Paint Is Not Infrastructure

 I don't know whether Robert "Bicycle Bob" Silverman, about whom I wrote yesterday, uttered the title of this post.  It's not hard to imagine that he did--le peinture n'est pas une infrastructure--when he was campaigning for the safe, practical lanes Montreal's cyclists enjoy.

Someone who did say that--in English--was a fellow identified only as "John" in Hertfordshire.  He documented a "near miss" in which a driver squeezed him over to the curb.  

"John" blames, in part the driver:  "Whilst this was telegraphed right from the point when the van signals to turn right, there was a weary inevitability of at least one of the drivers not being able to see beyond the end of their bonnet and creating an easily preventable situation"  

While the carelessness or cluelessness of drivers is not news to cyclists in the UK or US, "John" also blames what an editor of road.cc sarcastically calls "a great piece of cycle superhighway."  His all-too-close encounter, he says, "demonstrates that poor cycle infrastructure, in this case a narrow lane that disappears just when you need it, can cause more problems than it solves."

He said what I've said--and, what I don't doubt "Bicycle Bob" said:  Poorly-conceived, -constructed and -maintained bicycle infrastructure is not only less convenient, but more dangerous, for cyclists and motorists alike, than no infrastructure at all.  I have seen too many examples of that here in New York, but too many planners persist in believing that simply painting a few lines on a street will lead to a safer co-existence, or at least a truce, between cyclists and motorists.

Robert Silverman: A Prophet Of Bicycle-Friendly Cities

 A few years ago, I spent an extremely pleasant long weekend in Montréal . What's not to like about a beautiful, diverse  city with good food and art where French is spoken?  

What made all of that even better?  Cycling.  La ville aux cent clochers is, simply, one of the best cities for cycling I've encountered.  The bike lanes aren't just lines of paint in a street:  They're physically separated from the rest of the traffic (although a couple I rode seemed a bit narrow for two-way bicycle traffic) and there seems to be more respect, or at least a better detente , between cyclists and drivers than I've seen in any US locale.

Moreover, the lanes I encountered weren't just paths that suddenly began in one place and just as suddenly ended somewhere else, far from any place else.  (Perhaps if I'd spent more time in the city, I might have found such useless paths.) Instead, there are at least a couple of lanes on which you can cross the city, and other lanes are actually useful in getting to and from anywhere you might be or want or need to go. You can even ride a lane to the Jacques Cartier Bridge or other crossings to or from the city, which is on an island.

What I didn't realize was that much of that pleasant, stress-free riding was a result, directly or indirectly, of "Bicycle Bob" Silverman.  

In 1975, he co-founded Le Monde à Bicyclette, or Citizens on Bicycles.  His choice of the French name was important because he knew that if he were to realize his dream of starting a "velorution " to break the "auto-cracy," he would need to reach beyond his mainly-anglophone circle.  Also, he said, the main cycling organization in his province--la Fédération quebecoise de cylotourisme , now known as Vélo-Québec, was focused mainly on recreational cycling. 

In the previous paragraph, you might've noticed that Silverman had a penchant for appropriating the rhetoric of political upheval.  That was no accident:  He identified as a Trotskyite and, in his twenties, lived in Cuba, where he met Che Guevara, before he was deported for distributing anti-Soviet literature.  After that, he lived and worked on an Israeli kibutz before 
"bouncing around Europe" and falling in love with cycling while riding in France (of course!). 

His vocabulary also reflected his flair for the dramatic. Le Monde à Bicyclette staged "die-ins" to protest cyclist deaths--which have since decreased significantly--in the city and province.  Silverman and his organization argued that the reason was not, as some claimed, that cyclists were careless or they shouldn't have been cycling in the city in the first place.  Rather, he argued that there were too many cars and that their number wouldn't stop growing as long as the city's and province's infrastructure is built around moving them rather than on human interactions and sustainable transportation--and that the bicycle is as viable a mode of transport as any other.

He also led other kinds of demonstrations, like the time he dressed up as Moses* and pretended to part the waters of the St. Lawrence River to lead cyclists across. (Hmm...Maybe this is why he was called a "prophet" of the bicycle-friendly, sustainable city.) Another time, he rolled out a carpet on Boulevard Maisonneuve to press for the group's demand for an east-west cycle route (which now exists) across the city.   In yet another action--which got Silverman three days in prison--he and a group of fellow cyclists painted clandestine cycle lanes in the dark of night.

Save for his time in Cuba, Israel and Europe, and the past few years in the Laurentians, Bob Silverman was a lifelong Montreal resident born and raised in the city.  His work was therefore not only abstract ideas about sustainability (before that became a widely-used term) or even cycling itself; it was his way of trying to achieve the kind of city he wanted.  That, according to Michael Fish, the architect who founded Save Montréal at around the same time Silverman and his friends started Le Monde à Bicyclette. "Nothing since the multiple achievements of Robert Silverman  for the rights of cyclists has so affected positively the environment of the region, at almost no public cost," he explained.

He and others want to memorialize Robert Silverman, who passed away at age 87 on Sunday.

Whatever the city does, the next time you ride there (or if you ever get to ride there), thank him.

*—I tried to find a photo of “Bicycle Bob” in Old Testament prophet mode. To this day, my mental image of Moses is Charlton Heston:  a result, most likely, of seeing “The Ten Commandments “ every year, on the night before Easter, during my childhood.

  

Would Tires Make A Difference?

In the early hours of this morning, we had our first significant snowfall of the season.  Here in NYC, we've had a couple of bouts of flurries.  But this storm resulted in five to eight inches of accumulated white stuff.

Not surprisingly, few people are cycling.  Seeing the Citibike port got me to wondering whether more people would ride on a day like this if Citibikes had snow tires.  Are the share bikes in cities that get more snow--say, Montreal--so equipped?

Then again, I wonder whether Citibikes would get more use on a day like this if their tires had studs.  I don't know whether anyone has studied the matter, but from my observations, I would guess that Citibikes are ridden mainly on bike lanes or streets that are plowed early.  And many are ridden by tourists who, unless they're really dedicated riders or come from colder climates, aren't going to ride on a day like today. 

Marianne Martin Finally Gets Her Due--Somewhat

 It's one thing to call a baseball player "the Black Babe Ruth."  One player wore that moniker.  But some called "the Bambino" "the White* Josh Gibson."

Gibson died at age 35, three months before Jackie Robinson broke Major League Baseball's color barrier.*  Yet he wasn't enshrined in the sport's Hall of Fame until a quarter-century after his passing.

Five years ago,  Rogatien Vachon was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame--more than three decades after he played his last game in the National Hockey League.  When he retired, he was among the sport's top five or ten in several categories for his position.  He spent the bulk of his career with the Los Angeles Kings, where he became the franchise's first superstar. But, as great as he was, he was overshadowed by other goalies like Ken Dryden, who played for the dynastic Montreal Canadiens teams, and Ed Giacomin, who spent his career with the New York Rangers and Detroit Red Wings.

So why am I mentioning them on this blog?

Well, a parallel just played out in the world of cycling.  On 6 November, Marianne Martin will accept her induction to the US Bicycling Hall of Fame in Colorado Springs.  She actually was inducted last year but, due to the pandemic, her ceremony was postponed.  

Her enshrinement comes three decades after she retired from competition and nearly four after her most notable achievement on two wheels.  That her induction was so late in coming is also a sad commentary on the state of competitive cycling.

Marianne Martin and Laurent Fignon, winners of the women's and men's Tour de France, 1984

In 1984, she won the inaugural edition of the women's Tour de France.  The race, 18 days long, ran in tandem with  (though on shorter courses than, with the same climbs and peaks as) the men's version.  Six editions of the women's Tour were held, the last coming in 1989, the year Greg LeMond came back from a near-fatal hunting accident to win the men's Tour for the second time.

LeMond got his induction, well-deserved as it was, five years after his last race.  Martin's honor took a quarter-century longer to come her way.  Still, she doesn't express anger or resentment. "Half my friends don't even know that I was a cyclist.  It's not something I carry out in front of me," says Martin, who is a photographer.  While she says that cycling was something she did, not who she was, it's hard not to compare her post-cycling life and reputation with that of LeMond who, in turn, is less famous than the disgraced Lance Armstrong.

*--The only athletes I respect as much as human beings as I respect Jackie Robinson are Billie Jean King, Muhammad Ali, Colin Kaepernick and Simon Biles. That said, I will not refute (or confirm) the rumors that Jackie wasn't the first Black Major League Baseball player, as others--including Babe himself--were rumored to be Black.  Also, it wouldn't surprise me if some light-skinned Black players moved north (where all of the MLB teams were, and Jim Crow laws weren't) and passed themselves off as white.  

A Cross I Didn't Have To Bear

It's been a while since I've been to church for anything but a wedding, funeral or memorial service. (At least they weren't my own!) But I have to admit that I at least stop and take notice when I see a cross looming over a landscape, like the Croix de Fer atop Mount Royal in Montreal.

For me, oversized crucifixes are both awe-inspiring and intimidating.  On one hand, I am impressed with the effort it takes to build any large structure that stands out in its environment. On the other, I can't help but to think about people who've been tortured and killed while or by hanging, whether from an upright tree or crossed staffs.  

Sometimes I wonder whether the person who constructed a large cross-like structure intended it to mean more than just its ostensible function--which, in this case, seems to have something to do with sails.

Somehow, seeing it over the water seems especially fitting today, the anniversary of Columbus' "discovery" of the Americas.  (I think Vikings, and possibly even Phoenicians, got here before him.  And neither they nor he "discovered" anything:  There were plenty of people living on this side of the ocean already.)  Colonizers claimed lands in the name of their church as well as the rulers of the countries from which they sailed.

Although I was pedaling into the wind when I saw this "cross" during a ride along the World's Fair Marina, my trek wasn't nearly as difficult as anything a "cross" represents!

 

John, 40 Years Later

Some things really can make you feel old.

I know, it isn't all about me.  At least, what I'm about to relate isn't.  But I write this blog, ostensibly about bicycling, and end up talking about myself.  Then again, what blogger doesn't talk about him/her/themself?

So here goes:  Forty years ago, John Lennon was murdered by someone who claimed --like other actual and would-be murderers and assassins--to have been inspired by Holden Caulfield (who was, not a killer, but a teenage rebel who feels disgust for almost everything in the adult world) of Catcher in the Rye.

Four decades ago? Four decades ago!  At the time, I had lived barely half that amount of time.  On the other hand, John had lived as long (having turned 40 two months earlier) when he was shot.

In an earlier post, I relayed one of his fondest memories:  of getting a bike as a kid. He rode it everywhere and didn't leave it outside at night, as other people  in his neighborhood did.  His wheels accompanied him to bed, he said.

Of course, what is better-known is someone who accompanied him to bed:

Yes, a bicycle accompanied him and Yoko during their first "Bed-In For Peace" in Amsterdam.  I don't know whether they had a bike during their second Bed-In, in Montreal, but it wouldn't surprise me if they did.

Here they are in 1972, stopping for what has long been a quintessential New York experience, but one that is disappearing.  Those iconic Sabrett's hot dog carts are being replaced by Halal food trucks and carts that serve kebabs and chicken or lamb with rice, as well trucks and carts offering other tacos, pizza and other "street foods."

(As best as I can tell, John is riding a Bottechia ten-speed and Yoko is on a Dunelt or Rudge three-speed. At least, I'm sure it's a three-speed but not a Raleigh.)

John, apparently, never gave up his love for cycling, even when he and the Beatles were touring and turning out an album or two every year.  

Tell me:  Does that look like '60's England, or what?

It certainly looks like John, expressing his kind of joy.

America Runs On It. But Should We Ride It?

Come on, admit it:  You've stopped at Dunkin' Donuts during at least one of your rides!

(I'll admit to having stopped for all sorts of "munchies" during rides, including maple donuts at Tim Horton's in Montreal, croissants and pain au chocolat at various French bakeries, kaimaki in Greece and various fruit treats in Laos and Cambodia.  And, yes, for Boston Cream or blueberry donuts, or chocolate-dipped French cruellers, at DD!)

The thing is, Dunkin' Donuts knows we exist.  They may know our preferences in comestibles, but not necessarily in machinery.

I came to that conclusion after seeing a photo of DD's new tandem bicycle.

Yes, you read that right.  Dunkin' Donuts is dropping its usual offering of donut-themed holiday gifts, probably because people almost always purchase them on impulse in Dunkin' shops, where there are fewer customers owing to social distancing mandates.  The new tandem bike is available only as an online purchase.

While some might like a frame adorned with the pink-and-orange logo (I have to admit, it is kinda cute!), one has to wonder about the bike itself.  To paraphrase Molly Hurford at Bicycling , American may run on Dunkin', but nobody should ride a Dunkin' bike.

To me, it looks like a "chopper" without the banana seat.  Furthermore, it's offered in only one size--with a road-style configuration both in the front and rear.  Most one-size-fits-all tandems are step-through at least in the rear, if not in the front as well.

Perhaps worst of all, the rear seat is behind the rear wheel, which makes a good saddle position all but impossible for most riders.  Also, the front ("captain's") cockpit is all but impossibly long for a bike its size, and the rear is so short that all but the tiniest riders would have to sit upright.

Dunkin' Donuts website does not give specifications regarding standover height, let alone geometry or componentry.  I'm guessing that while the folks at DD might want us to "run on Dunkin'" they might not expect anyone to actually ride on their bikes.  If anything, the bike is a collector's item for the most fanatical Dunkin' devotee.  As for me, I'll stick to the Boston Cream and  blueberry donuts, and the chocolate-dipped French cruellers.

 

R.I.P. Eddie B.

He has been beatified as "Father of American Cycling."  He's also been villified as the one who brought "Old World methods," if you know what I mean, to this side of the pond.

Edward Borysewicz passed away on Monday from COVID-19.  Known as "Eddie B" to his proteges and detractors alike, he is best known for training and developing the first generation of American cyclists since World War I who challenged, and sometimes defeated, their European counterparts. 

Born in Poland, he was a finalist for the Peace Race (often called "The Tour de France of the East") before a misdiagnosis of tuberculosis led to a treatment he didn't need--which, in turn, led to liver damage that ended his career. "I went in feeling like a rooster and came out feeling like a pigeon," he recalled.  (It's been speculated that this "misdiagnosis" was retaliation for his father's outspoken anti-communism.)  He continued to race, if not at the same level, and later turned to coaching.

In 1976, he accompanied the Polish team to the Montreal Olympics where Mieczyslaw Nowicki, one of the riders he coached, won two medals.  From there, he took a vacation in the US, where by chance, he met Mike Fraysse.   

It just happened that Mike Fraysse was the team manager for the US cycling squad.  He also owned Park Cycle in Ridgefield Park, New Jersey.  In addition to being one of the premier pro shops, and employing the likes of Francisco Cuevas and Pepi Limongi to build custom frames, Park Cycle served as a training facility for some budding talent.

He spoke no Polish. Eddie B spoke no English.  So, on a ride, they talked about training and other things in French.  It was there that both Fraysse and Eddie B saw an opportunity.

It just happened that the riders passing through Park Cycle included, or would come to include, Alexi Grewal, Andy Hampsten, Connie Carpenter, Davis Phinney, Beth and Eric Heiden, Betsy Davis and Rebecca Twigg.  None of them would go to Moscow for the 1980 Olympics, as then-President Jimmy Carter imposed a boycott.  However, when the Games came to L.A. in 1984--and the Soviet Bloc countries, in retaliation, boycotted--the stage was set for victories American cyclists hadn't experienced since at least their grandparents' youth.

Eddie Borysewicz with Greg LeMond, 2006.  (Photo by Mitchel Clinton)

The US team brought home glitter the Trumps would envy.  Alexi Grewal won gold in the men's road race. Connie Carpenter took the same in the women's road race, with Rebecca Twigg winning the silver medal. Steve Hegg won gold in the individual pursuit while Mark Gorski and Nelson Vails (a former NYC messenger) finished 1-2 in the men's sprint.  Hegg, David Grylls, Patrick McDonough, Leonard Nitz and Brent Emery would combine for a silver medal in the team pursuit.  Nitz would also take bronze in the individual pursuit, which Ron Kiefel, Roy Knickman, Davis Phinney and Andy Weaver also won for the team time trial.

Before these victories, no American had won an Olympic medal in cycling since in 1912.  Two years later, another Eddie B-coached rider achieved something that was thought impossible for an American rider.  I am talking, of course, about Greg LeMond's first Tour de France win.

Rumors--some later substantiated--of doping and other risky practices have long beclouded the Tour and other major races.  LeMond, throughout his career, denounced these practices because of the risks they posed, and denied having "juiced" himself.  Although Lance Armstrong and others have attacked him, there has been no credible evidence of LeMond doping or otherwise cheating.

On the other hand, controversy would later descend upon the Olympic medalists when it emerged that some of them had received blood transfusions.  While not illegal at the time, the US Cycling Federation banned it in January 1985.  The transfusions were organized by Ed Burke, the Federation's athletic director, and Borysewicz claimed that they took place without his knowledge or approval.  Nonetheless, he and Burke were fined.

Eddie B would continue to coach elite cyclists to victory, including Lance Armstrong.  But he always proudest of LeMond, whom he called "a diamond."  He also took pride in discovering riders like Twigg.  

His biggest contributions to American cycling, however, may have been in changing the ways Americans approached cycling.  First of all, he used his academic training to create more scientific methods of training and nutrition for his riders.  Second, and perhaps more important, he helped to re-orient the mentality of American riders, and of the American public, toward cycling.  

He didn't want John Howard, arguably the top male American cyclist of the 1970s, on his team because he had a "Texan" mentality: He was, Eddie believed, focused on his individual success.  Americans of his generation, according to Borysewicz, did not share the European concept of cycling for and with a team.  For all of their individual successes, he trained his cyclists to ride as a team, even if they were in individual pursuits like the sprint.

All of that, I believe, ended American cycling's inferiority complex.  After the victories I mentioned, other American cyclists--and the American public--believed they could ride with the best in the world.  That, perhaps, is Eddie Borysewicz's greatest legacy.

Yes, This Is A Love Letter To Greece!

A week after my Greek adventure, I am still reflecting on it.  And my toe is still healing.

Despite that mishap, my Hellenic holiday is one of the best I've ever spent.  I know I will always return to France because it's become a part of me, but, of all of the countries I've seen, Greece is the one to which I most passionately hope to return. I didn't do as much cycling as I'd hoped, in part because of the injury.  One day, though, I hope to return and do some more cycling--and, of course, to experience more of what the country and its people have to offer.

First, let me say something about the people.  If any of you are Greek, I hope you won't take offense to this:  In all of my travels, I've been to only one other country where the people were as effusively yet genuinely friendly as the Greeks:  Turkey.  A friend of mine once described me as an "extroverted introvert."  Yet I did not find the Greeks, as outgoing as they are, intrusive.  Perhaps it has something to do with being in a country that produced philosophers who wrote about balance and harmony:  Who better to understand the introspective soul within the effervescent, demonstrative personality?

If this view isn't worth pedaling up a road with five hairpin turns, what is?

Then, of course, there is the sheer physical beauty you encounter throughout the country, whether on the islands, or in the interior or Athens.  The Aegean Sea really is as blue, and its beach waters as clear, as what you see in photos all over the Web--and in postcards!  Seeing the temple to Zeus and the sanctuary of Athena in Delphi is even more awe-inspiring than I ever expected.  And, finally, even in its grittiest alleyways, Athens has a beauty very different from any other city I've seen--in part because you're never more than a few steps from a view of the Pantheon, and a subway ride can take you through an archaeological site.

That combination of classical balance and harmony with the large, wild bursts of line and color in the graffiti that adorned abandoned villas (and, in a few cases, defaced others) paint a portrait of a people and culture who have endured difficulty--whether from the economic crisis of 2009, the military dictatorship of the '70's or the Nazi occupation--but have not been broken.  Although I still love New York, so much of what I first loved about it has been co-opted or even destroyed by the pursuit of profit, always by those who already have much.  I don't know what the future holds for Athens, or for Greece, but I sense that Greeks young and old, contrary to what you may have heard, work hard but are still working to live, not living to (or for) work.

Finally--since this a blog about cycling, after all--I will say something about cycling.  I greatly enjoyed the cycling I did, although (or perhaps because) cycling in Greece was a very different experience.  Riding in Athens is different from riding in New York because the streets are narrower and there are almost no bike lanes.  (In fact, the only lane I encountered was the one I rode to the marina.)  Also, motorists are different:  A cyclist needs to be careful because most Athenian motorists aren't accustomed to seeing us.  This is in contrast with the open hostility one too often encounters from drivers in New York and other American cities, and is an even starker contrast to the relative bicycle-friendliness of, say, Paris or Montreal, let alone Amsterdam.

There is, as Manos at Athens by Bike told me, "no bike culture in this city, at least not yet."  Along the route to the marina--which parallels the #1 (green) Metro line, I did notice a shop in the process of opening, and there were a couple of stalls in the Flea Market that were as well-stocked (albeit with local brands) as shops I've seen elsewhere.  But in the city, or on the islands, you're not going to find the lycra-clad cyclists on carbon-fiber bikes.  They may show up one day, but I didn't see them on this trip.  On the other hand, in the countryside between Athens and Delphi, I did see a few cyclists who looked like they were doing some serious training on late-model, high-quality road and mountain bikes.

But as much as I like bike "culture," cycling is all about riding.  And people.  And places.  And history and culture.  Oh, and food.  Greece has all of that, which is why I want to return.  Maybe, by then, there will be more "cycling culture"--or I will help to create it!

On The Path Across America: The Hennepin Canal

When I was an undergraduate, one of my favorite rides took me along the Delaware and Raritan Canal Towpath.  One of my favorite rides in Paris follows the Canal St. Martin, and one of the highlights, for me, of cycling in Montreal was the Lachine Canal path.

All over the world, as canals designed for barge traffic fall into disuse, paths alongside them--which were often trod by horses and mules that pulled the barges--turn into all-but-ideal cycling and walking lanes.

Some folks in northern Illinois have discovered as much:  a trail alongside the Hennepin Canal has become a magnet for cyclists.  It's so popular, in fact, that it will become part of the Great American Rail Trail.

The Hennepin Canal connects the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers through northern Illinois.  Like the Delaware-Raritan,  St. Martin and other canals, it once served as an important link for water transportation.  Now it is a draw for all sorts of recreation, including fishing, boating and hiking as well as cycling.  

For one thing, paths along canals are flat.  But, perhaps most of all, canals are almost always scenic, whether because of the landscapes surrounding them or the industrial structures that line them. 

Can Silicon Valley Become Amsterdam--In India?

Efforts to get people out of cars and onto bicycles are most commonly associated with European (and, to a lesser extent, North American) cities with relatively young and affluent populations.  Most of them are places that have long been established as regional, national or worldwide centers of commerce, culture and technological innovation.  

Those cities, with a few exceptions like Portland, are relatively compact:  San Francisco, Montreal and New York are hemmed in by water, while European capitals are ringed by long-established, if smaller, municipalities.  In other words, they can't expand, so if people move in, their population densities increase--and housing becomes scarcer and therefore more expensive.  That, as much as anything, puts a damper on the growth in such cities' populations.


Most people don't immediately associate car-to-bike campaigns with rapidly-growing cities in developing, low- to middle-income countries.  If anything, people want to parlay their newfound prosperity, or even flaunt it, with their new automobiles.  That their shiny new machines may spend more time idling in traffic than moving to any particular destination seems not to deter them from getting behind the wheel rather than astride two wheels.

So it is in Bangaluru, known in the English-speaking world as Bangalore.  It's often called "The Silicon Valley of India" for its concentration of high-tech firms, which have drawn migrants from the rest of India. As a result, it's been one of the world's fastest-growing cities and metropolitan areas in the world: The 2011 Census counted 8.4 million residents (about the same number as my hometown of New York) but current estimates say that there are between 10.5 and 12.3 million people living in the city where fewer than 3 million lived in 1981 and only 400,000 took up residence in 1941.

But Bangaluru, like other rapidly-growing cities in developing countries, has even more knotted and chaotic traffic than what one encounters in First World cities.  As I've mentioned before, millions newly middle-class Bangalureans have taken to driving.  The real problem, though, seems to be that the city's roads simply can't handle so much traffic.  They are narrow, and many people won't cycle because they don't want to compete with motorized vehicles for space.  Worse, they are jostling with cars and trucks on the roadway while dodging huge potholes:  Before the boom, there wasn't money for maintenance, but now it's difficult, if not impossible, to keep up with needed repairs.  

The possible model for Bengaluru

So, the city and its regional administration are working on a several-pronged plan that both takes its cues, and learns from the mistakes of, other schemes in the area's cities.  In those places, bike lanes were built but people didn't use them because they weren't useful for getting to wherever they had to go or were simply seen as not much safer than riding on the streets.  Also, Bangaluru planners have learned that city-owned bike share programs have had a number of problems and, as one report put it, while municipalities are good for providing the needed infrastructure, private companies are better at providing share bikes.  A problem with those services, though, has surfaced in cities all over the world, especially in China:  the bikes are left anywhere and everywhere when people are finished with them.  So, a possible solution is to have a company like Yulu or Ofo provide the service, and for the city to build dedicated parking facilities--like lots for cars, only smaller--where people can leave, or pick up, bikes.

Could India's Silicon Valley also become its next Amsterdam?

Yes, Airports Should Be More Bike-Friendly. But For Whom?

Can you ride to your flight?

I've done it, on a couple of occasions--most recently on a trip to Montreal three years ago. The flight left LaGuardia Airport, which is about 7 kilometers (4.25 miles) from my apartment.  Since I went only for a long weekend, I didn't need to bring much with me.  Also, the fact that I was gone for such a short trip meant that vandals and thieves would have a relatively short window of opportunity.  Still, I rode my "beater" bike.

It's not only the short distance from my apartment that makes LaGuardia an easy bike trip for me.  The route is flat and most of the route takes me along residential streets.  I have to navigate through traffic on the entrance ramps to the terminals, but even that is really not difficult in comparison to entering some other airports.

John F. Kennedy is further away: about 22 kilometers (14 miles). If I'm not carrying a lot, it's certainly not a difficult trip.  Like the route to LaGuardia, the way to JFK is flat and includes mostly typical Queens streets.  There is more traffic entering and leaving JFK, but I know a few ways to navigate it by bicycle.

I've taken a number of flights from JFK, but only once did I cycle there.  For one thing, when I go from JFK, I am usually gone for longer periods of time than I am on my LaGuardia flights. So, even if I use my "beater", my bike has a greater chance of being stolen or damaged.  Also, when I go to JFK, I am probably taking a flight very early in the morning or late at night.  If I have to be at the airport at 5 am, I really don't want to ride--or, more precisely, wake up early enough to ride--that early.  Also, if I'm returning from overseas, I'm probably jet-lagged and cycling on busy roads might not be such a good idea.

The other major New York airport is Newark-Liberty International, which is accessible only from major highways that prohibit or severely restrict bicycles and pedestrians.

I got to thinking about all of this because of an article in the New York Times.  It profiles Conor Semler, a Boston-area transportation planner whose job involves taking flights about twice a month.  He said something that resonated with me:  "I prefer not to be in a car."  Plus, he said, the bike can be better depended upon to get you to your flight on time:  If you drive or take a taxi or bus, you could get caught in traffic.  And most US airports don't have a direct rail link to, or even near, them.

Conor Semler converting his rolling luggage to a backpack. (Taken by Kayana Syzmczak for the New York Times.)

Logan Airport, Boston's terminal, is closer to the center of the city it serves than any other major US airport, which certainly makes things easier for Semler.  Also, he usually flies to Ronald Reagan International Airport, just outside Washington DC.  When he arrives, he walks ten minutes to a Capital Bikeshare station in Arlington, Virginia and rides 30 minutes to his company's office.  

In other words, he is aided by the relative proximity of the airports to his home and office, and his familiarity with the area around them.  It's not so simple when you don't know your way around--or when there isn't a bike share available when you arrive.

I don't know what bike parking is like at Logan, but in most US airports, there are few or no places where one can park a bike safely, especially for long periods of time. Big airports have long-term parking for cars. Why can't they have it for bikes?   

But having any sort of safe parking facilities for bikes would help a group of people mentioned in only one sentence of the 1200-word article:  airport employees.

I don't have empirical data, but I am sure that in many airports, a significant number of folks who work in the corridors and terminals ride their bikes to work. That is certainly the case at LaGuardia and JFK, in part because they are closer to the center of the city--and the neighborhoods where employees live--than most other airports are to theirs. 

That airport employees would ride to work makes sense when you understand cycling's "equity gap," which has been summed up thusly:  "The poor bike, the rich bike-share."  In other words, people in lower income brackets are more likely to ride (or walk) to work than people in higher income brackets.  But poor cyclists are as invisible to non-cyclists--and to bicycling advocates--as the poor generally are to the rest of society.  Most non-cyclists, particularly in urban areas, see cycling as a kind of privileged fashion statement by young people who wash down their $20 avocado toast with a $15 craft beer.  That, I believe, is the reason why they resent any effort--whether through building infrastructure or starting bike-share programs--to encourage more people out of cars and onto bikes.

One thing I know about most airport employees: They don't make a lot of money.  (I'm not talking about the people who work for the airlines and TSA:  I mean the ones who are directly by the airport or its operating agency.)  In fact, many don't make much, or anything, more than minimum wage.  They can't afford to lose their bikes!

So, while I am glad that the Times showed that making airports more bike-accessible and bike-friendly is a good idea, I wish that they didn't re-enforce the notion too many people have about cyclists:  that we all do it for leisure or by choice.  The real benefit in having bike lockers, let alone other facilities, will accrue to the person who's loading luggage onto the flight that someone like Conor Semler reached by bike.

Making Bike In Minnesota

Minnesota State College Southeast, in the city of Red Wing, has a guitar repair and building program.  That program has a waiting list.

So, why am I mentioning it in this blog?  

Well, folks at the college realized that the reason why so many students signed up for the program is something every educator knows:  Students will be engaged, work hard and learn well when teachers encourage students to work on something that fits their passions.  

That is a scenario Travis Thul, the college's Dean of Trade and Technology, wanted to replicate in another program he's helping to create.  He says the college was looking for something that has "unique, tangible emotional appeal" while, at the same time, "encompassing the core competencies of mass manufacturing."  

So what did he and the college come upon?  Well, since you're reading this blog, you may have already guessed the answer:  the bicycle.  As he says, most people have grown up with a bicycle and recall the fun they had with it.  Also, the city of Red Wing has a "bicycle-oriented culture," with trails that attract riders from the surrounding areas. 

 

Furthermore, Minnesota and neighboring Wisconsin have companies that represent a disproportionate amount of the US bicycle business, so there are job opportunities for graduates of the college's bicycle design and fabrication program.  The first classes--which include algebra and physics--will be held in the Fall of 2019, and the first graduates are expected to get their Associate of Applied Science degree in 2021 after completing 60 credits.

While students will study traditional aspects of bicycle design, Thul says that he and other faculty members decided, "it's very important that core mathematics and physics are taken seriously" because "the force distribution on one bicycle frame is going to be different from the force distribution on another frame."  Also, he hopes that this background will help and encourage students to take on another passion of his:  designing and building adaptable bicycles for handicapped people.

But the most important goal of the program, according to Thul, might be to help students develop transferable skills.  "A drivetrain is a drivetrain. Gearing is gearing. Welding is welding," he explained.  They are skills, he says, that can be "used at Red Wing Shoes, Fastenal, Valley Craft" and many other local--and worldwide--manufacturing companies.

The program certainly sounds interesting,and I can't blame Thul for thinking he has the right idea.  After all, he recently received a call from the CEO of a company in Montreal, Quebec.  That CEO wants to hire graduates of his program.

I Paid Again (Don't Tell Anybody!)

Yesterday was a milestone for me:  It was the second day in a row I did an organized ride I had to pay for. I pride myself on not paying to go on a ride unless there's a very, very good reason--say, an event or cause or some ride I purely and simply want to do. (That's why I paid the five-dollar fee in a couple of the early Five Boro Bike Tours.) And it would have been against something--I won't say my religion, because I don't have one--to pay to ride two days in  a row.

 The way I rationalize this second consecutive day of pay-to-ride that I am in a completely unfamiliar place.  I can get around Paris almost as well as I can navigate New York.  After spending a day riding with a guide, Rome wasn't so difficult to figure out from the saddle.  Ditto for Montreal.  But Siem Reap is a whole different experience in every way--from the traffic patterns to the language, of which I can use about five words.

Also, I have no qualms about this second consecutive paid ride because it's very different, in almost every way, from the one I took the other day.  I enjoyed both, but some of you might prefer one to the other, for various reasons.

Yesterday's bike ride was run by a company called Grasshopper Adventure Day Tours, which also organizes rides in other countries.  The first point of difference between the ride I took with them, and the one I took the other day with PURE, is that yesterday's ride was supported en route.  The driver even picked up me and Stuart, the other participant in this ride, from my guest house and his hotel.  

The driver brought us to Angkor Wat, where we watched the sunrise. Well, we saw the dawn, or the beginning of the day, anyway:  A curtain of clouds cloaked the sun and allowed a few orange and pink rays from its fringes.

Oh, well.  For me, it was two days in a row of clouds blocking the sunrise at Angkor Wat.  It's a cliche, but you can't do anything about the weather:  In January, when I went to Florida, I had two days when the temperature didn't get much past 5C (40F) and two nights when it dropped to -4C (25F).  

After that sunrise, we had breakfast.  Yogurt, cereal, bread condiments, juices, coffee and tea were provided, and the driver made omelets (good, in fact) for me and Stuart. But the show-stopper, if you will, was a plate of sliced fruits, including the small but succulent bananas that grow here, as well as papaya, pineapple, a couple of melons and a white dragonfruit I'd never had before.  I could have eaten any of them all day!

That breakfast made me feel like I was part of a racing team.  Perhaps that wasn't a coincidence: Our ride leader, Vichea, is a mountain bike racer here in Cambodia. At least, he is when he isn't leading tours like ours or working his regular job as a teacher.

Before we set out to ride, he took us on a mini-tour of the main Angkor Wat temple.  I complimented his commentary; he demurred, saying, "Well, I  know this because I've been here all of my life."  

He also knows the trails in this area.  Grasshopper promised that this ride would take us away from the crowds.  Indeed, it did:  Even when we arrived at the temples, we were ahead of the biggest throngs of tourists.

Stuart is a regular mountain biker in his native Australia.  I once was semi-regular, but I haven't been since I sold my Bontrager 15 years ago.  Since then, I've stuck to road and street riding.  But I felt comfortable riding with Stuart and Vichea as we bounced oer rocks and tree roots, and navigated the steep turns, on dirt, mud and rock trails between the main Angkor Wat temple and its satellites, including Bayon.  We even rode through jungle but didn't see elephants, lemurs or even big snakes.  Near the end of the ride, though, we did spot some water buffalo.

By the way, in another contrast with my PURE ride, I rode a GT mountain bike with disc brakes and a mid-range suspension fork. When I registered, the Grasshopper administrator asked for my height and I noticed that Stuart, who is taller, had a bigger frame and Vichea, who is shorter, had a smaller frame than mine. I did the  PURE ride on a local-brand "city bike", which is kind of ironic given that the ride ventured  into the countryside.  That bike probably came in only one size.


We concluded with lunch at a roadside restaurant: a Khmer chicken-and-vegetable dish for me, accompanied by a small fruit plate, as every Khmer meal seems to be.  Not that I'm complaining:  I enjoy getting at least a taste of fruits I don't find often, if at all, when I'm at home.  

Now I'll admit that I feel at least one point of pride about this ride:  Stuart and Vichea both complimented my riding. I hope--and suspect--they weren't slowing down for me or tamping the intensity of those trails just because I am nearly two decades older than Sturart and he, in turn, is about a decade and a half older then Vichea!I  Then again, they probably didn't know that about me, if I do say so myself.

Don't Blame Me If Her Roof Leaks!

When I told people I was going to Cambodia, I got one of two reactions:  "Wow!" or "Why the ____ are you going there?"

I think I can answer the latter group--and justify the reactions of the former--with this:

Even though clouds veiled the rising sun, it was still impressive to see the dawning of a day at Angkor Wat.  I plan to return in the hope of seeing one of its fabled sunrises without obstruction.

Then I spent the next two hours on a mini-tour with a guide.  I assured him that I plan to return and hope that he is my guide again.  He told me some very insightful and funny stories, including one about carvings of the dancers inspried by the Asparas, the female cloud and water spirits of Hindu culture.  "They kept the king happy," my guide explained.  "A happy king means a happy kingdom with happy subjects."  It makes sense, even though I don't know for sure:  I have never lived in a kingdom (although my own country is looking more and more like a dictatorship, or an attempt to create one) and have only visited a few, including Cambodia.  

Anyway, my guide told me, with some sadness, about how some of the carvings have worn out in spots--in certain spots in particular.  

You know which ones he was talking about--and why they "wore out".

After my visit, my day continued with my first bike ride in Cambodia.  Following the advice of my guest house host and a few other people, I went on a guided, organized ride, as cycling here is very different from anyplace else I've ridden.  Suffice it to say that I wasn't riding on bike lanes like the ones in Paris or Montreal.  

Debates over whether to ride 650B, 700C or 26 inch become pretty meaningless when you're riding on farm paths--or streets that look like moonscapes with trucks, cars, motorbikes, tuk-tuks and just about every other sort of vehicle you can imagine. The rule of road here seems to be that smaller vehicles get out of the way of bigger ones.

You Sert, my guide, promised to show me "the real Cambodia".  Being an American, who has been in this country for all of two days, I can't say exactly what that is.  But I do know I saw I side of the nation, or at least this section of it, I might not have seen otherwise.

He was conducting a tour for PURE, a not-for-profit dedicated to education and vocational training for local people.  PURE tours venture into the countryside out of Siem Reap and include, among other things, a stop at a marketplace--to buy fresh vegetables that become part of a lunch served by a local family.  (Delicious,by the way!) 

The first stop on our tour, probably about 10-12 kilometers out of the city, was a complex of shrines and monasteries.  One of the first things to catch my attenton was this

on a column of  a crematorium.  Apparently, cremation is a Khmer (the ethnicity of most Cambodians) custom, and the family keeps the remains "in a beautiful box," as You Sert said.

My tour also included a stop at a farm where a woman practiced traditional medicine, including "cupping"--which, according to her, revealed that I'm not ill and that my muscles are fine.  If nothing else, it felt like a nice massage. And her kids simply couldn't get enough of me!  According to You Sert, they all knew--although nobody told them--"she's a teacher".  

Another stop took us to You Sert's house, where he lives with his wife, mother, year-old son and sister-in-law, who looked 13 years old, if that.  Like most houses in the countryside--only 30 or 40 kilometers away from the city--it's basically a hut, open on one side.  It does have electricity, however, and his family watch TV and video games--and You Sert will be able to send me e-mails from there!

Yet another destination was another farm, where a woman showed me how she weaves tall grasses into the roof of her house.  When we visited her, she was weaving sections that would replace some that currently stand between her, her family and the elements. She even invited me to try my hand at it.  The technique isn't difficult:  You just have to make sure to do it right.  Also, as she explained--and I quickly learned--it's hard on one's back.  After weaving a section with her, I was ready to go back to the woman who practices "cupping". 

The ride itself was not at all strenuous. For one thing, it was flat.  For another, the pace was easy.  I don't know whether You Sert was underestimating my abilities or simply being cautious in the cobbly, chaotic road conditions.  He did say, though, that most riders want to sleep after his tours, but I obviously did not.  Also, he said he enjoyed our conversations.  "Most tourists just want to do a bike ride in Cambodia," he explained.  "They don't ask about my life and culture, like you do," he explained.

Oh, and after that ride, I went back to Angkor Wat for a couple of hours. I know I'll be spending more time there. 

So, the real question isn't why I came to Cambodia.  Instead, my acquaintances should wonder why I'm waking up at 4 in the morning during my "vacation".  Whether or not they ask, they shouldn't blame me if a Cambodian peasant's roof leaks!