Our Mistakes Migrating North?

 In one way, hostility drivers direct at cyclists is like racism, sexism and homo- and transphobia: It’s based on stereotypes and other misconceptions.

One of the stereotypes about cyclists is that we’re Lycra-clad antisocial scofflaws (or “sexy-ass hipster girls”). I stopped wearing Lycra years ago and I obey the law to the degree that I can without endangering myself or anyone else.

As for misconceptions:  One that drivers have shouted at me when they cut me off is that cyclists and bike lanes are the reason why drivers spend so much time sitting in traffic.

I can understand why they, however misguidedly, link bike lanes with traffic jams. On Crescent Street, where I lived until a few months ago, a bike lane was installed a few years ago. From day one, I thought it was a terrible idea because Crescent, a southbound thoroughfare with two traffic and parking lanes, was the only direct connection between the RFK Memorial Bridge/Grand Central Parkway and the Queensborough (59th Street) Bridge/Long Island Expressway. For that reason, it has always had more traffic than the other north-south streets (except 21st) in Astoria and Long Island City. The situation was exacerbated by Mount Sinai-Queens hospital on Crescent and 30th Avenue, two blocks from where I lived.

So as poor a decision as it was to turn a Crescent traffic lane into a bike route, it was not the cause of traffic tie-ups or drivers’ inability to find parking: Vehicular logjams and the paucity of parking spaces plagued the street long before the bike lane arrived.

Unfortunately, similar mistakes in bike infrastructure planning have been made, and motorists’ misconceptions and frustrations have resulted, all over New York and other US cities. They have led grandstanding politicians and candidates to pledge that no more bike lanes will be built and existing ones will be “ripped out.”

Even more worrisome, at least to me, is that lawmakers in a place that seems to have more enlightened policies than ours are talking about such knee-jerk “solutions” to traffic “problems.” In the Canadian province of Ontario, the government is considering legislation that would prohibit the installation of bike lanes if motor vehicle lanes have to be removed.

Bike lane on Eglinton Avenue. Toronto. Photo by Paul Smith for CBC.

The “reasoning” behind it is the population—and traffic—growth around cities like Toronto, Ottawa and Hamilton which has led to longer commute times.

What such policy makers fail to realize is that growth, especially in the suburbs, is largely a result of building roads that provide direct access to cities’ business districts, or between suburban locations.  Research has shown this pattern to repeat itself in metropolitan areas all over the world:  One planner describes it as a “build it and they will come” phenomenon.

Moreover, the legislation Ontario lawmakers are proposing posits a false choice between motor vehicle and bike lanes and pits cyclists against motorists. It’s difficult to see how inciting such a conflict will make commuting—or cycling or driving for any other kind of transportation or recreation—safer or more efficient.

I hope that Ontario’s legislature will stop and listen to research and evidence rather than loud, angry voices. My hope is not unfounded: our neighbors to the north seem to do such things more often and earlier, whether it comes to transportation, marriage equality or any number of other issues.

This Ride: A Long Branch Of A Memory

I ended another ride by the sea as the sun set.  But this time I wasn't on Coney Island or Long Island. I rode to someplace I hadn't been in twenty years.

No, I wasn't in Cap Ferret or anyplace else on la Cote d'Argent.  In fact, I was on this side of the Atlantic.

Now, how is that possible? you might ask.  Well, at the point I reached the ocean, the coast curves inward, to the southwest.  So, from there, it's actually possible to look south and see the sun setting on the ocean.

Where was I?  The city is one that you may have heard of; if not, you've heard of at least one very close to it.  Said neighbor is Asbury Park; the burg in question is none other than Long Branch, New Jersey.

Incongruously, the neighborhood containing that part of the coast is called "the West End."  Almost everything in Long Branch that isn't north of it is to its west; only the charming village of Elberon is to its south.

I got there via a route I hadn't quite intended.  Once again, I took the PATH train to Newark and started riding there, through the industrial necropoli of Essex and northern Union counties that were as deserted on Sunday morning as, well, most churches during the rest of the week.  I continued, as I did a week earlier, down State Route 27, a.k.a. St.George's Avenue, past Rahway and down to Route 35 to the bridge over the Raritan River.  I saw almost no traffic up to that point, which probably isn't so unusual for a Sunday.

But after the crossing, the road takes some sharp turns and narrows. And it loses its shoulder.  And, suddenly, cars and trucks multiplied.  As I did last week, I took some roads that paralleled 35 until they didn't.  After making a "wrong" turn, the chemical tanks gave way to gravel yards, then to bare trees and brown fields.  On the last day of November, they weren't beautiful so much as they offered an austere sort of calm.

That austerity soon turned into barns and houses just a little too fancy to be farm houses.  I had wandered into the horse country of western Monmouth County, in the communities of Holmdel, Colts Neck and Lincroft.  None of it seemed to have changed at all since I last saw it, at least two decades ago.

Time seemed to stand still, as well, along Newman Springs Road, which I rode from Lincroft to the part of Red Bank away from the main shopping district.  From there, I was back on 35, though it was wider and less trafficked than before, in spite of the mall and stores along the way.  Then, after passing the former Fort Monmouth, I turned onto  Route 36, which is drab (the highlight being the Motor Vehicle Inspection station) until you pass the campus of Monmouth University in West Long Branch. 

I knew I had arrived in Long Branch without seeing the sign that welcomes visitors.  This told me where I was:

The central district, West End and Elberon are full of such architectural delights.  Some are basic, charming gingerbread houses, but others have their own unique characters.  

At one time, the city was one of the most fashionable resorts in the area, if not the whole United States.  Seven Presidents--Chester A. Arthur, James Garfield, Ulysses S. Grant, Benjamin Harrison, Rutherford B. Hayes, William McKinley and Woodrow Wilson--made summer visits there.  Monmouth Race Track is nearby, and during those heady days in the second half of the 19th Century and the first two decades of the twentieth, the city's casinos brought in flocks of gamblers. And, the city's vibrant theatre and nightlife scene made it a kind of proto-Hollywood where celebrities performed as well as lived and vacationed. 

But, along with Prohibition came laws that severely restricted gaming, so Long Branch's casinos closed.  And, with the ascendancy of Hollywood, Long Branch lost much of its allure and went into a slow but steady decline.  This downward slope steepened in the 1950s, when the Garden State Parkway and New Jersey Turnpike (which is part of I-95) opened and offered easy access to beaches further south.  Panicky white residents fled after the 1970 riots (on Independence Day weekend) in nearby Asbury Park.  By the late 1980's, much of the city was like a piece of driftwood that grew more and more battered with each wave, with each passing storm, but somehow survived like the inhabitants of the island in Gulliver's Travels.

One area that had become seedy has been redeveloped into Pier Village.  It's pretty but a bit too twee, lined with stores that don't have much of anything I'd ever buy even if I could afford them.  Thankfully, my favorite parts of the city were spared such a fate.  And you can still see the sunset on the ocean without crossing the Atlantic or the continent!

They Should've Been Riding Bikes

Yesterday I wrote about the Long Island Motor Parkway, which, in its history, has been one of America's first race courses and one of its first automotive expressways--and would become of the last bike lanes to open in New York for nearly half a century.  Now it's a segment of what is supposed to become the Brooklyn-Queens Greenway.

So, perhaps, there was some weird sort of synchronicity, or whatever you want to call it, at work when I found this image on one of my favorite non-bike blogs, Old Picture of the Day:

Riding An Early Race Course

Believe it or not, this was once an automobile race course.

It was also one of America's first expressways.  At least, it was one of the first roads to be designed so that drivers wouldn't have to stop for traffic lights, railroad crossings or many of the other things they'd have to contend with on conventional roadways.

Of course, when it was serving the functions I described, it didn't have all of the trees and other vegetation growing on its sides.  That was allowed after the road became a bike/pedestrian path.

Yes, the path in the photo was once part of the Long Island Motor Parkway, which I mentioned in an earlier post.  Now it's a segment of the planned Brooklyn-Queens Greenway.

I don't know whether storm damage has been cleared, or whether there wasn't much of it on the path.  Running through the middle of Queens, it's several miles from either the north or south shores and, I would assume, out of the path of a storm surge.

Here the former Parkway takes a turn underneath the expressway--the Northern State Parkway--that rendered it obsolete for automotive use.

When it carried automobile traffic, the Parkway had  several "toll lodges". (Don't you just love that term?)  One of them now serves as a Parks Department facility in Cunningham Park:

Tosca was clearly enjoying the ride, as I was:

From Motor Parkway To Bike Lane

In France, I did most of my cycling on Routes Departmentales.  They are designated with "D" or "RD"  and a number on road signs and Michelin maps.

Route Departmentale 618 in the Pyrenees, which I cycled in 2000.

The Departmentales wend along rivers, climb mountains and transverse sunflower fields, vineyards and all manner of verdant landscapes and villages in every part of the country.  Most were built early in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries; a few were built by paving over roads that date to Roman times.  

They were constructed while bicycling enjoying enormous popularity and as the automobile was in its early stages of development.  As automobiles became more common (though still not as common as they were becoming in the US), a new system of roads--Routes Nationales--made their way through the country and connected the cities.  The Departmentales then fell into disuse in many areas.

A similar process occured during the 1950's and 1960's, when Autoroutes were built to connect the cities.  Then, even more Departmentales lost whatever traffic they previously had.

Although not intended as bicycle lanes,  Deparmentales became wonderful venues for two-wheeled travel through the French countryside.  In spite of how little traffic most of them see, they are remarkably well-maintained.  Many of them run more or less parallel to Nationales or even Autoroutes.  So, getting around is relatively easy, even for someone who is as navigationally-challenged as I am!

I was thinking of Departmentales when I came across this photo taken in July 1939:

No, they're not in the Dordogne.  They are commemorating the conversion of two and a half mile stretch of the Long Island Motor Parkway--which had been closed down three months earlier--into a bike lane.  

Financier and railroad mogul William K. Vanderbilt Jr. built the Parkway early in the 20th Century as a racecourse.  By World War I, it had been turned into a toll road used mainly by wealthy socialites en route to their weekend and vacation homes on eastern Long Island.  However, after the Northern State Parkway opened in 1929, it fell into disuse and was closed three months before a stretch of it re-opened as a bike path.  

In time, about eight miles (13 kilometers) of the Motor Parkway would re-open as a bike path. It's a very pleasant ride that meanders through some of the nicest parkland in eastern Queens.  I sometimes ride the westernmost part of it--which ends near the Kissena Velodrome--during my commutes.  

What made it an innovative road when it was built is also, in part, what makes it a nice bike lane now.  In addition to having lovely settings, the Parkway was one of the first concrete-paved roads in the United States (Asphalt was not yet in use.) and the first to use bridges and overpasses.

In an earlier post, I proposed turning the roadbeds of no-longer-used railroad tracks in Queens, and other parts of New York, into bike lanes.  Now I wonder whether there are some similarly-disused roadways that could also be converted.  I can just imagine pedaling through the urban, industrial and pastoral landscapes of New York, and the rest of the country, the way I cycled along the departmentales in the French countryside.