In yesterday's post, I mentioned that some people are riding to work, school or wherever because it's cheaper than driving. Some are too poor to own, maintain or park a car; others, who can easily afford four wheels and an engine, opt for two wheels and pedals because it saves them money they can use to...buy a more expensive bike. Or accessories.
While buying even the most expensive bikes, parts and gadgets isn't nearly as bank-breaking as acquiring even some of the least expensive motorized vehicles, you can still find yourself spending more money than you'd planned. Some would say it's like an addiction:
If it is "as addictive as cocaine and twice as expensive," wouldn't you rather see your kids hooked on bikes?
Perhaps it has to do with having gone from living as a guy named Nick to a woman named Justine. Or maybe it's just a result of aging.
Although I still like long rides--and, sometimes, to pedal as long, fast and hard as I can--my attitudes about cycling have been changing. Now I can see how arrogant and, frankly, elitist--at least when it came to cycling--I was not so long ago. Sometimes I still find remnants of those old notions within me: I still get annoyed with riders (these days, many of them on Citibikes) who twiddle along and take up just enough of the lane or road to keep me from passing. Those dilettantes! But now I understand how such snobbishness--whether against riders who aren't kitted out in the latest lycra uniforms or bikes that aren't what riders in the Tour would ride--has kept bicycles from becoming the vehicles for change (pardon the pun) they can be.
To be more precise: Such attitudes have kept people (like yours truly) from allowing the bicycle to transform our cities and our lives in, well, ways that would make our cycling more pleasant as well as practical. Too many planners see planning only in terms of painting lines on a streets and calling them "bike lanes"; in turn, too many people see those lanes--as well as bike share programs as entitlements for privileged young people.
As much as I love my nice bikes and rides, I know that if cycling has a future, it lies with the unemployed and minimum-wage workers who ride so they don't have to spend large portions of their incomes (or savings) to buy, maintain, fuel, park and repair cars. It lies with people pedaling to their schools, offices and shops, and those who go for a spin with their kids or parents or neighbors at the end of the day--as well as those who want to have schools, offices and shops to ride to, and people to ride with.
Last year, I wrote about how city planners and non-profit groups came to recognize these facts, and re-thought what makes a city "bike friendly". They came to see that in Reading, Pennsylvania, where they were working, it meant creating a network of bike lanes that actually allowed people to pedal quickly and safely all over to the city. They also realized that, in a poor post-indstrial city that has little mass transportation, they had to make bicycling more affordable and convenient for residents. So, bike racks were installed on city buses, and when Reading's first bike shop opened, it concentrated on selling used bikes and affordable parts, conducting safety and repair workshops--and loaning tools.
Now, I don't know whether planners in Stockton, California have been paying attention to what the folks in Reading have done. It seems as if they have been: The city's latest plan calls for a series of bike lanes that will allow cyclists to pedal out of their neighborhoods and ride all over town. But these lanes won't be just lines on the street: They will be separated from motor vehicle traffic by barriers or raised medians. In some areas, traffic lanes will be removed in order to make room for cyclists.
Whether or not the planners in Stockton followed the work of their peers in Reading, they at least seemed to be listening to the concerns of everyday cyclists like Alfonso Macias. He is a 56-year-old farm worker who doesn't own a car. Bungee cords hold a grocery crate to the rear rack of a bike he pedals to the store, where he buys the food he carts to his house. Along the way, he has to share streets that don't have bike lanes, or even shoulders, with drivers who weave around him, or around whom he has to weave. "Thank god I've never been hit," he says.
Now, he is cycling out of necessity. Others, who could choose to leave their cars home and ride for errands and such, are deterred from doing so because of the hazards Macias faces. Here in New York, people have expressed similar concerns, and even wondered how I could ride in this city's traffic. "Aren't you scared?," they wonder.
Even if people perceive cycling as more dangerous than it actually is, their fears need to be heard. So must the concerns of folks who tie grocery crates to their bikes so they can go shopping. They, not the wannabe racers encased in lycra, are the future of cycling.
All rides are good.
At least, I can't think of any bike ride I wish I hadn't taken. And I've been riding for a lot of years!
Some would say that some rides are "better" than others. Of course, "better", when it comes to rides is subjective: Some want to climb as many steep hills as possible; others prefer land flatter than their dinner tables. Some of us love riding by an ocean or a lake; another cyclist's idea of a "dream ride" takes him or her through deserts or prairies.
You might to ride in the hottest weather with the brightest sunshine; I like it cooler with a mix of sun and clouds. Your friend might not go anywhere near a bike if there's a single cloud, let alone if a single drop falls from the sky; his or her club-mate believes that if you don't get wet, it's not a "real" ride.
I'll admit there are a few conditions I'll avoid if possible. For example, I don't mind the cold or even rain, but I prefer not to have both together when I'm riding. (Snow, on the other hand, can be fun.) And, while traffic doesn't scare me, I prefer not to cross entrances to, and exits from, highways: When I ride to the Rockaways or Point Lookout, I take a detour through the side-streets of Howard Beach so I can avoid having to traverse the on- and off- ramps of the Long Island Expressway and Belt Parkway that feed into, or lead away from, Woodhaven and Cross-Bay Boulevards.
I took a similar diversion yesterday after I crossed the Victory Bridge over the Raritan River in New Jersey. On the Sayreville side, I zigged and zagged through an industrial area and residential streets simply to avoid a stretch where State Route 35 (of which the Bridge is a part), US 1 and US 9 merge and are one for about five miles. There, it's a four-lane road which, at times, sees surprisingly little traffic but, at times, really seems to be carrying the load of three major highways.
That wouldn't be so bad if there was a shoulder for the whole length. Unfortunately, the shoulder appears and disappears, much like those bike lanes to nowhere that I see too often. Worse, a large part of the traffic consists of trucks, which aren't allowed on the stretch of the Garden State Parkway that parallels the section of Route 35/US 1 and 9 in question.
My detour, naturally, added some distance to my ride, which I'd started in the afternoon. I didn't mind: I avoided that potentially-bad section of road and wandered through a couple of historic districts and other areas with cute little gingerbread houses by lakes, streams, Raritan Bay (with great views of New York City) and the ocean.
Starting my ride in mid-afternoon and taking a circuitous route had its advantages, including this:
Now, if you've been reading this blog regularly, that I love descending bridges that lead to the ocean. I coasted down this one, after pedaling up the hills on Route 36 (They don't call it the Atlantic Highlands for nothing!) for the first time when I was about 13 or 14 years old--either the year my family moved to New Jersey, or not long afterward.
Call me sentimental, but I still get goose-bumps, especially when it's late in the day and the sun, through a scrim of clouds and haze, begins to tint the blue sea and sky with shades of violet and orange. Once I reached the base of that bridge--in Sea Bright, on a strip of land not much wider than a football field with the ocean lapping up one side and the river on the other--I was floating. My bike was a cloud; I had wings. I felt that within an instant, I'd sailed--on two wheels--into Long Branch, some 8 kilometers down the road--without effort, and that every drop of surf mist, every ripple of wind, and every step of people walking with their partners, their children and their dogs along, had become a part of me.
In Long Branch, I saw the soft twilight colors darken into the night that would engulf the streets as well as the sky and sea. All rides are good; this, like so many others, made me happy in its own way.
