Bridges, Islands, Art, History, A Canal And Smoked Beef

Two days of cycling in Montreal and no one has beeped a horn in anger or aggression at me.  And no driver has cursed at me.  (Yes, I know when I'm being cursed at in French!)  And, where bike lanes cross into traffic, drivers actually stop for cyclists, even when there's no sign or signal telling them to do so.  

I guess all of this is remarkable to me because I've cycled so long in New York.  What's most telling to me, though, is that most Montreal drivers have no more experience of cycling than most drivers in New York, let alone the rest of the US, have.  The drivers in Paris were good, but I suspect a fair number of them, if they're not currently cyclists, recently rode bikes on a more or less regular basis.

One thing I can't get over is how, where the bike lane of the Jacques Cartier Bridge crosses the exit for Ile Sainte Helene, drivers not only stopped, they didn't creep into the intersection--or drive into it and expect you to pick up your speed and get out of their way--the way many New York drivers in New York, and the rest of the US, do.

Yes, I did ride over the Pont Jacques Cartier--to Ile Ste. Helene, as I mentioned, and from there to the South Shore of the St. Lawrence River.  This time, I took the east walkway/bike lane because, well, it was closest to where I had been riding.  One of the first things I realized was that I was rolling on an asphalt service; the last time I pedalled across the Bridge, my tires buzzed on the grating that separated them from the St. Laurent, 400 feet below.  

It was then that I recalled that the last time I rode across the bridge, I was on the west side.  No matter.  I was out to enjoy the ride, and the city.

The last time I saw the island--and its "twin", the Ile de Notre Dame--they seemed to be relics of the Terre des Hommes exhibit of Expo '67.  Since then, a lot of landscaping and other work--including, ironically, the building of the Montreal Casino an Notre Dame.  But it's far enough over on the island that it's possible to, if not notice it, at least not get too close to it.

Since I last saw the islands, the city has done, I think, a nice job with them--creating bike and walking paths, fixing eroded areas and creating botanical gardens and the Biosphere, among other things.

Today there were two events that closed off parts of the islands.  One was a cyclocross race.  I didn't mind that one:  The circuit, on dirt paths, didn't interfere with anything else. But the other event closed off access roads and made it dificult to get back on to the Pont.  But I, and others, managed.



Along the South Shore--mainly in the suburb of Longueuil--there's a series of bike lanes that takes you from the bridge, though residential neighborhoods, between a highway and series of railroad tracks (not as bad as it sounds) and through local parks.  

Then, after getting back into Montreal, I picked up some excellent Quebec goat cheese and something from France that seemed to be a cross between Brie and Camembert, with more of a grayish outer rind.  It was one of the creamiest cheeses I've ever eaten!  I washed them down with some little yellow grape tomatoes I picked up from a farmer's market.  Later after wending through some streets in Old Montreal and the area around McGill University, I would eat some succulent raspberries, purchased from the same market, 

Then I rode up Rue Amherst (How did a street in Montreal get a name like that?)  to a place called "l'Ecomusee du Fier Monde". Located in a former public bathhouse,  the Ecomusee states that, as part of its mission, it aims to teach people in the community about its history as a way of empowering them.

The upper level of the museum had a show describing the rise and fall of industry in the Cetre-Sud area of Montreal, and the lives of workers during that time.  It's interesting, even if you're not from the area.  The lower level, on the other hand, hosted a exhibit on "Art of Imagination". I liked the idea better than most of the actual paintings, which were a bit too New-Agey for my tasts.

After that, I descended la rue Amherst to Old Montreal and the beginning of a bike path along the Lachine Canal.  Said canal was built to avoid the rapids in the St. Lawrence River, and was thus one of the most heavily-used canals in the world.  The opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway and the rise of interprovince trucking caused the canal to fall into disuse.

This is where the canal rejoins the river:

   

When you look at how wide the river is, you understand why, at one time, Montreal was the second-biggest port city in North America.  

As you can imagine, all of the riding I've described made me hungry.  So I pedaled up Boulevard Saint Laurent for this:

We were all waiting to get into Schwartz's, renowned for its smoked meats, especially in sandwiches.  I got their signature item:  a smoked beef sandwich on rye bread with mustard.  It might be even more unhealthy than poutine, but it was worth every calorie and every globule of fat.  

Cycling In Montreal

Different cities have different "feels" or "vibes".  A musician--Charles Mingus, I believe--once remarked that he could tell, blindfolded, and with his ears plugged, whether he was in San Francisco or New York or Paris or wherever.  

He, or whoever that musician was, also said it was possible to sense the "energy" of a place you're visiting for the first time the moment you step off the plane or train or whatever took you there.  I believe there's something to that:  I recall feeling almost as if I'd developed another sense as I walked through the airport in Istanbul.  Every place I went, whether in the city itself or along the coast or into the Cappadocia countryside, just seemed to pulse with vitality, whether I was marveling at the Blue Mosque, sauntering among the ancient ruins or looking at the almost-otherworldly landsapes--or seeing the mansions along the Bosphrous or the shacks of once-mighty cities whose harbors had silted up.

Likewise, cycling feels different in different cities.  In Boston, it can seem like mano-a-mano combat with drivers; all through Florida (all right, it's not a city, but bear with me), it feels as if you're holding out (I was going to stay "standing your ground", but that seems pretty touchy!) and holding onto pieces of real estate that are miles long and inches wide.  In Prague, you're always climbing or descending a hill, just as I remember San Francisco.  The difference between cycling in Paris and cycling in New York is like the difference between caffeine and Red Bull laced with cocaine:  The former energizes cyclists but doesn't seem to impair their social skills; the latter turns everything into a race--to what, no one seems to know.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, Parisian drivers are courteous and respectful because, I believe, many are--or have recently been--cyclists.  I'm not sure that the bike lanes or Velib made it a more "bike friendly" city, as some have said, although I did see more cyclists on my most recent trip there than I saw on previous trips.  More time elapsed between the Montreal trip I just took and the one before it, but I think it's fair to see that there are more real changes in the city's cycling atmosphere than I've witnessed in any other city.

I certainly saw more cyclists--and, perhaps most important, a wider variety of people cycling--than I did on previous visits.  I rode some routes I'd ridden before and explored areas I'd never before seen.  I was able to do most of my riding on bike paths, although that was not one of my objectives.  I wouldn't say that the paths, which were all but non-existent the last time I was in Montreal, necessarily make cycling safer or even more pleasant than it had been before.  But I have to say that, for the most part, they seem well-planned:  I didn't find myself on "paths to nowhere" or ones that abruptly let cyclists out into dangerous intersections.  

However, I found myself questioning the wisdom of this:

I understand what planners were trying to do:  Provide paths that allow cyclists to ride in an orderly fashion.  And, for whatever reasons, they wanted or had to keep the paths on one side of the street or the other.  The issue wasn't the width of the paths.  One lane in each direction is more or less like one lane in each direction on a road for motorized vehicles:  You follow similar kinds of procedures and etiquette for riding with, behind or in front, of--or passing--other drivers.  It certainly seemed to work well:  I didn't sense conflicts between cyclists over rights-of-way.

On the other hand, there was a problem I found with them:  When you're riding in the right lane, in the opposite direction from the motorized traffic, and you come to an intersection, you have to take extra care, especially if the cross-street is one-way, with the traffic coming from your left.  This is even more true when drivers traveling in the opposite direction on the street your path parallels make right turns.

To be fair, the local cyclists and drivers didn't seem to have any problem.  Perhaps they've grown accustomed to the arrangement.  Were I living in Montreal--or simply cycling there more often--I probably would, too.  

I didn't see any of the confrontations, or any other expressions of hostility, one witnesses--or, perhaps, gets involved in--here in New York.  There seems to be more respect--or, at least, some sort of detente--between motorists and cyclists.  The latter--even the fastest and most competitive ones--come to a full stop at red lights, as do pedestrians. So do the drivers:  They don't try to "gun it" as the light is changing, and there is actually a pause between the light turning green and cars proceeding through it.  In the Big Apple, it seems, drivers have learned how to put their foot on the gas pedal a second or two before the signal changes so their vehicles are in motion even before the light is green.

In brief, the calm atmosphere I experienced while riding in Montreal seems to be a result of people's sense of security about themselves, as motorists and cyclists as well as human beings.  In New York, I am realizing, no matter how well you do, you've only survived the day and, perhaps, survived for another day.  As James Baldwin has noted, when everyone is striving for status, nobody really has any.  Or, as a student of mine remarked last night, "You have to be a shark to survive in this city!"  If that is the case, and Montreal's streets are waterways, one can navigate them as a dolphin.

Plus, you've got to love a place where you can see a sign like this:

I think something was lost in translation.

or a street with a name like this:

Admit it:  You would love to say you live on "Rue Rufus Rockhead"!

just blocks away from this:

In Vieux Montreal, or Old Montreal

or this:

"Farine Five Roses":  I'm not sre of whether it's stranger in French or English!

or where a bridge like the Jacques Cartier would have an underpass like this between the east and west walkways:

 You can't hear the traffic above you, and look at how clean it is!  It was open, even tough the west walkway is closed.

Such a thing never would be built in New York.  (A fair number of bridges, such as the Verrazano Narrows, don't even have bike paths or walkways.)  And if it were, it would always be "closed for repairs", but homeless people or the young and intoxicated would break into it.

All right.  I'll stop whining about what does and doesn't happen in New York and say that Montreal is indeed a fine cycling city. 

Where In The World Is Justine Valinotti?

If you're too old to be one of my grandchildren (as if I will ever have any!), you might remember a TV game show called Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego?  In it, the title character, who was the head of an international crime syndicate, would send one of her henchmen to steal a landmark.  (That gives new meaning to "Wanna buy a bridge?")  Contestants would use their knowledge of geography to track the thief from city to city and country to country.   The contestant with the most points would have a chance to capture Carmen Sandiego.  

Now, I am not involved with any crime syndicates--though I sometimes would say, "the Valinotti family" with, shall we say, just the right intonation.  (OK, now you know the real reason I never lost a fight!)  However, I will take over Ms. Sandiego's role and invite you to play "Where in the world is Justine Valinotti"?

Here's your first clue:

All right.  There are lots of places where you can see fog and low clouds enshrouding buildings.  So I'll give you another clue:

This house faces a park.  Said park isn't Central, Prospect, Fairmount, Greenwich or the Luxembourg Gardens. However, it's in a city that has a park designed by the same person who desgined the first three I mentioned and was inspired by the other two.

Now I'll give you another clue:

So you know I'm in a French-speaking city.  But it's not Paris, Toulouse or Dijon.  Or Geneva.  

OK, one more clue:

What French-speaking city might have a "Petite Italia"?  Probably not Saigon.  Or  Port-au-Prince. Cayenne:  I believe not.   Almost certainly not  Ouagadougou.  

So if not in France, Africa the Caribbean, or Southeast Asia, where am I?

By now, you've probably guessed where I am:

Athena, holding an announcement for a series of lectures in Montreal.

Oui, je suis en Montreal!  I arrived last night and checked into an interesting hotel run by an absolutely fabulous woman.  More about her, and the hotel, later.  

Since you're reading this blog, you're probably wondering whether I've used Bixi, this city's bike-share program. I haven't, mainly because I didn't ride at all. I was going to rent a bike today but decided against it because it was pouring when I woke up and the rest of the day was a series of drizzles, downpours and other variations of rain.  So I went to an art exhibit and gallery, shopped and ate unhealthy but tasty foods.

One of those foods was indeed poutine.  It's easy to see why it's one of the most emblematic foods of Quebec:  Few things feel better on a cold, rainy day.  Made with French fries and cheese curds smothered in brown gravy, it's also just the thing to eat when you want to thumb your nose at a sanctimonious, politically correct vegan you know.

I plan to rent a bike tomorrow and ride, sightsee and eat, not in any particular order.

I'll close this post with this, from the Place des Arts:

On the Sciences building of the Universite de Quebec a Montreal, images of Montreal's life, history and culture are projected onto the wall.  In the surrounding neighborhood --the Quartier des Spectacles, not far from Montreal Vieux and the old port of Montreal--there are all sorts of shows and plays of light

More Food. More Fall, More Ride

Today would have been considered warm for Columbus Day in New York, or most of the US.  Here in Montreal, it was absolutely balmy for la Fete de l'Action de Grace.  Yes, it's Thanksgiving Day in Canada--which, this year, just happens to coincide with Columbus Day, a holiday Canadians don't celebrate.  And, according to a couple of people I talked to, French Canadians don't really celebrate Thanksgiving, although most Anglophones do so with a turkey dinner much like the ones folks in the US eat a month later.

Anyway...About the weather:  The temperature reached 23C (about 72C).  And the skies were clear and sunny.

Still, there were plenty of signs this is indeed autumn, and that Montreal, like most of Canada, is further into the season than most of the US.

Of course the trees are more colorful than they are in all but perhaps the most northern reaches of the United States.  But even the bright blue skies I saw today had the unmistakable depth, even gravity, that you might see in bright, clear eyes when the soul of an aging person is looking through them.

I do not mean that the day looked sad; to the contrary, it had a particular kind of beauty that came from the the warmth combined with the wryness of one who has seen what has been and knows what's coming.

That, perhaps, is what made it such a joy to ride today.  I decided to look at public statuary and art, of which this city has plenty, even more so than New York.  Or so it seems.

It seemed that people--and I include myself--were enjoying this day precisely because they know what's coming:  For most, tomorrow means a return to work, school or whatever else constitutes their lives.  (When I was on line at Schwartz's, a woman told me she and her sister came here for the weekend "just because" they "didn't want to be home".   I feel more or less the same way.)  Also for most, at least in this part of the world, they are enjoying this day because winter is coming very, very soon.

So I enjoyed the riding--I must have done at least 6 hours' worth, even with the stops I made--the company, however brief and random, of those I encountered, and all manner of sensory delights--including the scenery and, of course, the food.

Food writers in this city debate whether Fairmount or St. Viateur's makes the best bagels in Montreal.  Being a New Yorker, I was of course skeptical that any other city could make a decent bagel.  But I'm still open-minded enough to try almost anything.  Also, it occurred to me that I don't eat bagels nearly as often as I used to.  (There was a point in my life when I ate them with breakfast, and sometimes other meals or for snacks, every day.)  I started to wonder why.

When I encountered this

at Fairmount Bagels, I figured the bagels must be almost other-worldly, or that there are a lot of people in this city who don't know what a bagel is.  My Cynical New Yorker Self went with the latter.  But what I saw behind the counter made me wonder whether all of those people on line knew something I didn't.

The workers were actually hand-cutting the pieces of dough.  And boiling them. (I remember when just about all bagel shops in Brooklyn did that.)  But what struck me is that they were using wood-burning ovens.  Hmm...I don't recall seeing those in a New York bagel shop.

Turns out, those ovens are illegal in New York.   And they are one of the reasons why the bagels from Fairmount are smaller, denser and less symmetrical than the ones that come out of New York ovens.  

And, I would discover, they account for the crunchiness on the outside and the smoky flavor.  When I first bit into one of their bagels--which I ate plain--I thought it was too sweet.  And the texure of the dough inside reminded me more of a hot pretzel than a New York bagel.

But the sweetness was not cloying or overpowering.  In fact, a plain bagel was perfectly good with some of Schwartz's smoked meat, which I bought after buying the bagels.  And I found myself liking the crustiness and relative density.  

I then had a revelation:  I'd been eating fewer bagels in New York--or anywhere else (Most bagels sold in other places try to imitate the ones from the Big Apple) because they seem puffed-up--almost like a sponge cake--on the inside, and they are saltier than they used to be.  In fact, much of the flavor in many foods bought and consumed in New York is little more than salt.

I might go back for more of those bagels before I return to the States.  I might buy a piece of brisket from Schwartz's, though it might be harder to get through US Customs.

For that matter, I might go back to Mache for a pate chinois.  I think whoever named it must have been drinking too much beer, hard cider or maple syrup. (A sugar rush can make you do all sorts of strange things!)  One legend says that it was so named because Chinese restaurants made it for workers.  Somehow I doubt it, as the pate does not resemble anything Chinese I've ever encountered.

If anything, it bears more resemblance to a Shepherd's Pie or Cottage Pie.  Like them, the pate is made with mashed or whipped potatoes.  In the traditional version, which I ate tonight, those potatoes float over a layer of ground beef and kernels of corn (maize).  Other versions use other kinds of meats and vegetables, depending mainly on what's available locally and what's in season.  Mache and other restaurants have even come up with vegetarian or vegan versions.

If this dish has any Chinese connection, it might be that it was fed to Chinese railway workers who turned Montreal into the major railway hub it was for over a century.  

Whatever the origin of Pate Chinois, I enjoyed it.  It's not a spicy food, but it (at least the one I had) was flavorful--and hearty.  I could say the same for the bagels--and, for that matter, the smoked meat from Schwartz's.  

Those foods are further confirmation of something I'd started to suspect when I was in Paris:  that much of the flavor of iconic New York foods, including the bagels and meats, come from their saltiness.  None of what i ate today--or, for that matter, none of what I've eaten on this trip--has left me with the saline aftertaste I so often experience after eating foods in New York.

What further confirms my hypothesis is that I've done as much riding as I've done during the past three days--and as much walking as I did the day before--yet I haven't consumed a lot of water.  

Eating Schwartz's smoked meat and Farimount Bagels raises an interesting socio-historical question for me:  How is it that two of the world's leading Jewish communities--those of New York and Montreal--come up with such different takes on foods traditional to their culture?  These differences are all the more striking when you realize that each city's Jewish community began at around the same time (mid-19th Century) and included immigrants from the same places, namely Germany, Poland, the Ukraine and other eastern and central European states.  (In contrast, most of the Jews in France. for example, are or descend from North Africa and the Middle East.)   

Whatever their origins, those foods gave me food for thought--and energy for riding!

I

When They Tried To Bar Major Taylor

This month--February--is Black History Month here in the US.

Mention "black cyclists" and one of the first names that comes to mind is "Major Taylor".

He was the first African-American athlete to win the world championship of any sport.  (Canadian bantamweight boxer George Dixon was the first black athlete to accomplish that feat.)  Although he was one of the most famous and admired athletes in the world, the "Worcester Whirlwind" was not insulated from racism.

The Worcester Whirlwind, circa 1900. From wikipedia.

The city from which Taylor's nickname was derived--Worcester, Massachusetts--was one of the centers of the Abolitionist movement.  Even so, not everyone there welcomed him with open arms.  When he bought a house in the well-to-do Columbus Park enclave, alarmed white neighbors tried to buy it back from him.

Even if you're the best in the world, you can't stop fools from being foolish.

Even so, life was better for him in Worcester--and in the rest of the Northeast--than it was elsewhere in the US.  While he won pretty much every race and award that could be won in his home region, he could not advance his career unless he won in other parts of the country. Two things conspired against him:  One, owners and promoters of races and tracks in the South banned him--and all other black cyclists--outright. Second, in 1894, just as Taylor's career was in ascendancy, the League of American Wheelmen--then the governing body of bicycle racing--voted to ban blacks.  Some have speculated that the ban was specifically aimed at Taylor, who, even at the age of 17, was beating his white challengers, some of whom were far more experienced than he was.

(The LAW is now known as the League of American Bicyclists.)

That ban, of course, closed other doors for him.  There were, however, a number of races--mostly in the Northeast--that allowed him to compete.  And, of course, he went to Canada:  In 1899, he won the World Championship for the one-mile sprint in Montreal.  

(Interesting aside:  In 1946, Jackie Robinson played for the Montreal Royals, which was the top minor-league team of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Fans in Montreal embraced him, as they did Taylor half a century earlier.)  

But even in the relative tolerance of his home region, Taylor encountered hostility.  He was often denied lodgings and food on account of his color, and white racers turned into pure-and-simple thugs when riding against him: One opponent hauled him off his bike and choked him into unconsciousness.

In the racial atmosphere of that time, the only way Taylor could advance his career was by racing in Europe.  He, in fact, had a number of offers to participate in races and join teams, especially in France.  He was grateful for the opportunities but would not accept them at first:   In Europe, many races were held on Sunday, as they are now.  Taylor had become a devout Baptist after his mother's death and would not race on the Sabbath.

Some of the offers he received were lucrative, to say the least.  When pleas and urgings from prominent African-Americans as well as cycling fans had no effect on him, black newspaper editors of the time published what we would now call "fake news"--saying that his religious scruples had been conquered by Mammon--or editorials speculating that such a thing would happen.

Of course, it didn't.  Finally, in 1901, a French team offered him a contract that specified he wouldn't have to race on Sunday.  He accepted, and before he even mounted a bicycle on the other side of the Atlantic, he was treated to a hero's welcome. 

An American in Paris.

Europeans were as impressed with his dignity and grace as they were with his athletic prowess.  He did much to help improve the level of European racing, not only by his presence, but also by mentoring young racers.  Here is one account of such tutoring, from his autobiography:

  I recall that on my first trip to Europe in 1901 I saw a French youth, whose name was Poulain, ride in an amateur event at Nantes, France. He was very awkward as he rode about the track, but something about him caught my eye, and I became interested in him at once. At the close of the race I made several suggestions to him, adjusting his pedals, and handle bars, and giving him some advice on how to train. I stressed clean living upon him, and told him in conclusion that if he trained carefully and lived a clean life, I would predict that some day he would beat all the amateurs of Europe and the professionals as well.

  When I returned to France in 1908 this same Poulain, who in the meantime had won the amateur and professional championships of France, defeated me in a special match race. Imagine my surprise at the conclusion of this event when my conqueror told me who he was. The laugh certainly was on me. I did manage to bring him into camp, however, after I reached by best form.

"The laugh was certainly on me." How could they not love someone with such an attitude?  Unfortunately, not everyone in his home country felt the same way.

A Wrong Path To Bike Safety

I am generally not a fan of bike lanes.  While data from Antwerp, Belgium indicate that they cut the accident rate in half on high-speed (75KPH/45MPH or more) roads, that same study shows that a cyclist riding in either a separated or painted lane along a medium-speed (50KPH, or 30 MPH) has roughly the same accident risk as one riding on the road itself.  

The same research shows, most tellingly, that along low-speed roads (30KPH/20MPH)--meaning most urban streets--a cyclist in a painted lane is nearly five times as likely to get in an accident.  And, if he or she is riding in a separated lane, the risk increases to more than six times what it would be if the road had no lane.

Studies from other locales corroborate the main lesson of Antwerp's experience:  that bike lanes make cyclists safer only in comparison to riding on a highway.  On most suburban streets, the safety level is about the same as it is for lanes.  And on city streets, using bike lanes actually puts cyclists at greater risk for accidents than if they rode on sidewalks, which have long been considered--by planners and everyday cyclists alike--to be the most dangerous places to ride.

Yet transportation planners and "experts" insist that the best way to make urban cycling safer is to paint or install more lanes.  When confronted with findings like the ones I've mentioned, their response usually goes along the lines of "Well, bike lanes make people feel safer.  And if people feel cycling is safer, more of them will do it."

Some people feel safer if they sleep with a gun under their pillow. I wonder how well that logic works.

Anyway, it seems that in transportation planning--especially as it pertains to bicycles--there isn't an idea that's so bad that nobody can come up with something worse.  And, sadly, those worse ideas are just as likely to come from "bike friendly" burgs as they are to emanate from those places where one is not considered fully human without an internal combustion engine.

For the past decade or so, Montreal has been done as much as any city to encourage cycling.  Like other municipalities with "bike friendly" reputations, it established a bike-share program (Bixi) and turned disused byways like the path along the Lachine Canal into bike lanes.  To be sure, it made some mistakes, but on the whole, Montreal has probably done more than most cities (at least in the Americas) to consider cyclists in its transportation planning.

From CBC News

But now it seems that Denis Corderre, the Mayor the City of a Hundred Steeples, plans to take one of the most unsafe practices of contemporary urban planning and make it even more hazardous for cyclists--and just about everyone else.

La Rue St. Denis and Le Boulevard St. Laurent are the two main north-south thoroughfares on the island of Montreal, while Sherbrooke Street is one of its major east-west conduits.  Monsieur Corderrre wants to paint lanes on them that will be shared by bikes and buses.

Let that one sink in.  Bikes and buses in the same lane.  I don't see how anyone can feel, let alone be, safer.  Buses have a lot of blind spots, so it's easier for a bus driver to simply not see a cyclist in the lane.  Also, buses pulling over to pick up and discharge passengers, and pulling away from those bus stops are at least as much of a hazard as motorists making turns into intersections into which bike lanes feed.  

Oh, but it gets worse.  You see, Corderre's plan also calls for turning Avenues Papineau and de Lorimier--two other important north-south routes--into one-way streets simply to accomodate the bus/bike lanes.  

When I visited the City of Saints last year, I spent a fair amount of time riding all of those streets.  They are heavily trafficked, but one can ride them by exercising the same sort of caution one would employ on a major street in almost any western city.  Even a separate bike-only lanes would probably do nothing to make cycling safer.  In fact, they would most likely make riding more dangerous for the same reasons they put pedalers in greater peril in other cities.  On those streets, as well as on streets in other cities in which I've cycled, it's easier and safer to negotiate with buses when they, and cyclists, are part of the regular traffic flow.  I know:  I do it nearly every day!

Denis Corderre, reconsiderez s'il vous plait!

Happy To Ride Them Again

Today I luxuriated in riding another one of my own bikes.

Yesterday I took flight on Arielle, my Mercian Audax.  Today I spun the pedals on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike.  

Tosca

For over a week, I rode a relatively heavy hybrid/city bike with a geometry more relaxed than on any bike I own.  I understand why rental centers choose such bikes:  They stand up better than road racing or touring bikes to the rigors of city streets--which, in Paris, often include cobblestones.  Also, they are more responsive than mountain bikes.

The bike I rode in Paris this year, like the one I rode there last year, has a dropped-bar ("ladies'") frame made of oversized aluminum tubes.  The bike I rented in Montreal in October was also aluminum, but with a "diamond" ("men's") frame configuration.  Long-accepted wisdom (or dogma, depending on how you look at it) says that diamond frames are inherently more responsive than those with dropped bars because they are more rigid. My experience confirms that notion, at least for me.  I notice such differences on steel bikes, but they don't seem as pronounced as on the aluminum bikes I rode.  I wonder whether oversized aluminum tubes exaggerate the differences between these frame designs.

The Paris Bike Tour machine I rode this year.

Now, of course, my Mercians are lighter than those rental bikes, even though I made no effort to save weight in building my bikes.  And, even 700 X 28 tires--which both Arielle and Tosca sport--are narrower and much lighter than the rubber on the rentals.  So it's no surprise that my bikes would feel livelier.

But perhaps the most differences of all have to do with fit and my personal preferences.  Mercian custom-built the frames of both Arielle and Tosca for me, to fit the idiosyncracies of my body and riding preferences.  No amount of fiddling with the saddle and handlebar positions on rental bikes will make them fit me as well as my Mercians. 

Also, no matter how the handlebars are adjusted, the rental bikes all left me in a more upright riding position than even my most upright bike, the Schwinn LeTour that's become my beater/commuter.  Moreover, even that bike has a narrower and less-cushy saddle than any of the rentals had--and my saddles, all of which are leather (Gyes on the LeTour and Brooks on my Mercians) are broken in.

The Paris Bike Tour 

Then again, my riding in Paris did not have speed or even long distances as an objective.  I stopped frequently, whether to look at interesting things, shop or eat.  I suppose most people who rent bikes or use Velib (Paris' bike share program) are riding in similar ways.  

The bike I rented from Velo Urbain in Montreal

Don't get me wrong:  The bikes I rented this year and last from Paris Bike Tour were pleasant to ride and well-suited to their intended purposes.  So was the bike I rented from Velo Urbain in Montreal.  I would rent those bikes, from those places, again.  Still, I'm very happy to be riding my own bikes--especially Arielle and Tosca.

Bixi Est En Faillite; En Vive Citibike

Scarcely a day goes by without the New York Post or Faux--I mean Fox--news bashing the Citibike program.

A while back, New York magazine published a tongue-in-cheek article and Venn diagram suggesting reasons why "conservatives" "hate" Citibike and all other bike share programs.  One of the reasons given is that they perceive the program as "vaguely French."  

Bicycles in Montreal's bike-sharing program.

I put the word "conservative" in quotations because my understanding of the term is not necessarily what the author of the article seems to think it is.  And, among them, they don't all "hate" the program, or bicycles:  I know, and have known conservatives who are avid cyclists.

But folks who fit the writer's perception of the term--which I take to mean the editors of the Post and the Fox crowd--may be waiting with bated breath for a shoe to drop.

You see, Public Bike System Company, the Montreal firm that designed the Citibikes and their ports, has filed for bankruptcy.  Apparently, Citibike and the Chicago bike share programs didn't make payments to the company because glitches that resulted in difficulty or impossibility in taking bikes from, or returning them to, their ports.   

BSC, also known as Bixi, administers the bike share program in Montreal and supplies bikes and other equipment for the programs in a number of cities, including New York and Chicago.  

Citibike and New York City government officials said that BSC's bankruptcy shouldn't affect Citibike's current operations.  However, one has to wonder whether expansion of the program into other parts of the city (including my neighborhood, Astoria, and other parts of Queens) will be put on hold or cancelled altogether.