A Legend Remains Off-Limits

 The exact place and moment mountain biking was “born” has been debated. What hasn’t been disputed, however, is that it evolved from a few young people (their inhibitions possibly loosened by an herb, if you know what I mean) bombing down fire trails and rocky paths in Northern California and Upper New England (where cyclo-cross enjoyed some popularity) on old Schwinn ballon-tired bikes they bought for a couple of dollars in thrift stores or found in the rubbish.  Depending on whom you ask, that would have been in the early 1970s, or possibly even the 1960s.

Of course, it wasn’t called “mountain biking” or “off-road riding” until much later—after folks like Gary Fisher started to modify those bikes with derailleurs and cantilever brakes (coaster brakes on those old bikes burned out during long, steep descents) and Joe Breeze made bikes specifically for the purpose.

Another agreed-upon part of mountain bike lore:  One of its shrines, so to speak, is Mount Tamalpais, which offers stunning views of San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge and the Pacific Ocean. In fact, “Mount Tam” is so iconic—in a way that l’Alpe d’Huez is in road bike racing—that bicycles, parts, accessories and clothing have been named for it.

Mountain bikers before it was “mountain biking “ on Mount Tamalpais during the 1970s.  Photo by Wende Cragg.

There are, however, some major differences between the two peaks. For one, the summit of Huez, in the French Alps, is about three times as high as “Tam.” And the views, while stunning, are entirely different. 

Also, there is a paved road with 21 virages, which is open to cyclists except, of course, when the race is approaching. (I climbed it in 2001, just before a ride up another iconic Tour de France climb would change my life. Tamalpais, on the other hand, is accessible only by trails—which have been off-limits to cyclists for about four decades.

In October, local cyclists thought they’d won “their” mountain back after the ban was lifted.  Or so they thought.

Photo by Maureen Gaffney for Outside magazine.

Just when they were ready to take a celebratory ride on the trails, a judge issued a restraining order. Turns out, several groups and the water safety commission lobbied against the opening. They cited concerns about dangers to plant and animal life—which includes rare species—and the water supply.  

Those concerns have been the basis of other bans, mainly in National and State parks.  Opening “Tam” would have involved only two trails: one for conventional mountain bikes, the other for electric mountain bikes.  I can’t help but to think the latter may have been a reason for the lobbying and the judge’s ruling:  They believe (perhaps rightly) that noise and vibrations from eBikes (which didn’t exist 40 years ago) will disturb wildlife.

It will be interesting, to say the least, to see whether Otis Guy, now 71 years old and part of the protest against the judge’s order, will ever be able to ride again on the mountain he, Gary Fisher, Joe Breeze and others made into a shrine of their beloved sport half a century ago.

QBP: DEI!

 Blame it on DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) and the organization’s “woke” agenda.

At least, that’s what he-whom-I-will-not-name would do if he paid any attention to the bicycle industry.

I’m talking about Quality Bicycle Products which, as their name implies, supplies fine bikes, parts and accessories to retailers. They are known in the industry for their efforts to promote DEI, not only within their own ranks, but also the industry.

One example of the latter was their mechanics’ school, which offered scholarships to “women, trans, non-binary, non-conforming or intersex” US residents who worked in the industry.

Notice that I wrote of the school in the past tense:  It closed about a year and a half ago. Were he President, and had he paid attention to the bike industry, the Fake Tan Fūhrer (FTF) would have screamed, “DEI! Woke!”

 In reality, QBP’s decision to close its academy had, to some degree, to do with the “bust” that afflicted the industry after the “boom” early in the COVID-19 pandemic. Then again, other schools, like that of United Bicycle Institute, have had waiting lists. 

Why? Well, schools like UBI and Appalachian don’t limit their enrollment to people already employed in the industry. While some UBI and Appalachian students work in the business, others are young people or career-changers who want to work in the bike trade. Still others are home mechanics who simply want to improve their skills.

On the other hand, QBP’s policy meant that few mechanics, of whatever gender identity or expression, could attend. Few bike shops could or would pay the tuition (and lodging and travel expenses) to send their mechanics to school: Shop owners and mechanics usually train employees themselves and expect those employees to augment their knowledge with online resources. (In my day, we used books and manuals.) So, attendees tended to be either scholarship recipients or better-paid employees of bike-related companies—like QBP.

Speaking of whom:  QBP is laying off two percent of its workforce. That will be the company’s third reduction of staff numbers in just over two years. Of course, QBP isn’t the only bicycle-related concern to let go of employees (or close altogether) in the wake of the “crash” that followed the “sugar rush,” so to speak, of increased demand during the pandemic. But if FTF were watching:  “DEI! Woke agenda! Send the military to the border!”

A Century-Old Traffic Ordinance: A Cause Of This Year's Wildfires?

 For most of this month, a series of wildfires has wrought death and destruction in the Los Angeles area.  The summer--hotter, drier and longer than usual--turned trees, homes and much else into tinder. While it has yet to be determined what was/were the match(es), so to speak, that sparked the  conflagrations, we know that they were fanned by historically strong Santa Ana winds. According to two separate studies--one from the University of California-Los Angeles (UCLA), the other from World Weather Attribution, a collaboration of international scientists--the L.A. fires bear "fingerprints" of climate change in the increasingly hot and dry conditions of the area, which can be linked to heat-trapping gases emitted by burning fossil fuels.

We all know that climate change isn't only about this day's or season's weather; it's about long-term trends. Researchers now agree that Earth has been heating and drying at an faster pace during the mid-to-late 19th Century, or about two or three generations after the Industrial Revolution began.  But there are particular events that can be said to have been accelerants to the fire, so to speak.

One of those events, like many others, was the passage of a piece of legislation--in this case, a local ordinance--which had broader and more dire consequences than anyone at the time could have imagined.

I am referring to the Traffic Ordinance for the City of Los Angeles. Passed  exactly a century ago last Friday, this 35-page piece of legislation, among other things, increased speed limits for automobiles so that they were faster than streetcars, of which the "City of Angels" had the largest network in the world. It also gave primacy to automobiles on the city's streets in other ways:  For example, pedestrians were forbidden from walking or crossing except in narrowly-defined spaces.  While touted as a way to decrease the number of conflicts between autos and pedestrians, and to thus increase "safety," the ordinance had the effect of turning over the streets to motorized traffic and sharply increasing the number of traffic fatalities, especially among children and the elderly.

The Ordinance was drafted by Miller McClintock, a Harvard doctoral student of municipal government.  Perhaps one could have forgiven him for not understanding the consequences of his actions; after all, automobiles were seen as "progress" and modernity.  But he was, in fact, recruited by one Paul Hoffman, a staunch champion of the auto industry.  In contrast to McClintock, Hoffman dropped out of the University of Chicago at 18--and began to sell Studebakers.  By the time he enlisted McClintock, he was close to making his first million dollars and had been appointed chairman of the Los Angeles Traffic Commission--a body responsible for regulating the city's streets. 

A street in downtown L.A. on the eve of the ordinance.

If you have seen Los Angeles at almost any time since the ordinance passed, you might find it difficult to believe that it had the world's largest streetcar network--or that was as much of a cycling city as Copenhagen and Amsterdam are today.  Similar descriptions could have been made of San Francisco, New York, Chicago and other American cities.  But those places, and others in the US, quickly went, to one degree or another, the way of Los Angeles.  And the Ordinance also influenced the planning of cities that barely existed at the time it was drafted:  the ones where sidewalks and public transportation are non-existent and the only way to get to work, school or shop is on "stroads," which have no provision for anything that doesn't have a motor and at least four wheels.

So what does the Ordiance or its influence have to do with the wildfires?  Well, plenty, if scientists are correct in finding climate change's "fingerprints" in the blazes:  Transportation is responsible for the largest share of greenhouse gases, and the large number of private automobiles are the biggest culprits among all forms of mobility.