Death At An Intersection Of Choices

A few years ago, I taught a "capstone" course, required of graduating students, about the Bronx.  It seemed to make sense, as the college is located in the borough--in the heart of the poorest U.S. Congressional District, in the South Bronx--and most students live there.  As much as I tried to make it interesting and relevant, students were less than unenthusiastic:  They saw the course as one more thing standing between them and graduation.

If they've forgotten me, the projects they did (or didn't do), the class itself and the college, I hope they remember one lesson that, I believe, the course reinforced: Everything they lived with, good and bad, in the Bronx was the result of decisions made by human beings.  Sometimes their motives were nefarious, but at other times they were simply misguided.

Fahrad Manjoo makes that point today in a New York Times editorial, "Bike Riding In America Should Not Be This Dangerous."  In his essay, he briefly recounts how urban and transportation has prioritized the "speedy movement of vehicles over the safety of everyone else on our streets.  He doesn't get much into specifics--whole books have been written about that--but that governing principle took hold well before the high priest of auto-centricity, Robert Moses, started his work.

Manjoo's editorial was motivated by the death of 13-year-old Andre Retana at a Mountain View, California intersection that is an "asphalt-and-concrete love letter to cars."  On two corners stand gas stations; America's Tire occupies a third and the fourth is taken up with a BMW dealership.  "To keep traffic humming along," he writes, "motorists on all of its corners are allowed to turn right on red lights."

The intersectio of El Camino Real and Grant Road, Montain View, CA. The "ghost" bike commemorates Andre Retana, who died here.  Photo by Mark Da

As I have pointed out in other posts, such an arrangement endangers cyclists--when they follow the traffic signals as motorists are required to do.  A cyclist at the corner of an intersection is vulnerable to a right-turning vehicle, especially a truck--or an SUV (which I call "trucks for people who don't know how to drive them")--makes a turn. 

To be fair, most truck drivers, especially the long-distance variety, courteous and conscientious.  On the other hand, their vehicles are particurly hazardous for two reasons.  One is that because their vehicles are so large, they sometimes veer into pedestrian and cyclists' paths, or even onto sidewalks, especially on narrow streets in dense urban areas. The other is sight lines, or lack thereof: Drivers sit so far away from everything else on the street that they simply can't see someone crossing a street.

Those factors, and the right to turn right on red, contributed to Andre Retana's death.  The truck driver came to a complete stop at the instruction.  Andre pulled up alongside him.  In an unfortunate twist, he fell off his bike in the crosswalk near the front of the truck--at the very moment the driver, who didn't see him, decided it was safe turn.

The driver didn't realize he'd struck the boy until bystanders flagged him down. Andre suffered severe injuries and died a short time later in the hospital.

Manjoo points out that the intersection, not surprisingly, doesn't have a "box" or safe area where cyclists and pedestrians can wait, and neither of the streets leading to it--El Camino Real and Grant Road--has a protected bike lanes.  But, as much as I respect him for pointing out the dangers-by-design, he seems to share the same misguided thinking behind too many schemes to make cycling safer:  That more bike lanes and other "infrastructure" will do the job and that planning future roads with built-in bike lanes will help.

As I've pointed out in other posts, too many bike lanes are poorly conceived, planned and constructed:  They go from nowhere to nowhere and actually put cyclists in more danger.  Staggered signals, which Manjoo also recommends, could also help.   Moreover, he says that while transitioning from gasoline- to renewable energy-powered vehicles will help for health and environmental reasons, we really need to find ways to get people out of SUVs and into smaller cars.  And, while he doesn't say as much, it could also help to re-design trucks with better sight lines.

But, as I've pointed out in other posts, other changes, like legalizing some form of the "Idaho Stop," are also needed.  Most of all, though, I believe--as Manjoo seems to--that the way transportation is conceived has to change.   Not only are new street and vehicle designs and regulations needed, things like the tax structure, have to change.  Most people don't realize just how much driving is subsidized--yes, in the US to the point that the worst car choices and driving habits are rewarded.

None of the needed changes will bring back Andre Retana.  But they might prevent future tragedies like his--and make cities and societies more livable.  Such changes can only come about by choice--just as all of the mistakes that led to a 13-year-old boy's death were.

  

 

  

To Their Own Hues, And Others

Earlier today, I wrote a post about something people might not associate with Spring:  a survivor pedaling among the wreckage of Mariupol.

To me, this season is about the living beings who make it through winter--whether it's a season of cold, snow and darkness or the death and destruction of war (another kind of darkness) as well as the new life that rises, whether from the ashes or a well-tended garden.

Because I've encountered the latter on afternoon rides, I am more fortunate than the cyclist in my earlier post.  It's funny, though, how Dee-Lilah (my custom Mercian Vincitore Special), Vera (my Miss Mercian), La-Vande (my custom King of Mercia) and Tosca (my Mercian fixie) always seem to find reflections of themselves.

Or, at least they, in their differing shades of purple, are drawn like moths to the flame of color.

Even if it isn't their own.

 

Cyclist: A Survivor In Mariupol

Yesterday I wrote about the world's first acid trip, which Dr. Albert Hofmann took, if unwittingly, on his bike ride home.

If you've ever been on an "acid trip," you know that it can include visions heavenly or hellish.  The latter could describe what this cyclist--who, I assume, was not under the influence of LSD or any other substance--exprienced:

Photo by Alexander Ermochencko, for Reuters

Reports I've read and heard say that Mariupol, a port city in Ukraine, has been "wiped off the face of the earth," or words to that effect.  I have no reason to doubt such reports:  The reports and accompanying images show steel stick-figures, the skeletons of destroyed buildings and rubble everywhere.  And though there is death and destruction everywhere, thankfully, many have survived.  Their lives, like the ride of that cyclist, will go on.

A Trip On Bicycle Day

Today is Bicycle Day.  Tomorrow is Weed Day.

About the latter, there are many stories about its origin--why, specifically, the 20th of April is associated with marijuana.  The most plausible-sounding one involves a group of teenagers in Marin County, California (the birthplace of mountain biking) who met at 4:20 in the afternoon to partake.  They chose that time, according to lore, because their schools' extracurricular activities ended by that time and as Dave Reddix, one of the group, recalled, "We got tired of the Friday night football scene with all of the jocks."  Because they met at that time, "420" became their code for weed.  Later, Reddix worked as a Grateful Dead roadie and the term went viral, so to speak.

On the other hand, the story of how today became Bicycle Day is more closely documented.  On this date in 1943, Swiss chemist Albert Hofmann ingested a small amount of a compound derived from ergot fungus.  Feeling disoriented, he rode his bicycle home.  Along the way, he experienced the beautiful and terrible effects of that compound, lysergic acid diethymalide.  So,. in more ways than one, Dr. Hoffmann took the world's first acid trip.

So, in honor of Dr. Hofmann on Bicycle Day, I am posting a video of the song that, in its own way, is "a real trip":

Hofmann lived another 65 years after his "trip," to the age of 102.  It must have been the bicycling!

(Tell me what a latter-day hippie living in California had in mind when he called his book about bicycle touring "Bike Tripping.")

The Calico Chronicles

If you've been reading this blog for the past few years, you know I love Marlee.  Sometimes, though, she exasperates me:  There are some things I simply can't get her to do.  I mean, I know she doesn't have opposable thumbs and, well, she's a cat. But still...

I just hope that if she reads this, she doesn't think that I wish she were Marilyn.  She's writing a memoir, "Calico Cycles," about her trip around the US.  So far she's traveled over 10,000 miles in 32 states since last May and has seen a lot--from the basket of a bicycle.

Now, in case Marlee thinks I'm judging her for not writing, I'll remind her of what I've said before:  Writing skills are not a sign of intelligence or any kind of worth.  (Why do you think Socrates never wrote?) But, you know, Marlee babe, I tried taking you on rides and almost lost you.  

You do have an excuse:  I didn't start training you early enough.  Marilyn's human, Caleb Werntz, started when she was two months old.  You, Marlee, were six months old when you came into my life, and you were born on the street, so perhaps it was too late, or you had (and possibly still have) PTSD from your previous life.

Anyway, Werntz, who hails from Portland (where else?) "got her a harness and leash and put her in the front basket" and took her for her first "training ride" nine years ago.  He says that she's slept through most of the journey (Is something a journey if you sleep through it?) but she was nonetheless able to "write" her diary, which he's "translating."  

(That might be the hardest part of all:  Translating is never easy.  I know: I've done it, mostly badly.)

It sounds a bit like a role-reversed "Travels With Charley," although I don't know whether Marilyn is "in search of America, as Steinbeck was--or, for that matter, whether she's read Steinbeck.

Caleb has begun a Kickstarter campaign to raise funds so he can raise money to "promote and distribute" copies of the travel diary.  I can forgive Marlee for not knowing how to do that:  I've never taught her to use the Internet!

 

Bunnies On Bikes And Cycling Chicks

Happy Easter!

I know that today is also in the middle of Ramadan and is the third day of Passover.  But I'm going with Easter, not because I was raised Catholic.  Rather, Easter is just a good excuse to post cute and silly images of cycling chicks (who aren't me) and bunnies on bikes.

Enjoy!

This might've been Picasso's Easter card:

And this, because cyclists are "good eggs":

 

Assaulted For "Not Riding In The Lane"

A decade ago, a driver nearly hit me when she made a careless turn. (I think she was distracted.)  I yelled a few things they don't teach immigrants in English classes and flashed a one-fingered peace sign. She rolled down her window and lectured me on how I "should be riding on the bike lane."  Never mind that the lane was on another street and wouldn't have taken me where I was going.

To this day, too many drivers and  seem beholden to the same notion.  I was once stopped by a cop when I turned out of a bike lane onto a side street.  Said cop claimed that I went through a light--which I wasn't--and that I "should stay in the lane."  Never mind that I turned off the lane to go where I needed to go and that, in any event, even if I had gone through the light when there was no cross-traffic--or ahead of a driver who would turn right when the light turned green--I (and the driver) would be safer than if I'd strictly followed the signal.  When I pointed that out, the cop said, "I ride a bicycle, too," in a tone of reminded me of people who tell me about a gay brother, sister or friend before doing or saying something to hurt me.

If bicyclists could ride only in bike lanes, we couldn't go anywhere--unless, of course, the lane goes right to the doors of our homes, schools, workplaces or favorite stores, cafes, museums or anyplace else we go.

Erin Riediger understands as much.  The Manitoba-based architect and host of Plain Bicycle Podcast veered from the bike lane into the traffic lane so she could turn onto a side street.  A man walked in front of her bike, struck her and said, "The bike lane is over there."

Fortunately, she wasn't hurt, at least not physically.  She posted a series of Tweets about the incident and most of the responses were sympathetic.  However, as almost invariably happens on Twitter, trolls clambered from under their rocks.  One upbraided her for "wasting her time" with those posts (If she was "wasting her time," wha does that say about the troll?), she should have "called the cops"--which she did.  Others posted stuff that nobody should be subjected to.  

Still other twits (what I call trolls on Twitter) lectured her about how she should have handled the incident or stayed in the bike lane.  Then there were the ones who used the occasion to rant about how cyclists should have licenses, insurance, etc.--which many, if not most, of us have--never mind that those things have nothing to do with the real issue at hand:  someone--a woman--was assaulted--by a man--when she rode her bike.

A woman was assaulted by a man as she rode her bicycle. She was within the law; he wasn't.  Those are the facts of this case; they have nothing to do with licenses, insurance or anything else that's bothering trolls with too much time on their hands.

Happy Ramadan, Passover, Good Friday—And Jackie Robinson Day

 Today I am invoking the Howard Cosell Rule. Today’s post, therefore, will not relate to my rides or bikes, and may not be connected to much else in the cycling world.  But what I’m about to mention is just too important to ignore. 

The athlete I’m about to mention has something in common with Simone Biles, Colin Kaepernick, Billie Jean King, Muhammad Ali and “Major Taylor.  Like them, he was a pioneer, not only in his sport, but in the struggle to be recognized and understood as full-fledged human beings.  In other words, they (have) had as much impact away from the field, court or track as they had on it.

On this date 75 years ago, a second baseman took his position at Brooklyn’s Ebbets Field.  At 28 years old, he was older than most rookies. But that wasn’t because he was a “late bloomer.” Rather, his debut in Major League Baseball was delayed by his World War II military service, where he experienced the very thing that kept him from playing for the Dodgers earlier than he did.

When he was drafted into the Army, he applied for Officers’ Candidate School, for which he was qualified.  His application was delayed for several months.  When he was finally accepted, he led soldiers who, like him, were racially segregated from other soldiers as they fought for the freedom of people in faraway countries.

What this man had in common with the other athletes I mentioned, with the exception of Billie Jean King, is that he was Black.  So, upon returning to the United States, he played a year for the Kansas City Monarchs of the Negro Leagues and another for the Montréal Royals, the Brooklyn Dodgers’ top minor-league team.

When Jackie Robinson took to the field for the Brooklyn Dodgers on 15 April 1947, he was the first known Black major-league player* since Moses Fleetwood Walker in 1884.  Robinson’s debut also came half a century after “Major” Taylor, the record-setting cyclist, became the first Black world champion in any sport. 

Consider this:  When Robinson played his first game as a Dodger, the United States armed forces had yet to integrate.  Yes, you read that right:  Black soldiers could still be sent to fight for freedoms they couldn’t enjoy themselves.  And, a year later, Strom Thurmond would run for President on a platform of “Segregation Forever!”

All right, this post does relate to cycling in at least one way:  In spite of his accomplishments on and off the field, Jackie Robinson, like Taylor before him, had to endure insults, indignities and even death threats. And, in a sort of parallel, Robinson had to go to other leagues, as Taylor had to go to other countries , for professional opportunities commensurate with their talents and work ethic.

So, if Jackie Robinson doesn’t deserve a mention on this or any other forum, I don’t know who does.

*—For all of the respect I have for Jackie Robinson, I am willing to entertain the notion that he wasn’t the first Black major league player since Walker.  It’s entirely possible that some Black player who “passed” as White—including, it’s been rumored, Babe Ruth—could have played in the major leagues.  

What Did Dee-Lilah See When She Woke?

 Yesterday I roused Dee-Lilah, my custom Mercian Vincitore Special, from her long winter’s nap. 

For a few weeks, the season hasn’t been able to make up its mind: The weather has gone from February to May and back, and from clear skies to downpours faster than you can say “spin.”  As a result, streets and roads have been sprinkled or coated with the remnants of change-of-season storms:  sand, road salt, fallen branches and other kinds of debris. That’s why I let my “queen” extend her rest.

She experienced some of the changes I’ve described during our ride to Point Lookout.  When we began, the sky was as blue as, well, the sea, depending on where you are.  And the air was warm enough that a few minutes into our ride, I thought I might’ve over-dressed.

About half an hour later, though, I felt the temperature about 10 degrees (Celsius) as I pedaled into a seaborne wind on the Cross-Bay Bridge.  That is typical at this time of year because, even if the air is 10 or 20 degrees Celsius (50 or 68 F), the ocean is still only about 5C (40F).

Those differences, playing off or fighting (depending on your point of view) each other made for this view from the bridge.

The water in the foreground is Jamaica Bay.  The gray haze behind the buildings on Rockaway Beach could have been fog—or the ocean.  Just as the day could have been late winter or early spring.

Riding From The Tooth Fairy To Ukrainian Children

 What did I do with my money from the tooth fairy?

I still have my wisdom teeth, but they don’t seem to help with memory.  For all I know, I never got money from the tooth fairy.

But Carina and Ariana Dinu did.  And they’re donating it to a charity bike ride—to benefit Ukrainian children.

Their ride was dedicated Iryna Filkina, a Ukrainian mother who was shot to death while she rode her bike home from work.  Carina and Ariana collectively rode 53 miles:  a mile for each year Iryna had lived before she was murdered.

Yes, you read that right.  Ten-year-old Ariana and seven-year-old Carina (Can you come up with better names?) gave their tooth fairy money to Ukrainian children.  That was “seed money,” if you will:  It was the first donation to the Go Fund Me page they started.

Actually, their ride wasn’t organized for the purpose:  They rode as part of the Ignite Women’s Bike Event.  And their fund-raising didn’t start with Ignite: a week earlier, they’d pedaled 45 miles in El Tour de Mesa.  By then, they’d collected about $1000, mostly from friends and family. El Tour has not only grown the amount of money they raised but expanded their donor bases.

What was I doing at seven or ten years old? I can remember some of it, but not what I did with my tooth fairy money, if I got any.  But said fairy, I am sure, would be proud of Ariana and Carina Dinu.

Going Nowhere, Unsafely

What's the easiest way to anger urban drivers?  Take a lane out of "their" street or roadway and turn it into a bike lane.

Here's something that will leave them more enraged (I can't blame them):  When we, cyclists, don't use the lane designated for us.

We eschew those pieces of "bicycle infrastructure" our cities and counties "provide" for us, not because we're ingrates.  Rather, we avoid them because they're unsafe or impractical.  As I've said in other posts, paint does not infrastructure make:  Simply painting lines on asphalt does nothing to improve the safety of motorists driving at 30MPH (a typical urban speed limit)  or cyclists pedaling at half that velocity.  And too many bike lanes simply go from nowhere to nowhere.

Both of those flaws, it seems, came together this winter, Chicago's Department of Transportation constructed a "protected" bike lane on the city's West Side, along Jackson Boulevard between Central Avenue and Austin Boulevard.  The lane is only ten blocks long (which, if those blocks are anything like those here in New York, means that the lane is only half a mile long).  The worst thing about it, for both motorists and cyclists, is that it took a lane in each direction from a busy if narrow thoroughfare that connects the northern part of Columbus Park with Oak Park, an adjacent suburb.

The Jackson Boulevard Bike Lane. Photo by Colin Boyle, Block Club Chicago

In doing so, the Chicago DOT made an often-congested route even more crowded.  One problem is that drivers often use Jackson to reach the Central Avenue onramp for the Eisenhower Expressway.  Drivers making a right turn on Central get backed up behind drivers going east on Jackson because they can't make the turn on a red light.

Things are even worse during rush hour, school dismissals and when the 126 bus makes one of its four stops along the route.  The result is "total chaos and confusion," according to Salone.  It might be a reason why "I have yet to see one bike there."  City and school buses may be picking up and discharging passengers in the lane, and having to cross an entrance to a freeway is, for me, a reason to avoid a lane or street. (That is one reason why, when cycling back from Point Lookout or the Rockaways, I detour off Cross Bay Boulevard a block or two after crossing the North Channel (a.k.a. Joseph Addabo Memorial) Bridge:  I want to avoid the Belt Parkway entrance and exit ramps.)

The result, according to resident Mildred Salone, is "total chaos and confusion."  That might be a reason why she has "yet to see one bike there."  An equally important reason was voiced by someone else, who called Jackson Boulevard a "bike lane to nowhere."  

That title was bestowed upon it by Oboi Reed, who founded Equicity, a mobility justice organization that seeks, among other things, to start a bicycling culture in the area.  "When the bike lanes drop out of nowhere, people are turned off," he explained.  "People have to feel ownership and excitement."  

He says that in addition to the lane's faulty planning and design, people were alienated because they see the bike lanes as vectors of gentrification.  The Jackson Boulevard neighborhood is full of longtime residents, some of whom live in multi-generational homes, and most of whom are black and working-class.  They cyclists they see are mainly younger and whiter than they are, and don't share their roots in the neighborhood.

So, it seems to me, Chicago's Jackson Boulevard bike lane encapsulates all of the faults of "bicycle infrastructure" in the U.S.:  It was poorly planned and designed, with little or no regard for whom it would serve or the neighborhood through which it was built.  The result is something that makes motorists and cyclists equally unhappy.  Unfortunately, unless planners and policy-makers pay more attention to cyclists as well as other people who might be affected, we will see more unsafe bike lanes to nowhere.

From Men In Black To The World In Pink

For me, Flushing Meadow-Corona Park brings back memories of the World's Fair, which I visited with my family when I was about six years old.

For you, it might be associated with one of the most popular movies of all time:  Men In Black.  I saw and enjoyed it, too, but those early memories and associations never leave us, or so it seems.

Nonetheless, I will grant that I think of MIB, especially with the 25th anniversary of its release imminent. In the movie,  the mothership crashes through the Unisphere, the large globe sculpture that has become an emblem of Queens, "the world's borough."  (It's said to be the most linguistically and culturally diverse county in the U.S.)  

I would bet that the Men In Black never envisioned a World In Pink.

I stopped by the park the other day, during a ride out to Nassau County, down to the South Shore and up to the North.  A couple of years ago, on that very same piece of land, I saw a bloom of cherry blossoms that rivals any other I've seen.  If I recall correctly, it was around the third week, or possibly near the end of, this month.  Still, when I saw the trees the other day, their buds had bloomed enough to color the world in a way that, I believe, even the Men In Black would appreciate.

Bliss

 One reason I cycle is its effect on my mental health.

In short, bicycling makes me happy.  How happy?

When I cycle, I'm a cat on a tandem and I allow a mouse ride on the rear.  And I mean ride:  The mouse doesn't even have to pedal.

Wheee!

Late Afternoon Ride, Early Spring

Bare branches veil

late afternoon windows

before they open

 

early Spring 

red buds 

pink blossoms

my ride ahead

opens

late afternoon 

early Spring.

Terror On Two Wheels

 Whitney Gregory turned her son into a menace to society.

No, she didn't teach 12-year-old Jeffrey how to vandalize, steal, assault people or torture puppies and kittens.  She told him to do something done by nearly all boys his age in his milieu--in a different place from where he'd been doing it before.

Susan Garcia felt so threatened by it.  The Homeowners Association member in Santa Ana, California--no doubt motivated by the possible threat to her property value as well as her corporeal security--yelled at the boy and pushed him.

His mother probably taught him not to respond violently.  If that was enough to get Martin Luther King Jr. arrested more times than he could count, it was more than sufficient to escalate Ms. Garcia's ire.

"Please don't touch me," he pleads with her.

She smacked him. "Why did you just hit me?" he asks.

Being a master of the Socratic and Talmudic methods of inquiry, she responded with a question,  "Want me to hit you again?"

Jeffrey's parents came out of their house at that point.  Not surprisingly, given the lessons they taught their boy, they de-escalated the situation and sent Jeffrey into their house.  

So what did his mother tell him to do that so threatened Ms. Garcia?

She told him to ride his bicycle on the sidewalk.

Now, to you, dear reader, and to me, that may seem misguided.  But Ms. Gregory, being the concerned mother she is, told Jeffrey to ride on the sidewalk because when he rode on the street, he almost was hit by a car.  Were I not a cyclist myself, I might do the same for my kid.

I have to wonder, though, about what lessons Jeffrey Gregory has learned from the incident.  Actually, I don't.  You see, even though I have always had an independent spirit (for which I've been praised and scolded), as a kid--even at his age--I obeyed my parents, and most authority figures, to the degree that I could.  And that is why, by that time in my life, I'd learned that at some point, doing what my parents, or some other adult, told me to do could get me into trouble with some other adult.  And, of course, as an adult, you can obey the law and still get arrested or do whatever is expected of you and get into some kind of trouble.

All I can hope is that Jeffrey doesn't give up bicycle riding--and that he's not too emotionally scarred--as a result of an encounter with a woman who saw him as a menace--for riding his bicycle on the sidewalk.

Eric Boehlert's Last Ride

 With his intense, knowing face,  shock of hair at the top of his head and focused eyes behind black-framed glasses, he looked like a combination of a philosopher, Indigenous warrior, surgeon and professor.  

He pretty much had to be all of those things to do what he became known for.  Being a cyclist also helped, I'm sure.  He biked around his hometown, where he "loved living," according to his wife and, she added, wore "protective clothing" and used lights when he rode at night.  

I can well understand why he loved living in Montclair, New Jersey:  It's about 25 miles from New York, my hometown, and has anything one would like about a city and a college town:  cafes, galleries and an active cycling community, of which he was a part.

Note that I am talking about him in the past tense.  On Monday night, he met his end while out for an evening ride.  In one way, his ending was like that of too many cyclists in the Garden State, and elsewhere in the United States:  He was struck by a motorized vehicle.  But said vehicle wasn't a car, bus or truck:  It was a New Jersey Transit commuter train that many of his fellow town residents take to and from New York or Newark.

I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd written or otherwise called attention to some hazard or another for cyclists or pedestrians, or for the need to provide the education and infrastructure that would make those modes of transportation and recreation safer and more enticing as an alternative to driving.  I say that because he spent so much of his life exposing all sorts of hazards and, more important, what brings them into, and continues their, existence.

If your go-to source of (mis)information is Faux, I mean, Fox News, or even if you take everything printed in mainstream media (which, of course, does not include this blog!) at face value, you probably were not a fan of Eric Boehlert.  While he was labeled, usually with justification, as "liberal" or "leftist," he was just as willing to take on the New York Times as OAN and even, at times, the publications for which he wrote and the programs on which he appeared. "We can't fix America if we can't fix the press" was not just a catchy sound-bite; it was his operating philosophy.

As his evening ride was part of his life, to and at the end. I, and his many fans--and fellow cyclists--extend our sympathies to his wife, Tracy Breslin and his kids, Jane and Ben.

Minneapolis Mandates Bike And Scooter Share Equity

The first known public bike-share program began in La Rochelle, France in 1974.  About three decades would pass, however, before other cities in significant numbers would adopt such programs.

Since then, the successes, difficulties and criticisms of bike share schemes have been similar.  In the latter category is the allegation--credible--that share programs were serving only central downtown areas and nearby neighborhoods where the young and affluent live and shop.  

Since then, some cities have tried, with varying degrees of success, to make share bikes available to older, poorer--and sicker--residents.  I've seen Citibike ports by city housing projects whose residents, for a variety of reasons, are more likely to have chronic and acute health conditions (including COVID-19) than other New Yorkers.  Rides and memberships have been made more affordable, or even free, for residents and others who receive public benefits in an effort to improve their health and transportion options.

Photo by Jeff Wheeler, for the Star-Tribune

Minneapolis, it seems, is going even further than most other cities.  Its "Nice Ride" share bikes and scooters will return to the city's streets in the middle of this month.  The city has just signed new contracts with vendors (Lime and Spin for scooters, Lyft for bikes, e-bikes and scooters).  What is interesting, and possibly unique (at least for now) about the new arrangement is that it attempts to remedy the problem I mentioned.  

According to the agreement, the vendors must distribute at least 30 percent of their scooters in Equity Distribution Areas of north and south Minneapolis.  A maximum of 40 percent of vendors' scooters are allowed in downtown and surrounding neighborhoods.

But the contract goes even further: All of the vendors are required to offer low-income pricing arrangements.   It also includes incentives for the operators to provide more parking infrastructures, including bike racks, parking stations and on-street corrals.  Moreover, the vendors are mandated to provide ongoing education and outreach on safe riding and parking behavior, and on state laws for motorized and manual scooters.

It will be interesting to see what comes of these efforts.  If anything, they sound like more integrated efforts than those in most other cities to provide a true alternative transportation infrastructure that includes bicycles.  As I've said in other posts, bike lanes and share programs, by themselves, don't make for an infrastructure that will encourage people to trade four wheels for two, at least for local trips.

The Constables' Response Boiled Someone's Bacon

 In January, I wrote about a British judge who, in sentencing two thieves, took into account that each of the bicycles they swiped costs more than many automobiles.  His thinking on this matter is more advanced than that of just about any of his counterparts in the US, or almost any American law enforcement officer.

In that post, I also expressed the hope that his insight also includes other effects of bicycle theft on the people who lose their machines.  While I empathise with the shop owner who loses multiple bikes with five-figure price tags, like the one who was victimized by the perps the judge sentenced, similar incidents probably don't comprise the vast majority of bike thefts.  More often, I imagine, those episodes include the nurse, teacher, store employee, student or someone else who locks their bike to a street sign outside their place of work or study in the morning and returns to find said sign sans velo at the end of the day.  Those incidents also include folks whose garages, sheds or homes are broken into and who may also lose other items or cash along with their bikes.

The latter scenario unfolded in Windsor.  As in the Duke Of.  The unfortunate property owner lost a Trek Madone with a graphite-colored Land Rover and other high-monetary value items.  In response, Thames Valley police tweeted an appeal for help in finding the bike.  Their message included a description, taken from surveillance videos, of the thieves and their getaway vehicle:  a white Audi A3 with plate number GN64 XMM.  

That message "boiled my bacon," in the words of one respondent.  For one thing, that person complained about the constables heading the tweet with the title "high value burglary" so that "some resident who is very very well off for a bob or three can pull strings!"

That respondent has a point, and amplified it with this, "Yet a local fella in Caversham has his electric bike stolen while in Reading and he can ill-afford to replace it until he's saved up enough earnings, and Thames Valley Police weren't interested."

That person has a great point.  While some ride electric bikes for pleasure or to commute to school or well-paying jobs, if the situation in England is anything like it is here in New York, I imagine that the majority of electric bikes are used by delivery workers.  Most of them are immigrants who speak English not well or at all and have few, if any, marketable skills or credentials recognized in their adopted country.  Therefore, as the person who reacted to the bobbies' tweet pointed out, they either save for their machines or buy them on credit or an installment plan, whether payment arrangements are made with their employer or bike dealer.

And the student or worker who parks and loses a battered old ten- or three-speed is losing his or her means of transportation and, possibly recreation or fitness.  Such things are often more important, especially where mass transportation is spotty or unreliable and for people who may not have the spare funds to join a gym or for other recreational activities.

I think the judge I mentioned in my earlier post and whoever reacted to Thames Valley Police tweet should get together and preside over a court for bike theft!

This Pyschologist Doesn't Think We're Crazy

If you cycle because you want to, non-cyclists probably have referred to you by any number of adjectives and epithets.  One of them might be "crazy."

I'll admit that I actually called one of my fellow cyclists "crazy."  So, however, did other members of our "crew."  Actually, Ray Tirado wasn't crazy so much as he was fearless and seemingly incapable of feeling physical pain. (All right, some might argue that such a combination of traits might add up to a listing or two in the DSM.) Most of our rides together were off-road and he made jumps and descents that, even when I still had most of my insecurity and testosterone, I wouldn't have dared.  Even on a straightaway on a the road, under a clear sky with the wind at our backs, I could see that his attitude toward riding, and life, was different from anything I could imagine.

That said, I admire him to this day.  Even though he seemed to be riding "gonzo," whether on off his bike, he always seemed to understand who he is--which meant that the risks he took weren't just acts of hubris:  He was pushing his boundaries because he understood what they were and didn't want them to be boundaries any more.

I must admit that, to this day, I value few compliments I've ever received  for anything more than the ones he gave me for my riding (!) and "for being you," as he once said.  "You know why you ride, or do anything you do."

He got half of that statement right.  To this day, I sometimes do things without knowing why.  Cycling is not one of them, which is why it's one of the few things I can't imagine my life without.

You see, after half a century of dedicated riding--which has included commuting, touring, racing, messenger work, riding on and off the road in all kinds of conditions in about two dozen different countries--I can say that I understand the risks of sluicing through city traffic, barreling down a rocky hill or pedaling into the teeth of a mistral as well as anyone.

And I know, as "Crazy Ray" surely did, that those risks are outweighed by the benefits, not the least of which are the ones for our mental health.  One of the world's most influential people also understands as much--which is why he got me to thinking about Ray.

He's just published his latest book, Rationality:  What It Is, Why It Seems Scarce, Why It Matters.  One way you know he's an academician is that the book title has a colon in it. But he's more than that:  a real intellectual, a thinker.  That means that, as much as he enjoys cycling, it's not an unconscious or reflexive act for him.  "Given the value you put on your life and the fact that there's even a very small probability of getting killed," he asks, "does it outweigh the pleasure and health benefits of continuing to ride?"

Steven Pinker.  

The people who can't understand why we ride are usually focused on the first part of his question:  the risk.  But Steven Pinker, a Harvard psychologist who specializes in psycholinguistics and social relations, has been thinking about why he rides for as long as he's been riding. For example, as a kid, he tried to understand how he could remain upright while riding, which would lead him to learn about the brain's workings and how they relate to Newton's law of gravity.  Also, while growing up, he heard about men--including three uncles and several of his father's friends--dying prematurely of heart attacks.  So, he says, as a young man he resolved to keep himself in good cardiovascular health.  His studies in neuroscience would confirm the wisdom of his choice:  "physical exercise is one of the best ways to extend brain health."

So, the Harvard researcher and my old riding buddy--who, by the way, was a plumber--would agree on this:  Riding a bicycle is as about as rational as anything a human being can do.