He Wants To Make It A Place Where It Doesn't Happen (Again)

His city has a "denser, older urban core that was laid out before the automobile."  Around it, though, are neighborhoods that were "designed around cars."

That could be a description of many cities, perhaps yours.  But Tanner Thompson was describing Norwalk, Connecticut, where he is the Chairman of the Walk/Bike Commission.  He adds that as cars have gotten bigger and streets have gotten wider, cyclist and pedestrian fatalities have increased across the nation.

Shameka Fisher is relieved that her 15-year-old son did not become one of them--but understandably angry that he could have.  Last month, he was riding along Connecticut Avenue at Taylor Avenue when a Toyota RAV 4 struck him from behind.

  

The boy, who is "recovering nicely," jumped off his bike but collapsed off-camera.  He called his mother, who rushed him to the hospital, where police met them. One officer said they should have remained at the scene of the crash, but, as Ms. Fisher said "the mother in me" caused her to act on reflex, just as her son probably did when he jumped off his bike.

The bicycle ended up under the SUV.  The driver, whom the police are seeking, backed off it and sped away.  Thompson said the hit-and-run is "horrifying" but the Bike/Walk Commission is committed to "making Norwalk a place where this doesn't happen."

That is a goal I can get behind, and I wish Thompson well--and a good recovery for the boy and his mother, who probably is suffering from some degree or another of PTSD.

Making A New Friend As She Rediscovers An Old One

 About a month ago, I snapped up a bike I saw on Craigslist.  The woman from whom I bought it said she'd posted it only a few minutes earlier.  And, given how bike prices have skyrocketed, it was a bargain.

The bike, a Mongoose Switchback from about 20 years ago, wasn't for me.  I picked it up for a neighbor I've gotten to know better since the pandemic started.  

She hadn't ridden a bike "in about 40 years," she said, and wanted to start again. So I figured a bike like that would be a good "starter."

I've taken a few rides with Lillian.  They weren't long treks, but I've enjoyed them.  So has she. It's nice to see someone taking up cycling again.  Somehow I feel that she's rediscovering an old friend, if you will, as I'm making a new one.

How We Began

 I have to admit that there was a time in my life--before my midlife!--when I looked down on anyone on a bike not made of name-brand tubing (Reynolds, Columbus, Vitus, Tange, Ishiwata) and not sporting high-end components.

These days, I am happy to see anyone on a bike, even if it's something I wouldn't have test-ridden when I worked in shops and the person riding looks as if they* hadn't been on a bike since they got a driver's permit. The more who ride, for whatever reason or purpose, the better.

I remind myself that we all started sometime, somewhere, somehow!

Another Way Across?

O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.--

                            From  --"To Brooklyn Bridge" by Hart Crane

In this town (New York City), there are some things in-the-know cyclists never, ever do. One of them is to pedal across the Brooklyn Bridge.  Even if it's the Sistene Chapel or Notre Dame of bridges, it's best seen while riding across the Manhatan or Williamsburg Bridges.   

On its upper deck, the Brooklyn Bridge has a wide lane that's off-limits to cars and trucks.  Although that lane is wider than the ones on some of the other bridges, cyclists have to share it with pedestrians, scooters, skaters and all other manner of tourists who might stop dead four feet in front of you to take a "selfie."

I'm not complaining about the tourists:  Many are on once-in-a-lifetime trips to the Big Apple.  I'd just prefer not to dodge them if I'm riding to get to someplace, or even for fun. (Forget training:  You can't keep any kind of a steady pace on the bridge!)

All of that will soon change.  Construction has begun on a protected bike lane in the center of the bridge.  Manhattan-bound drivers will lose one of their lanes for the two-way bike lane.

When completed, it will mark the first reconfiguration of the Bridge, opened in 1883, since the trolley tracks were removed in 1950.

I hope that the lane includes a safe and easy transition to the street.  Too often, I've seen bridge bike lanes that "dump" cyclists into chaotic traffic intersections.

Otherwise, the best option for cycling across the East River, in my opinion, will remain the Williamsburg Bridge, which I take whenever possible. 

Daring Elsa

Yesterday wasn't quite as hot as Wednesday was, but the humidity was even more oppressive.  That's one reason why I took another morning ride which, I hoped, would bring me home before the early afternoon heat.

That part of my "mission," if you will was accomplished, even though I continued in one direction when another would have taken me home for, oh, a couple of hours.  

The weather forecast was dire:  Tropical Storm Elsa was bearing up the East Coast of the United States.  Sometimes I "play chicken" with the rain:  I ride as if I'm daring the rain to start falling on me before I finish my trip.  Yesterday, the stakes were higher:  The rain would cascade from those heavy gray clouds moving across Staten Island and New Jersey on their way to Brooklyn and Queens.  

Those clouds might have moved even faster than the traffic across the Verrazano Narrows:  They don't have to pay the toll on the bridge!

Seriously, though, I reverted to a youthful delusion:  That I could actually hold bad weather at bay becasue, well, I was pedaling.  Even when the sky and the waters of New York Bay all but matched the steel and glass hues of the Manhattan skyline, I was not ready to turn around.  After all, the brownstones and blue-collar brick row houses of Sunset Park hadn't been consumed by the the gray colussus.

On 31st Drive, one block from my Astoria apartment, rain began to fall.  It cascaded into a torrent just as I wheeled Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, into the door.