Where The Bicycle Commuters Are

You don't ride in this weather, do you?

I can't begin to count how many times I've heard that question, or some version of it, between Thanksgiving and Easter.  

Granted, I don't ride as much during the months of short days and long cold spells as I do when flowers bloom and leaves begin to fall.  But I still ride to work most days during the winter.  I don't mind cold: I don't mind wet, but a combination of the two might drive me to the N train.  In fact, so far this year, I've used the MTA only once, when wind drove snow and sleet during the time I would have been riding to work.

I'll also grant you that I don't do as many rides of 20km or more as I do in, say, June.  But I think that has more to do with the number of daylight hours than with the temperature. I don't avoid riding in the dark altogether, but I prefer to follow dawn and lead dusk.  Also, I feel more motivated to take a ride after work when there's still some daylight left.

I mention my riding habits because of something I came across that seemed, at first, counter-intuitive (at least to most non-cyclists): The US state in which the highest percentage of the population walks or cycles to work is Alaska, which has the nation's coldest weather.

In fact, America's Land of the Midnight Sun is one of five states in which more than five percent of the population commutes by bike or on foot.  If you guessed that California is one of them, you'd be wrong.  Move one state up the coast: Oregon.  That's not surprising when one considers Portland's reputation as one of the world's most bike-friendly cities.  The City of Roses is the only major area in any of the five states in question that has what most people would describe as a mild winter.

As for the other three states, only one probably wouldn't surprise you:  New York.  The Empire State's high percentage of people who get to work on two wheels or two feet is concentrated in my hometown, the Big Apple.  Even so, upstate cities such as Syracuse, Rochester and Albany have surprisingly high numbers of people who use their own power to get to the office or wherever they work.  That, even though upstate New York winters aren't the sort many people would call "mild". 

OK: Alaska, Oregon and New York.  So which are the other two?, you ask.  No, not Arizona or New Mexico.  Texas?  Actually, the Lone Star State has one of the lowest rates of cycling and walking to work.  Florida does a bit better, but not much.


 


The other two states in which more than five percent of the population cycles or walks to work are---wait---Vermont and Montana.  

I've never been to Montana, but I have an e-mail pal (What's a better term for the modern version of the pen-pal?) who has told me about waking up to -15C weather before Columbus Day.  Having ridden in the Green Mountain state in all parts of the year, I can tell you that there's a good reason why old-time  Vermonters joke that their state has two seasons:  winter and the season between Fourth of July and Labor Day.  

But, having spent a fair amount of time riding in Vermont, I'm not surprised to find it on the list:  Wherever I rode, I encountered other cyclists.  It's one of those rare places that both breeds and attracts independent spirits.  

More to the point, Vermonters' habits, and those of the cylo-commuters in New York, Oregon, Montana and Alaska underscore a point I've made in other posts, and which others with greater expertise than mine have confirmed:  How much--or, for that matter, whether--people pedal has very little to do with the weather or climate.

Just look at Europe:  the cities and countries with the most bike commuters are in the north:  think Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Malmo. That all but mirrors the pattern in the US.

Why is such the case?  Well, I think--as I have said in earlier posts--cycling thrives in areas where there's an infrastructure, if you will, of cycling.  I'm not talking about bike paths:  Rather, I think advocacy organizations for cyclists (as well as pedestrians and mass transportation) and other formal and informal networks do more to encourage people to get out of their cars.  

Even more important, I believe, is a consciousness of, and respect for, cyclists among those who are behind the while rather than on two.  That is what I found in France, Switzerland, Belgium and other parts of Europe in which I've ridden:  The drivers always seem to understand how much space you need, how quickly you can stop and start on a bike and carious other intricacies of cycling.  One reason is, I believe, that a driver is more likely to have a "double life", if you will, as a cyclist than someone who's plying American roads in an SUV.

I know, from experience, that to the extent that such consciousness can be found in the US, it present in New York and Vermont.  From what I've read and heard, it also exists in Oregon, Alaska and Montana.  And it's nowhere near as prevalent in other parts of the US in which I've ridden.

And They Used To Say I Was An Animal On My Bike...

Every once in a while, I see someone "walking" his or her dog while riding a bicycle.  I have probably seen it most often on or around beaches, especially in Florida.  However, I've also seen it in parks and even on streets here in NYC.

"A Dog's Pace" by Carolee Clark.

Sometimes I wish I could do the same with Max and Marlee. I could carry them in the baskets on my LeTour, I guess.  The only problem is that I don't know how I would get Max into a basket, as he doesn't like to be picked up and is no longer the climber he was in his youth, and that Marlee would never sit in a basket long enough for me to start riding.

I once rode about two kilometers carrying a little Yorkie in my cocked left arm and my right hand on my handlebar.  I'd found her wandering through a busy intersection where she was in imminent danger of becoming roadkill. No one seemed to know where she came from and I rode, hoping to find a shelter or a vet's office.  Finding neither, I took her to a precinct house, where a burly sergeant fell in love with her.

Max would never stand--or, more precisely, sit or curl up--for such a ride.  Marlee might, for a couple of minutes.  Then her nervousness would get the best of her and she'd wriggle her way into a fall onto the pavement.

I find it ironic that in other parts of the world, people on bikes carry all kinds of other animals.  I saw a man ride with a monkey on his shoulder in Marseille, France and another man with a lizard standing guard on his sternum as he navigated the alleyways of Rome.

But they had nothing on this guy, with a goat along for the ride, in Uganda.  I just hope the passenger gave him a hefty tip:

From Art Propelled

  

Some Repair Techniques Never Change

The blue Schwinn Varsity, circa 1976, looked like others I'd seen.  That is, until I turned the corner. 

When I worked in bike shops, I saw some strange, interesting and unusual "repairs" customers had done themselves.  Most of the time, I could see what they were trying to fix.

But on the blue Varsity I saw today, I had to wonder.  At first, I thought the tape was an attempt to repair a flat. That's what it probably was indeed.  

However, I also couldn't help but to ask myself, rhetorically, whether the person actually rode the bike with the tape wrapped around the rim.  After all, I could only imagine what that tape did to the braking.

Also, I found myself thinking about the time a customer brought in a bike because the front wheel was "bumping" as he rode.  I realized that he meant "thumping" after I saw the tape wrapped around his tire and rim, much as it was on the Varsity I saw today.

The man begged me not to unwrap the tape--duct tape, to be exact.  I explained that I couldn't replace his tube--which he almost certainly needed--or his tire (probably needed) unless I could remove them.

"But that'll ruin the wheel!", he exclaimed.

Of course, I removed the tape and saw a crack along the surface of the rim, nearly from one tire bead to the next.  Probably the only reason the rim hadn't broken was that the cracks didn't begin or end at a spoke hole:  It'd cracked along the smooth, solid area of the rim.

Before that day, I knew that all sorts of things could be held together with duct tape.  But, until that moment, I'd never seen a bicycle rim fixed that way.

At that moment, Frank, the owner of Highland Park Cyclery walked by and made it clear to the man that if we could not replace his wheel (It wouldn't have been worth rebuilding with a new rim), tire and tube, we would not work on his bike.  

The man grabbed his bike and, with a huff, pushed it out of the shop.

You guessed what he did when he got out onto the sidewalk:  He wrapped duct tape (He'd had a roll in his bag!) around the cracked rim and tire.