"As Chicago police ramp up their ticketing of cyclists," she writes,  "more than twice as many citations are being written in African-American communities than in white or Latino areas."

Some law enforcement officers and commanders repeat an argument I have heard before and is condescending or simply insulting, depending on your point of view.  In essence, they say people in low income (which usually means African or Hispanic) communities are less educated and therefore more ignorant of the rules of the road.  But others, including cycling advocates, point out there are simply more cops on the streets because of their higher crime rates, so there are more opportunities to stop cyclists in such neighborhoods.

Whatever the explanation, such tactics can only worsen relations between the police and non-white residents in a city where, by many accounts, such relations are worse than in most other cities.

And don't get me started on relations between cops and cyclists--or trans women!

Sneaking Off To The Boardwalk In The Fall

The weather warmed up a bit today, but it was still pretty blustery.  Still, this day felt very October-like, in contrast to the last three days,  which felt more like Thanksgiving weekend.  Not that I mind cool or chilly weather; it just seemed to follow me from Canada after the mild weather this part of the world was experiencing as I embarked.

Anyway, this afternoon I had some time to sneak out for a Coney Island ride, and to return home via the path that passes under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge--about 65 kilometers all told.

One sign that it's really Fall is that the boardwalk was not full of the strollers, sunbathers and such one sees even on weekdays for a few weeks after Labor Day.  But, more important, the light and air take on different hues and feels around the time of the Equinox.

Is it my imagination, but has the Parachute Jump taken on the color of fallen leaves?  A few weeks ago, it seemed more like a reddish-orange.  Hmm...Could I be imposing my ideas of the season on things I see?  Is life imitating the season?

Whatever, Tosca seemed to be enjoying it as much as I did.  Even though I didn't have a lower gear to shift into when I was pedaling into the wind, I didn't feel as if I had been straining.  In fact, riding today seemed like a shorter version of my ride the other day, albeit with different scenery.  Maybe it has something to do with the way I respond to the light and air of this time of year.

On the Coney Island Boardwalk, this sign has a way of popping up where you've never seen it before, after you haven't seen it for a long time.  

I would have expected to see it during the height of the summer season.  As a matter of fact, a couple of times when I rode on the boardwalk during the summer, police officers motioned for me to get off my bike.  But today there were no cops in sight.

Still, I didn't ride along the boarwalk:  I had just a bit more than enough time to ride to Coney and back.  But it was plenty.

Don't Forget Your Lycra!

Here's something to give new meaning to the term "fashion police":

In the UK town of Bath (as in Chaucer's "Wife of..."), constables stopped cyclist Tim Burton, who was riding a fixed-gear bike.  That in itself is fairly unusual in that area, as it's fairly hilly, so not many people ride fixies.  

But, as Burton explained, the bike has dropped bars (as, ahem, a real fixed-gear bike should ;-)) and, to a casual observer, might look like a road bike.  Turns out, there'd been a rash of "garage and shed break-ins"in which bikes--mainly road bikes--were taken, according to Officer Keith James.  So what made Officer James think Burton was un voleur de bicyclette?

Sit down before you read the answer:  Burton wasn't wearing any lycra.

Yes, you read that right.  Apparently, Officer James thought Burton wasn't a "real" cyclist and therefore had no business riding as good a bike as his.  "Maybe I didn't look hipster enough," he mused.

After performing a check of the bike's serial number and Burton's background, the constables released Burton with his bike.  Even after his ordeal, he said, "It's nice to see them looking out for pinched bikes.  I told (the officer) I appreciated it."  And he certainly didn't miss the irony:  "It's amusing that I've been stopped for no Lycra!"

Now,if I were to wear Lycra, that would really be a crime!

How Do You Cross This Bridge When You Come To It?

As a bridge--indeed, as a structure--the Atlantic Beach Bridge is not at all remarkable.  It opened in 1950; like so much else built at the time, it was built from steel and concrete in thoroughly prosaic forms.  (Did I just sound like some pretentious architecture "critic"?)  And, as one might expect from such a span built on a shipping lane that was once widely-used (and is still used for that purpose), it's a drawbridge.

I have ridden over it any number of times, as have other New York cyclists I know:  If you're going to Long Beach, Lido Beach or Point Lookout, there aren't many other ways to go.  Crossing it is pleasant enough:  There are beaches, boat docks and houses along the Reynolds Channel, which the bridge spans, and the ocean is just a few swim strokes away.  

I had long assumed that the bridge connected Far Rockaway--which, as its name indicates, is the New York City neighborhood farthest from midtown Manhattan--with Atlantic Beach, which is in Nassau County.  However, the line between the city and the county is actually a few feet away from the entrance to the bridge, at the end of Sea Girt Boulevard.  

Why does this matter for cyclists?  Well, on most bridges in New York City that have pedestrian lanes but not dedicated bike lanes, cyclists routinely ride without a thought.   This happens even on those bridges where signs command cyclists to walk their wheels over the span.   There seems to be a kind of understanding, or at least a truce, between cyclists and pedestrians and, it seems to me, confrontations between the two are rare.  At least, I've never seen, or been involved in, one!

On the other hand, Nassau County--or its police, at any rate--doesn't always have such a laissez-faire attitude toward cyclists.  There is a command post right next to the tollbooth (Interestingly, cyclists were charged five cents to cross until 1975, when the bridge's bond was retired.) and, every once in a while, the gendarmes decide to use their powers on cyclists.  Lately, that has been happening with increased frequency.  In fact, about two weeks ago, as I was entering the bridge, another cyclist who was riding in the other direction warned me that officers were handing out tickets on the other side of the bridge.  So I walked, which added about another ten minutes to my trip.

Indeed, I saw two of those officers.  Fortunately, I had walked across.  Today, I was thinking about whether or not to ride across when I saw two middle-aged male cyclists walking their steeds from the middle of the bridge.  When I turned my head, I saw the reason why:  Two officers were standing by a police van just outside the command center.  

Being the upright citizen that I am '-), I walked.  I saw no other cyclists besides those middle-aged men, which surprised me, given that it was neither oppressively warm nor humid, and there was absolutely no threat of rain.  Then again, today is Tuesday, so one wouldn't expect to see as many pedestrians or cyclists as one would see on a weekend day.

Sometimes, when the weather is warm, the bridge's path is thick with pedestrian traffic on weekends, particularly on Saturdays--especially when they come during a Jewish holiday.  There are fair-sized Orthodox communities on both sides of the bridge and, as they're not allowed to drive (or, depending on how their rabbis interpret Halakhik law, ride bicycles), they all walk.  So, to be fair, I can understand more enforcement of the mandate for cyclists to walk their bicycles at such times.  On the other hand, on a day like today, when both pedestrian and cycling traffic are much lighter (I only saw one pedestrian each time I crossed the bridge, and on my way back, I didn't see any other cyclists.), I should think that enforcement would be less of a priority.  After all, even on that relatively narrow walkway, cyclists and pedestrians can easily steer clear of each other.  And, as on the New York City spans, most are respectful and courteous.  

Then again, from what I understand, Nassau County is in far more dire financial straits than the city is in.  Call me a cynic or conspiracy theorist if you like, but I can't help but to think that's a reason why I (and others) have been seeing more constables on the Atlantic Beach Bridge lately.