What You Need To Hydrate Properly

Paris in January is neither hot nor dry (at least, not yet). Even so, when pedaling down the boulevards, avenues and pistes cycleables of the City of Light on misty day, it's just as important to hydrate as it is if you're barreling down an Arizona canyon in summertime.

But drinking like a proper French person is not just a matter of choosing jus, eau, vin, cafe or some other libation. The proprietor of La New Cave, on Boulevard Malesherbes in Paris' fashionable 8eme Arrondissement, understands that one must also consider the spirit (pun intended) in which the beverage is presented:

I asked the proprietor whether there was a "frais supplementaire" for his charming accent,  to which he replied a resounding "Non!"  So, some of the best things in life are free after all!

If I Were A Museum Director...

 Every museum should have bicycle parking facilities--preferably indoors, with a valet.

The Metropolitan Museum in New York offered it briefly, thanks to a collaboration with Transportation Alternatives, when it re-opened after its pandemic-induced closure.  I was reminded of that during my latest Paris trip, when I went museum-hopping on the bikes I borrowed and rented.

In nine days, I visited the Rodin, Picasso, Modern Art (twice), Jacquemart-Andre and Orsay Museums. Sidewalk or curbside bike racks stood just outside all of them, secluded from the traffic.  Also, there were Velib ports near all of them.  So, in Paris it is easier than it is in New York to bike from museum to museum, without having to worry about whether your bike will be where you parked it after spending a couple or a few hours looking at paintings and sculptures.  Still, I would love to see indoor facilities--and even more encouragement of, not only cycling in general (which Paris' current mayor seems to be doing plenty of) but of riding to museums and other cultural sites.

"The Scream" isn't Edvard Munch's only painting.

I mean, for me, there is nothing like taking in the colors and forms, and the ideas and feelings they convey, after a ride along city streets.  The people, buildings and streets I see, almost kaleidoscopically, put me in a mind and mood about how artists see the subjects of their work and transform them into transmissible visions. 

Perhaps it has to do with the blood that pumps into my brain as much as the sensory stimuli I experience while riding.  That might also be the reason why I can go into "old favorite" museums like the Rodin or New York's Guggenheim, or newer favorites like the Jacquemart-Andre,  and feel as if I am, not only re-connecting, but re-discovering.

Lady Macbeth, by Fussli

Now, in the Jacquemart- Andre, I sauntered through a special exhibit of Johan Heinrich Fussli, an artist I knew peripherally through his connections with the London literary and theatre worlds of the 18th Century.  But its permanent exhibit, like the one in the Rodin, also felt fresh. So did seeing the more as well as the less famous Edvard Munch works in a special exhibit at the Orsay:  Even the "Scream" resonated for me, as did the works of Oskar Kokoschka in a Modern Art special exhibit.

Oskar Kokoschka, self-portrait

If I were a museum director, I would make bike riding a requirement for entrance.  Or, at least, I would offer a discounted admission price. (I can't exclude people who can't ride, after all!)  On second thought, if I had my way, all museums would be free.  It would be the only policy that would be fair to everybody, wouldn't it? 

That I think that way is probably one reason why I never could be a museum director:  They have to raise money somehow.  But perhaps one will listen to me when I say that cyclists make the best museum visitors.  Really, we do.

A Bike And A Bike Lane Done Right

Today I'm going to talk about a bike and a bike lane.

First, what I rode for three days in Paris. I'd already mentioned it in an earlier post.  I wanted to come back to it because it's unlike any other rental bike--or any other bike, period--I've ridden.

It's like the other bikes that comprise Paris a Velo's current rental fleet.  When I availed myself to their services four years ago, the bike I rode--which, again, was like the others in their rental fleet at the time--was a kind of hybrid/city bike.  It wasn't made for fast riding, but it sucked up abuse and neglect pretty well.

The same could be said, perhaps even more so, for the bike I rode on this trip.  Victor assured me that the tires were "flat resistant" and that the bike shouldn't give me trouble. He was right on both counts.  What I found interesting about this machine, though, were its construction and its ride.

About its build: While it, not surprisingly, doesn't have the fine filet-brazing of a constructeur bike, it did incorporate at least one principle of those old masters: structural integrity.  The rear rack is of a piece with the frame, and the front end is braced for strength.  One result is a surprisingly stable ride given the small wheels.

Those wheels, perhaps not surprisingly, got me to thinking about the one small-wheeled bike I owned and rode for any period of time:  a Dahon Vitesse.  (I briefly owned an Italian folding bike that I found on a curbside and "flipped" a few days later.)  One major difference, of course, is that the Paris a Velo bike doesn't fold.  That might be the reason why the PV bike felt so much more stable and was unexpectedly easy to accelerate.

(Oh, and I want to add that Victor included a really nice rain cape with the rental. I was tempted to ask whether I could buy it from him.)

One of the first places where I rode it was a bike lane along the Seine, toward the Notre Dame.  Too often, when I see new bike lanes in the US, I ask, "Why did they bother?"  If a lane isn't demonstrably safer than riding in traffic, there simply is no point to it.  Whoever designed that lane must have understood as much:  It's physically separated from the roadway by barriers that motor vehicles can't easily cross.  Better yet, there's plenty of room for cyclists traveling in both directions.  Too often--as with the Crescent Street lane in front of my apartment--a cyclist coming from the opposite direction risks a head-on collision or forces one cyclist to veer into traffic traveling in the opposite direction. (Crescent is a one-way street.)

So...while there might not be one "right" way to do a bike lane or city rental bike, I am happy to have experienced both done right.

Une Vraie Parisienne?

While riding (or walking) Paris streets, one encounters bikes not normally (if ever) seen in the United States, even in New York.  In the 11th Arrondissement, a lively area between the Place de la Bastille and Place de la Republique, I spotted this:

I had a difficult time photographing the whole bike because it was so closely parked.  Nontheless, I got to see the tidy lugwork and worn but tasteful paint job.  The only identifying mark I could find was the "S" on the head tube, so I don't know its provenance.  Somehow I don't think the frame is from a constructeur, as nicely done as it is. Perhaps seeing such basic equipment, such as a long-cage Huret Eco derailleur (not the Duopar; this one was almost never exported to the US) and a lower-end swaged triple crankset (from Nervar or Solida, perhaps), prejudiced my judgment.

What I couldn't help but to notice were some details one almost never sees on a bike in the US. One example is the front rack in the first photo.  It, like the rear, is attached to the fender, in the manner of the constructeurs.  I can't help but to think that rack was designed with panniers in mind.

I also loved the "guards" around the front and tail lights. Those, along with the fenders, rack and wide tires, show that this bike is meant to be ridden in all sorts of conditions.

The wheels are obviously not the originals:  The hubs look like the sort found on basic-level repair wheels.  I wonder whether this bike originally had a set of touring wheels with, say, Mavic MA3, Super Champion/Wolber 58 or Weinmann Concave rims and a nicer set of hubs--like the Maxicar?

Whatever the original intent purpose, and the provenance, of this bike may have been, it looks like a classic Parisienne!

Riding To A Light Show

More about my Paris trip--including the bike I rented and one I saw on the street--are on the way, I promise.  I'm still under the weather, just as the new semester is beginning.

In the meantime, I'll show you a treat that awaited me during one of my rides in the City of Light.

You were expecting a crepe or some such thing?  Actually, I did enjoy one with creme de marron (chestnut paste--much better than Nutella!) at a nearby stand. The fellow who made it was, in his own right, an artist.  So was the person (or were the persons) responsible for that riot of light and color.

No, a rabid painter or eccentric designer didn't storm his or her way into the abbey of Saint Germain des Pres.  The artist or artists in question did their work long ago and, perhaps unwittingly, made another kind of art--something we might call an "installation"--possible.

Ironically, the abbey stands across the eponymous Place from a cafe--Deux Magots--renowned as a haven for artists, writers, composers and other creative people during the first half of the twentieth century. Most who make the pilgrimage to the cafe and the surrounding area for its literary and artistic heritage do not, I suspect, visit the church for which the Place is named.  Likewise, I don't think most who enter the church are much interested in the walking in the footsteps or imbibing the  nectar that nourished the talents of Sartre, de Beauvoir, Hemingway and their contemporaries.

Sans Casque?

In the sweep of history, four years isn't even the blink of an eye. But, even at my age--when you start to think of people within fifteen years or so of your own age as your peers--four years, especially if they're anything like the ones that have just passed, can seem like a geological age.

I'll spare you the cliche that "we are living in a different world" from that of 2019. (OK, since I've mentioned it, I didn't spare you from it, did I?) I have seen changes in my Astoria, New York neighborhood and in the city as a whole.  The passage of time, however, seems all the more sweeping when you return to a place you haven't seen in a while, especially if that place doesn't change as much or as quickly as your own environs.

While Paris is a modern city in terms of technology and infrastructure, its overall appearance doesn't change nearly as dramatically as that of New York in any given period of time.  You can count on returning to a building you saw in the City of Light four, fourteen or forty years ago.  Even some of the stores, restaurants and cafes you remember will be there if you return.  So, perhaps, that quality makes any change  all the more striking.

In my case, I couldn't help but to notice how many more people were on bikes than I saw during previous visits.  I'd heard and read that many people took to riding--for transportation, recreation and fitness--during the pandemic.  Apparently, they stayed in the saddle.  Of course that makes me happy.  I also noticed, on the other hand, e-bikes and scooters, which were nowhere to be seen the year before the pandemic.  I saw the proliferation of those vehicles in New York as the first weeks and months of the pandemic turned into years, but in Paris, it seemed as if they were all superimposed on the image I had of the city from the last time I saw it. 

One thing hasn't changed, though:  Almost no scooter-rider or cyclist, whether of the completely human-powered or electric variety, was wearing a helmet.  I admit that I didn't wear one, either:  It's not the easiest thing to pack, especially if you're traveling only with a carry-on bag.  But somehow I didn't feel as vulnerable or exposed as I do when I leave my apartment avec velo, sans casque.

I got to thinking about that when I came across this article. It points out, correctly, that the obsession with helmet-wearing is mainly an American one.  As the article's author, Marion Renault, points out, few cyclists in the Netherlands don the plastic and foam shells.  One reason, according to Renault, is that the Dutch feel safer while riding:  Their infrastructure lends itself to safe cycling to a much greater degree than what we have in the 'States.  Also, Dutch drivers' awareness and attitudes towards cyclists are very different from those of their American counterparts.

Something similar could be said, I think, for Paris and France, if to a lesser degree. Certainly, I felt safer, whether I was riding on a protected lane or in traffic.  About the latter:  Even though Paris streets are narrower than those in New York, I felt as if I had more room to maneuver.  Most likely, that had something to do with the fact that vehicles are smaller and lower to the street:  You don't often see anything like America's best-selling vehicle class: the Ford F-Series, which weighs 7500 pounds and has a hood that stands four and a half feet tall--about the height of an adult's chin.

That brings me to another point Renault makes:  most helmet testing does not, and cannot, measure the impact of a collision between such a vehicle and a cyclist.  For one thing, it's all but impossible to replicate such conditions in a laboratory.  There are more variables in such collisions than there are in, say, a clash between (American) football players.  

One of those variables, as I implied earlier, is the driver him or her self.  When I was doored two years ago, a nurse in the emergency room declared, "Good thing you were wearing your helmet."  While that was probably true, I would have been safer had the driver glanced out her window and seen me on the other side before she opened her door. I think a lot of French and Dutch riders would agree.  They also know that having good bike lanes, room to maneuver and traffic regulations that makes sense do at least as much as any piece of protective gear to promote their safety:  Their cyclists' rates of injury and death are much lower than those of their American counterparts.

So, if and when I return to Paris or Amsterdam, or anyplace else in France or the Netherlands, will I see as few cyclists wearing helmets as I saw during the trip I just took?

It Wasn't Age After All!

 The other day, I mentioned that I didn't post during the last few days of my latest Paris trip because my full days ended with my getting back to my hotel in the wee hours of morning and collapsing onto the bed.  I intimated that, perhaps, age was catching up with me because I felt tired, if in good ways, after the sorts of activities--visiting museums and friends and, of course, walking and cycling--that also comprised previous trips.  

Well, now I know (or, at least, think I know) the real cause of my fatigue.  You might think that I am in denial and want to continue calling this blog "Midlife Cycling."  I assure you that's not the case.  Also, I tend not to suffer from "jet lag" for very long, so that's not a reason why I have become an immobile object or, if I want to put a positive spin on it, Marlee's bed.

What seemed like a slight cold during my time with Alec and Michele on Thursday devolved into bouts of coughing and sneezing on the flight home and, now, my respiratory system turning into something the Department of Environmental Protection might condemn.

Oh well.  I've gone from lunches of confit de canard with Jay and Isabelle  and civet de cerf with Alec and Michele to slurping down gallons of water, juice, chicken broth, alone, wrapped in a blanket.  That means, of course, that I haven't ridden since I've come home to colder, blustier (Is that a word?) weather than I experienced in Paris.

So I am in my apartment with Marlee, my books and my bikes.  About the latter--here's what I rode after returning the bike I borrowed:

Turns out, Paris a Velo  (formerly known as Paris Velo, C'est Sympa) was open after all!  The proprietor, Victor, explained that the pandemic boosted demand for his bikes and, therefore, he's operated year-round ever since.  When I last rented one of his bikes four years ago (almost to the week!), he made a special trip into the shop for me and one other customer who'd made a reservation. That might be the reason why he remembered me, "d'une monde different."

The bike I rode was different, too:

in contrast to the more conventional hybrid/city bike I rode four years ago.  More about that later.

Une Meilleure Version De Moi?

 I didn't get lost, kidnapped, hired or eloped in Paris.

(Sometimes there isn't a whole lot of difference between any two, or all, of the four items on that list, is there?)

I did, however, have my portrait painted by an expatriate artist:

Actually, that Oskar Koskoschuka painted that portrait more than a quarter-century before I was born.  Was he envisioning a better version of me?

Seriously, though...I saw that painting during my just-ended (boo-hoo) visit to Paris.

Me Revoila!

You haven't heard a day-by-day description because I really filled my days there and wasn't getting back to my hotel room until the wee hours of morning.  By then, between all of the bike riding, museum and cathedral visits and socializing, I was tired, though in good ways.

Perhaps, in reading the previous sentence, you might think I shouldn't be calling this blog "Midlife Cycling" anymore.  But I'll continue to do so because, well, what else am I going to call it?  Anything with "Old" or "Senior" in the title just wouldn't have the same ring. Besides, I want to stick to "Midlife Cycling" as an act of defiance, just as I continue to speak French for as long as I can get away with it after getting home from a trip.

But I digress...and now I'll confess:  I simply wanted to spend a few days un-tethered to my electronic devices.  I didn't turn on my laptop and or answer e-mails on my smartphone unless they came from my friends in Paris or anything else related to my trip. 

I mean, when the spire of the Eiffel Tower is peering from behind l'Ecole Militaire, across the street from my hotel (the Derby Eiffel), the Seine is a five-minute walk away, and art, great food, friends and new bike lanes--real ones!--beckon, why would I want to spend time with my face in front of a screen? 

During the next few days, I'll tell you more about my trip...including, of course, where and what I rode!

Until Today, I Hated Only One Thing About France

I didn't ride this bike

as interesting as it looks.  Parked outside a boutique in the "Village Suisse" not far from where I'm staying,  it's the kind of bike that's all but impossible to find in the United States. 

 

One thing I love about it is that it's a testament to how a well-made older bike can continue to serve someone, if in a different way from how its previous owner(s) rode it.  

Just about any bike "of a certain age" will need to have its tires replaced. (I must say, though, that even a decade or so ago, I read and heard that owners of Raleigh three-speeds from the sixties or earlier will try any and all things to keep the original Dunlop tires--which, as I understand, were exclusive to Raleigh three-speeds--intact, if not ready for daily use.) Also, if the bike had caliper brakes, it will need new cables and pads.  Chains and pedals also are often damaged, worn or missing.  Finally, if the bike had a leather saddle, it might be dry-rotted or otherwise damaged from not getting the care it needed.

So it's no surprise to see new tires (or a front wheel) on this bike.  As the bike has a coaster brake and, therefore, no derailleur or other shifting mechanism, there weren't any cables to replace.  I don't know what kind saddle originally graced this machine, but it's a bit of a surprise to see something that looks like a Brooks Professional--albeit with holes punched in it--with such upright bars.

I really would have liked to ride that bike.  I mean, really, how can you not love something with a reflector like this

even if it isn't the original?

I couldn't ride this bike. (Well,  I could have, but I don't steal bikes--just lovers and spouses. ;-)) But I did get to borrow one somewhat like it--what seemed to be a French-made Dutch-style city bike--for a day.  

Unfortunately, I neglected to photograph it, but it took me along the Left and Right Banks, and up to another "date" with my friend Jay.

About Velib:  It's been a long time since I've seen a site or service so frustrating to use.  When I typed in my information--including my home address and phone number--in the requested format (phone number with country code selected from drop-down format, the area code and number without any spaces or characters that aren't numerals and my address in the air-mail format), the site "auto corrected" them to the American format:  (1 (212) 555-1212; 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, DC, 20001, FRANCE) no matter how many times I went back and corrected it. Then, when I tried to buy a pass, the site said it couldn't process my request because my phone number and address weren't in the required format--which I typed in, repeatedly.

For years, I told people that I loved Paris and France, with the exception of Charles de Gaulle Airport. (Then again, how many airports do people actually "love?") Now I can add one other thing about this city and country that I don't love--and, in this case, actually hate:  Velib Metropole, the official name of what everyone calls Velib.

 

Not According To Plan, But I'm Happy

I didn't get a chance to try Velib today, as I'd anticipated.  For one thing, I woke up later than I'd planned. (Then again, last night--or, should I say, this morning--I stayed out later than I expected.)  Then, Jay called:  Isabelle was "invited" to an official function and wouldn't be able to accompany me and him tomorrow, as we'd planned. So he asked if we could see a film and have dinner today.

Of course I accepted:  As much as I wanted to ride, visit museums and such, I want to see them.  (Also, this afternoon brought the first rain of my trip, along with a significant temperature drop.) So we went to an old-school independent movie house--with red velour chairs and a "stage"-- called the Brady.  From what I understand, it's the same theatre in which Francois Truffaut started to view, and make, films.  

The Truffaut connection made sense because we saw "Armageddon Time"--in English, with French subtitles, which I read just to see how some things would translate.  Isabelle is a fan of its director, James Gray and I must say that she has taste.  In some ways, AT reminded me of "Le Quatre Cent Coups" ("The 400 Blows.")  In Truffaut's foundational New Wave film, as in AT, a boy who is misunderstood befriends someone who shares in his misadventures.  And, the final scene of each movies' protagonist had similarly enigmatic expressions upon running away.

After the film, which left all of us--and, it seemed, everyone else in the theatre--stunned, we went to a nearby bistro.  I chose one of the  specials for the day:  a large classic Lyonnaise salad consisting of frisee (a.k.a. curly endive),  lardons (chunky cuts of salt pork that are poached to remove impurities, then fried to a crisp), topped with a poached egg, two wedges of toast topped with a dollop of pate de foie gras and a light vinagrette dressing.  It sounds so simple, but the flavors are intense and as a meal, it's more than satisfying.  And, since I don't eat much meat and most of my animal-protein consumption comes from cheese (by choice), this was a great "splurge."  

This chair was in every one of Picasso's studio spaces.

Anyway, before meeting up with Jay and Isabelle I did manage to sneak in a visit to the Musee Picasso.  Part of the museum, which normally contains much of its permanent collection, was closed.  So, the admission price was cut in half (from 14 to 7 Euros) for the privilege of seeing three special exhibits: one detailing his working methods and spaces and two others showing works by contemporary artists influenced by Picasso.

Picasso

Atassi

Franco-Belgian painter Farah Atassi, who is of Syrian descent, takes Picasso's distortions of the human (especially different) direction.  While he tended to give his subjects oversize limbs and to exaggerate features of the face and body, she pares the limbs of her bathers, dancers and models down to angular forms, as if to accentuate only their function--which could mean anything from actually propelling or supporting the body to simply creating another form for the artist.  The bodies took on, not just the form, but the essence of their subjects:  the bathers' torsos were enlarged but wavy, if you will, while the dancers' bodies were rounded or angled by whether they were dancing, reclining or sitting.  And the models' bodies, like their limbs and heads, were just props for the artist, though one image suggests a "burining."

On the other hand, Pierre Moignard became obsessed with the drawings Picasso made during the last year of his life.  Some of his work consists of those drawings, or parts of them, superimposed on his own paintings. Is he trying to show how Picasso might have "finished" or "continued" those works--if, indeed, they are not complete?

Then again, what do we mean by "complete?"  I had planned to ride today, but didn't.  But the day was fulfilling, which is pretty good working definition of completeness, at least for me.

The Clues Lead To This

Yesterday's post contained clues to today's.

Here's another clue:

Now, that bike might tell you something else about this post.  Is its subject a bike

or a place where you might find it?

No, I'm not in Hell.  I was always very quick to remind my students that they weren't, either, when I assigned a paper on the image in question--or the literary work on which it's based.

I have, however, visited one cathedral

and another:

and  didn't have to hear "I am beautiful" from Christina Aguilera. Instead, I saw it from one of my favorite artists*:

OK, so you've probably figured out that this post isn't about a bike--or any thing.  It's also not about any person--except, perhaps, me. 

So now you know you're reading about a place.  I saw this last night, when I stepped out of where I'm staying

and this, on my way back in this evening:

Yes, I am indeed in Paris.  The weather has been remarkably Spring-like, minus the sun:  Daytime temperatures have been in the 10-12C (50-55F) range.  Of course, over the next few days, they could drop so, perhaps, bringing warm clothes won't have been in vain.

It may seem odd that I could take a ten-day vacation here for less than most trips in the US. Then again, I'm travelling after the holiday, and I'm not here during the Summer, which is the normal "peak season." That meant that in September, I got a really good price on  a package that included non-stop flights between JFK and Charles de Gaulle (CDG) and a hotel just a couple of blocks from..wait for it...the Eiffel Tower.    Also, I know this city well enough not to make the mistakes, money-wise, that first-time visitors make.  And, of course, I have friends here, whom I'll see.

I didn't arrange to rent a bike, as I normally do.  For one thing, some of the rental services, which also do tours of the city, are closed for the winter. (When I came four years ago and rented a bike, the owner of the service actually made a special trip in to town to rent the bike.  Had I known that, I might not have arranged the rental.)  So, I am going to try the Velib. It will be interesting mainly because it will be my first experience with a municipal bike-share system.

However it is, I'm still in a city I love--where friends end e-mails, not with "sincerely," or "best,' but "bises."

*--Je suis belle, my favorite Rodin work and one of my favorite works of art.

A Clue To The Next Post

Just before Christmas, I spotted this bike on the Malcolm X Promenade, site of the World's Fair Marina.  

I've ridden that way a couple of times since, and the bike was still in its spot.

The brand decal seems to be "WTC."  That acronym, for me, denotes World Trade Center.  Perhaps some company wanted to say they were "giants" among bikes.

It looks like an old Schwinn Twinn tandem if it were made by Columbia, Huffy or one of the other department-store brand bike makers.  Tell-tale signs include the welded frame joints that aren't built up--and smooth and round--like the ones on the old Schwinns.  Also, the one-piece crank is a cheaper version of what Schwinn used.

 

What I found interesting, though, was the drum brake on the rear.  Schwinn used them on some of their "muscle" bikes and, I believe, their multi-geared Twinns. (Most people, I think, bought the coaster-brake model.)  I don't think it's an Atom--which Schwinn used--or an Arai or Shimano, supplied on higher-level tandems during the 1970s and 1980s.

Anyway, the location of this bike--on Malcolm X Promenade, which curves along the shore of Flushing Bay just east of LaGuardia Airport--is a clue to what awaits you, dear reader, in my next post! 

Not Enough To Send Me Back To Ayn Rand, But...

 Once upon a time, I was (or at least fancied myself) a true-blue Libertarian.  For me, the works of Ayn Rand, in spite of my misgivings about her as a writer, were as foundational as the Bible is for fundamentalist preachers.

While my politics, these days, align more with those of Elizabeth Warren than anyone else I can think of, I still think that government--and, urban planners in particular--can't solve everything. 

One of the problems is that planners don't always understand what they're planning as well as they think they do.  This is particularly true when they conceive and build "bicycle infrastructure."  Sometimes I wonder whether those planners have been on bicycles since they were kids, if ever.

That phenomenon, apparently, isn't limited to planners in the US.  According to one cyclist in England, boatloads of money were spent on an indoor bicycle parking facility that is no safer than streetside parking.

The Battersea Power Station bike parking facility, according to Jim Harris is accessible only by stairs or elevator.  As unpromising as that is, it's not the worst thing about the parking station.  There's a sign instructing users to  press a button to open a door. But there's no button and...the door is open. 

Once Jim entered, he found bike racks that were worse than useless.  Some can't be used if the bike has fenders, as many commuters' bikes--especially in England--have.  Worse yet, on some racks, only a wheel, but not the frame, can be locked. (I don't know how many wheels I've seen locked to lamp- and sign-posts.) 

There are also double-decker racks--that can't be pulled down. If you can't reach the upper level--or can't lift your bike for whatever reason--you have "get on your hands and knees" to use the lower racks.  And, Jim warns, "watch your head" because there are sharp edges on the upper racks.

So, he sums up,  seven billion (!) pounds gets you "the biggest, fanciest, least easy to access, most ill-conceived bike storage facility in London."

If that makes you wish Ron Paul had been elected Preseident, I understand.  I'm not ready to go back to being a Libertarian, but spending money on bad infrastructure helps anyone or makes anyone happy.  If anything, it upsets cyclists like me or Jim who see how useless it is--and it creates anger and resentment in others who pay taxes.

8/ So what £7 billion+ gets you is the biggest, fanciest, least easy to access, most ill-conceived bike storage facility in London.

Trebles all round! pic.twitter.com/lgn1iH267V

— Jim Harris is at work (@jimoutoffaf) December 24, 2022