Must More Riding Mean More Fatalities?

In a coincidence that, perhaps, isn't such a coincidence, I chanced upon an item about an increase in the number of cyclists killed on Texas roads at the same time a local radio news program mentioned that pedestrian fatalities here in New York City have increased during the past year.

I have also seen and heard reports of increases in the number of cyclists killed and injured on New York City streets.  So, hearing about pedestrian fatalities here and cyclists killed in the Lone Star State did not surprise me because cyclist and pedestrian casualties tend to rise or fall in tandem.

The reports point to a dramatic increase in the number of cyclists as a reason for more crashes and fatalities.  The same isn't said for pedestrians, though I have seen more people walking around as pandemic-induced restrictions are eased or lifted.  But I think that there is a related, and more relevant, reason for the increase in deaths and injuries among cyclists and pedestrians.

During the first few months of the pandemic, there was little traffic on the roads.  I can recall riding to Connecticut and back last spring and being able to count, on both hands, the number of motorized vehicles I saw along the way, not counting the ones that crossed the RFK Memorial Bridge.  Until last spring, I never could have imagined such an occurence on a 140 kilometer road ride that takes me through the Bronx and Westchester County before crossing the state line.

As spring turned into summer, traffic was still light, but I noticed faster and more aggressive driving, including some drag racing and other flouting of traffic laws.  Those things were annoying, but I didn't feel I was in danger because the still-light traffic afforded a wide berth between me and the drivers.

During the past few months, though, I've seen more traffic.  Some people, I guess, are returning to their workplaces and old routines, while others started driving and bought cars (for the first time, in some instances) because they didn't want to use mass transit.

But the folks who got used to driving fast and aggressively, or even carelessly, aren't adjusting to the new reality.  They still want to drive as if they have the streets to themselves.  And, in my own unscientific observation, it seems that police aren't enforcing traffic laws as much as they were before the pandemic--if, indeed, they were enforcing them against any but the lowest-hanging fruit (i.e., cyclists and pedestrians).

Having done a fair amount of cycling in other cities, states and countries, I can make this observation:  Building bike lanes and lecturing cyclists about safety--which most of us practice to the best degree we can--does little to prevent tragic encounters between motorists and cyclists and pedestrians.  

What will  make life better for everyone involved are sensible laws and policies (like the Idaho Stop) crafted by people who understand what it's like to ride a city's streets--and a culture rather than a mere lifestyle of cycling.  The culture of which I speak is one in which cycling is seen as a viable mode of transportation rather than just a form of recreation for privileged young people. Such a culture exists in some European countries; that is why there is more respect between drivers and cyclists and pedestrians.

Otherwise, cities and other jurisdictions can continue to build poorly-designed and constructed bike lanes that lead from nowhere to nowhere, and cyclists--or pedestrians or motorists--won't be any safer.

Cinco De Biko

This should have been on a Grateful Dead album cover.

Perhaps it would have been, had Jose Pulido drawn it about 40 years earlier.  It was part of a post about the "Cinco de Biko" post on Roof Pig!, a seemingly-dormant blog.

The image seems more appropriate to Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), but it somehow seems fitting for a ride on this day, Cinco de Mayo.  

Enjoy your "Cinco de Biko," whatever it is!

Integration Is Great When It Fits

 Hal Ruzal, the recently-retired mechanic and partner of Bicycle Habitat, and I were talking one day about rides, bikes, music and work.  I've always admired Mercians, but I finally ordered my first after taking a spin on one of his.  His other bikes, with one exception (an early Cannondale mountain bike) were also built around steel frames, with various combinations of modern and old-school components.   So it won't surprise you that we have similar attitudes about bikes and equipment:  While most of our preferences run to old-school bikes and parts, or stuff inspired by them, we don't fetishize "vintage" items.  At the same time, we don't prize technology for the sake of technology.

He sighed about "the Wall Street guys" who came into the shop and wanted the most expensive bike. "They thought that's what they needed to get up the next hill," he mused.  What they really needed, he said, was to spend more time riding.

As often as not, they insisted on buying bikes that were not only "more bike than they needed" but that didn't--or, in some case, couldn't be made to--fit them well.  

I thought about that conversation a few months ago, after encountering a guy who wiped out on an L-shaped turn with a sandtrap.  Bleeding from his arms and legs, his first concerns were his $12,000 bike and $200 saddle--and the $300 helmet he wasn't even wearing.

I couldn't help but to think that guy probably hadn't ridden long or far.  He may not have been, in fact,  one of the "Wall Street guys" Hal was talking about,  but he shared at least part of their mentality:  He seemed to think that buying the "best" (read: most expensive) stuff would make him a better cyclist.

It occurs to me now that the bike may not even have fit him well.  That is a common occurence--by whatever ideas about bike fit you subscribe to--more often than one might expect among customers of ultra-high-end bikes. Dave Farmer, owner of Surrey Cycle Works (in Leatherhead, England) says as much.  "People can now buy 6000, 7000 or 8000 pound bikes online."  As a result, he says, many people are "riding around on very high-end bikes that don't fit them."

One problem is that many of those "very high-end" bikes have "integrated" cockpits.  They're great if speed is your primary goal--and if they fit you.

Most people buy bikes--in whatever price range--buy complete bikes.  Folks like me who buy frames and build them are actually a tiny fragment of the market, even at the highest price ranges.  The problem with complete bikes, at any price, is that they are designed for an "average" person--usually male--of a given height.  

Anyone who's ever measured me for a bike, or helped me to make an adjustment has commented on my legs:  They are long for a person of my height.  So the "square"geometry of many stock frames--on which the seat and top tube are the same length--doesn't work well for me, unless I use a stem with a very short horizontal extension.  Likewise, the "sloping" geometry of many modern frames is less than ideal for me.  

Other people, of course, differ from norms in other ways:  short people with wide shoulders, for example.  Then there is the matter of preferences:  You might prefer a different saddle position from someone else, depending on your riding style.

Integration of cockpits means that, on some bikes, handlebars, stems and seatpost can't be swapped out--or making such changes is very expensive.  If the bike has a standard-diameter steer tube, changing the stem isn't a problem--unless, of course, it's of one piece with the handlebars.  So, if you like the width or shape or your bars, you have to find another set that fits your bike.  And on some bikes, once your seat height is set, it can't be changed.

Oh, and don't get me started on internal cable routing:  I still have nightmares about my bikes that had this feature.  I'm glad that I've never had to change a cable that's routed through the headset--or, worse, had to clean or replace such a headset.

Don't get me wrong:  I see the benefits of integration, at least for some riders.  Turning two pieces into one--like the bars and stem--makes them more aerodynamic, stiffer and stronger.  (Remember the "bull moose" bars on early mountain bikes?) That strength makes it possible to use lighter materials which, of course, helps to lighten the bike.

The thing is, most of the benefits of integrated cockpits (and aerodynamic parts) accrue only if you're riding at the speeds, and for the amount of time, pro riders spend on their saddles.  Otherwise, you have to choose between compromising comfort and convenience, or spending large sums of money for replacement parts--and bike shop labor, if you don't do the work yourself.

So, before spending $12,000 on a bike and, potentially, another $2000 to make it fit, ask yourself how much, or whether, you'll benefit--or whether you're trying to impress somebody.