How A Bobby On A Bike Wrote The World's First Speeding Ticket

I've been pulled over for speeding--on my bicycle.  

I don't know how fast I was riding, but the speed limit was 25 or 30 mph, if I recall correctly:  It was a long time ago and, I confess, I was under the influence of something that was illegal everywhere in the US at the time.

(One good thing about getting older is that the statute of limitations runs out.)

Anyway, it was late at night and I think the cop who pulled me over didn't have anything else to do.  I said something like, "Sorry, officer, I didn't realize there was a speed limit for bicycles."  I don't know whether he didn't catch my sarcasm or realized that if I actually committed an offense, it wasn't worth his, or the department's, time to pursue.  He lectured me for a couple of minutes and asked where I was going. "Home," and I told him where in the town--Highland Park, New Jersey--it was without giving an exact address.  "Just be careful, and slow down," he admonished.  "OK.  Have a good evening, sir."

If he didn't ticket me because he thought it wasn't worth the effort, he may well have realized he couldn't charge me.  In some places, bicycles are classified as "vehicles" and are subject to the same traffic regulations; in other places, they aren't.  I'm not sure of what the laws were, or how they were interpreted, in that town or state 40-some-odd years ago.  

A constable in the Kent village of Paddock Wood faced a similar dilemma on 28 January 1896.  Huffing and puffing, he caught up to a speeding scofflaw named Walter Arnold.

His response to the bobby:  "Have you thought about asking your superiors for an upgrade, sir?"  The cop was on his department-issue bicycle, but Arnold wasn't talking about a lighter or even motorized bike. "I could provide him with a very good deal on a Benz motor, finest German engineering..."

Turns out, Arnold was one of the first car dealers in England, and the local supplier of Benz vehicles.  The terms "automobile" weren't yet in use; the conveyances were more commonly referred to as "horseless carriages."   That would be important in Arnold's case.

The officer, whose name is lost to history, was not amused.  He wrote Arnold a citation for four "informations" (counts): using a "locomotive without a horse," having fewer than three persons "in charge of the same," speeding and not having his name and address on the vehicle.

Walter Arnold's "hot rod."

Those offences were against regulations written for horse-drawn carriages.  Arnold's barrister made exactly that point in his client's defense and told the judge that if the carriage were to be considered a "locomotive" (a term for any sort of vehicle powered by an outside source) and if Arnold were to be so charged, he should be levied only a nominal fines for "using a carriage without a locomotive horse" and even smaller fines for the other charges.  Arnold paid them without protest; the publicity the case generated paid for his penalties many times over.

Ironically, one of the constable's pretexts for stopping Arnold--not having a man with a red flag in front of the carriage--was not mentioned during the hearing.  That regulation, however, was subsequently dropped.  As Miriam Bibby wryly notes, it "presumably left the labour exchange staff scratching their heads over what to do with a skill that clearly wan't that transferrable."  

Now to the question some of you may have been asking:  How fast was Walter Arnold driving?  Are you ready for this: 8 mph.  And what was the speed limit for horse-drawn carriages:  2 mph.

Reading all of that, I don't feel so bad about how much I've slowed down in my transition from that young male bike rider whom a Highland Park cop pulled over for speeding to a female midlife cyclist.  Of course, I'm defining "midlife" as elastically (Is that a word?") as Walter Arnold's vehicle could be defined as a "carriage."

 

Mayor Wants To Hold Motorist Accountable In Latest Cyclist Death

Too often, a motorist kills or maims a cyclist and gets not much more than a traffic summons--or a sympathetic pat on the back from a police officer. 

The cynic in me, and other cyclists, believed that Umar Baig would be the latest such driver.  Last Sunday, in Brooklyn, he sped through a red light on Coney Island Avenue. Another driver, traveling on Avenue L, T-boned his car.  Both vehicles spun out of control. One of them struck 52-year-old Jose Alzorriz of Park Slope, who became the 19th cyclist killed on New York City streets in 2019.  

Baig was briefly held and released.  The NYPD says it will charge him, but they did not say with what. Presumably, they will come to a determination after working with the Brooklyn District Attorney.

If Mayor Bill de Blasio has his way, Baig will not be the next driver to get tea and sympathy, and maybe a ticket.  "If you kill someone through your negligence, maybe that's not murder one, I'm not a lawyer, but I'd say it should be a serious, serious charge, with many years in prison" he declared. "It's not that that something unavoidable happened," he explained. "He blew through a red light at high speed, and someone is gone now, a family is grieving."

Let's hope that the Brooklyn DA and the NYPD see the situation as the Mayor has seen it.   Already, nearly twice as many cyclists have been killed in 2019--with more than a third of the year to go--as in all of 2018.

If Speed Doesn't Kill

Today I'm going to talk about one of those topics about which none of us wants to think:  accidents.

Specifically, I'm thinking about motorists hitting or, worse, running down cyclists.

One reason it's on my mind is that last night, I had one of the closest calls I've had in a while.  

I had just traversed the Pulaski Bridge from McGuiness Boulevard in Greeenpoint, Brooklyn to Jackson Avenue in Long Island City, Queens--a crossing I've made hundreds of times.  On Jackson, I turned left and followed it to 50th Avenue.  Then I turned right on Vernon Boulevard, which skirts the East River and takes me within a few blocks of my apartment.

Daylight, such as it was, fell into night.  Showers were turning into a downpour.  Even that, in itself, is not so unusual, especially at this time of year.  I exercised my usual caution:  I rode a little bit slower and gave myself extra time and distance to brake.  I expected nothing more inconvenient than wet clothes (I was riding Vera, which has full fenders and a flap, but I had not brought any rain gear.) on the rest of my trip home.  

But as I approached the "Y" shaped intersection of Vernon with 45th Avenue and 10th Street, a car shot out from behind me and seemed to miss my front wheel by inches.  A quick turn of my handlebars saved me.

The intersection was well-lit, so my "blinky" lights and reflective vest should have been sufficient for the driver to see me.  There was no light or "stop" sign in the intersection, and I proceeded as far to the right as I could without making a turn.  

However, that driver had to be going at least twice the speed limit for that street.  And, given that it was early on Saturday night, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that his blood-alcohol level was over the legal limit.

In thinking about the incident, I realize that in every one of my close encounters with automobiles in which road conditions or inadequate signals or signage weren't the cause, the driver was speeding.  And, I would suspect that there was a better-than-even chance that the driver was drinking.

Then, just a little while ago, in doing some research (i.e., surfing the web), I came across this account of a 70-year-old cyclist in India who was mowed down by a speeding mini-bus. As it turns out, the driver has a record of speeding and recklessness.

That got me to wondering whether speeding is the main cause of accidents between cars and bikes in which the motorist is at fault.