Every decade
or so, some resident of Staten Island tries to resurrect the movement to “free” his homeland from the colonial clutches of New York City. Much of that impetus is really no different
from the change in politics people undergo when they morph from single city
dwellers to suburbanites with lawns, SUVs and broods of kids: No matter how much evidence (statistical and
otherwise) they are shown to the contrary, they become convinced that the taxes
they’re paying for their plots of land and shelters are subsidizing freeloaders
in the city they’ve left behind.
Ironically,
there is a strong argument for those Staten Islanders who want to liberate
themselves from the Big Apple, even though they never use it: geography.
You see, although the Island is one of the five boroughs of New York
City, it’s actually closer to New Jersey
than it is to Gotham—or, for that matter, any other point in New York
State.
Early
governors of both states noticed as much and nearly fought an intercine war
over it. The reason each side wanted it
is that the Island, which sits at the point at which the Atlantic Ocean meets
New York Bay (at the Verrazano Narrows) and the Hudson River, is the Gateway to
New York Harbor. That distinction was
even more important then, long before trucks hauled goods on Interstates and
airliners ferried passengers across the ocean.
So how did
the island become a county (Richmond) of New York rather than New Jersey? It was the “prize” in a boat race. Or so legend has it. Really, you can’t make this stuff up. Ever since, some New Yorkers have wondered
whether the Empire State actually lost and Staten Island was the booby
prize. That, of course, begs the
question of what New Jersey won. The Nets?
Joking
aside, this capsule history is actually relevant to this blog and, in
particular, to the subject of this post.
You see, the secessionists’ worst nightmare has come true, in a way—at
least if any of the secessionists are cyclists.
Right now,
it is impossible to pedal to or from the Island. And the only way to get to or from "the forgotten borough" with
your bicycle—aside from hauling it in or on a motor vehicle—is to take the
Staten Island Ferry to or from Manhattan.
According to a Port Authority official with whom I spoke yesterday, this
situation will continue for “about two years”.
That, of course, begs the question of whether those years will consist
of “New York minutes” or Biblical days.
Of the
bridges that connected Staten Island to the rest of the world, only the Bayonne
had a walkway cyclists were allowed to use.
It was closed in September of 2013 for an extensive rebuild which will
result in raising the roadway higher above the water so that newer, larger
ships can pass. From May to October of
last year, the Port Authority operated a bicycle shuttle across the
bridge. But that shuttle will not be
available this year, as the bridge is closed to all traffic, motorized and
otherwise.
If you’ve
been reading this blog for a while, you might recall that I've crossed the Bayonne
fairly often. I could do a nice half-day
ride by pedaling across the RFK Bridge, up through Harlem and Washington
Heights to the George Washington Bridge, along and down the Jersey Palisades,
then to the waterfront of Jersey City and Bayonne before crossing to Staten
Island and taking Port Richmond Boulevard, which snakes from Superfund sites to
the hill of Snug Harbor and some of the most stunning views of the lower
Manhattan skyline. Then I’d hop on the
Ferry and, after disembarking, I could pedal or take the subway home.
Now, I would
have to end that ride in Jersey City or Hoboken and turn back—or take the PATH
train or one of the boats to the World Financial Center. I’ve done both, and they’re not
disagreeable. But, to me, neither quite
compares with taking the Ferry from Staten Island.
Besides the
Bayonne, three other bridges go to and from Staten Island. One is the Goethals, which had a very narrow
path just barely wide enough for most people to walk across. When my parents were living in New Jersey, I
used to take that path because, while not the most pleasant ride, it was
convenient: Once I disembarked from it,
I could ride across Elizabeth to State Route 27, where traffic wasn’t
terrible. However, I tried to use it
about three years ago, only to find a gate across it. When I asked a Port Authority officer whether
it would open again, he claimed that it never was legal to ride or walk
across. When I explained that I used to
take that path “all the time”—and I wasn’t the only one who did—he said it
simply wasn’t possible, for there never was any path. "Well, I guess I broke the law," I said half-jokingly. "Maybe you did," he replied, suppressing a grin.
Anyway, the
PA official with whom I spoke yesterday told me the Goethals is getting similar
treatment to the Bayonne and will have—as the Bayonne also will—a “twelve-foot
wide bike and pedestrian lane”. Yes, in “about two years”.
As for the
other two connections—the Outerbridge Crossing and the Verrazano-NarrowsBridge—neither ever had bike/pedestrian lanes. The Outerbridge (which is
actually named for its builder and is not, as many believe, so named because
it’s the “outer” of all of the crossings) takes motorists from the west shore
of the Island to Perth Amboy, New Jersey.
The
Verrazano, on the other hand, brings cars, buses and other vehicles to and from
Brooklyn. In his infinite wisdom, RobertMoses didn’t want to deface his last great project with provisions for people
who want to walk or pedal. (It's claimed that he didn’t want buses to cross the span.) In his vision of the world, everyone would
have his or her own car and get in and use it to get in and out of the
city—where he or she would work and perhaps shop, but not live. Even how people played would be determined by
the internal combustion engine: He built
Jones Beach, accessible Long Island’s highways but not by the Rail Road or any
bus line.
(Given what
I’ve just described, it’s surprising that he actually built the Kissena Velodrome—and that he himself never learned how to drive!)
For me and
other cyclists who don’t live on Staten Island, the situation I’ve described is
an inconvenience or annoyance. But those
who live there can’t get off the Island—or escape from New York. I just hope, for their sake, that they aren’t
secessionists. Somehow I don’t think
very many of them are.
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