New York's Bike-Share Program: Who And What Is It For?

From Velojoy

The bike-share program here in New York has just passed its first week. Of course, it's too early to render verdicts on it, although that hasn't stopped anyone--whether a proponent or opponent of the program--from doing so.  The other day, I wrote about Dorothy Rabinowitz's hysterical editorial; yesterday, the Daily News harped on the fact that a couple of bicycles lost their pedals and a few kiosks (out of hundreds) didn't accept would-be riders' credit cards. 

On the other hand, even though I'm glad that the program is finally up and running (two years after its planned launch), I still think it's too early to pronounce the program is a success.  For one thing, as a Time article points out, it's more expensive than its counterparts in Paris and London. In those cities, a day pass costs about what a single ride on the Metro or Underground costs; one day on a Citibike in the Big Apple will cost you about what five subway or bus trips would cost.  And, if you don't check into one of the kiosks within 30 minutes (or 45 minutes if you buy the lifetime pass), it's even more expensive.

The rules I've just described, as well as the cost, limit the usefulness of the program for commuters as well as its desirability for tourists and recreational riders.  Even if you're a very fast rider, it's difficult to "explore" on the bike, let alone reach the more far-flung corners of the city, within those time limits. As all of the kiosks are in Manhattan south of 59th Street and in the Brooklyn neighborhoods closest to Manhattan, Queens, the Bronx and Staten Island are out of reach. (The ferry ride alone to or from Staten Island takes about twenty minutes.)  So are Harlem and Coney Island. 

Perhaps these limitations on tourists and recreational riders wouldn't be of such concern if the bike share program were intended to be a supplement to the mass-transit system.  That might work in Paris, as no place in the City of Light is more than 500 meters (about 3/10  of a mile, or six blocks) from a Metro station and the buses are efficient.  It might even work in London: Although it's more spread out than Paris, its Underground branches through the city.  On the other hand, not only is New York bigger than those cities; it also has subway lines that are more clustered together in certain parts of the city, leaving other parts without service. (Parts of eastern Queens and southeastern Brooklyn are seven to ten kilometers, or four to six miles, from the nearest subway station.) Worse yet, the buses--especially the ones that run cross-town in Manhattan--are notoriously slow.

So, perhaps, the City's Transportation Department and Citi Bank, the program's sponsor, need to be clearer about the intended purpose(s) of the Bike Share program and structure policies and rates accordingly.  And, as I've mentioned in a previous post, it would help if New York were truly made a more bike-friendly environment. 

 

Three Years!

Today I realized that I—or this blog, anyway—had reached a milestone.  A minor one, perhaps, but a milestone nonetheless.

Three years ago yesterday, I published my first post on this blog.  Now, 818 posts later, it’s still going.  And I haven’t lost my passion for it.  Or, let’s just say that it’s fun for me.  I hope that reading and following this has been fun for you, too!

In the three years I’ve been keeping this blog, I’ve tried to make it interesting, funny, thought-provoking and a conveyor of emotions and spirit.  Now, I don’t think I’ve done all of those things at the same time.  Then again, would you want to read a post that did that?

I’ve also tried not to turn it into a mere log of my rides or my bikes and equipment.  Speaking of equipment, the few reviews I’ve done are of ones that I have used for (at least relatively) extended periods of time, and for which I hadn’t seen a lot of other reviews up to the time I was writing mine. 

That is why, for example, I haven’t reviewed Mavic Open Pro rims—or, for that matter, any other Mavic rim or wheel.  I have been using Mavic wheel goods for over 30 years, and all of my current bikes sport their rims.  That’s an endorsement, I’d say.  Also, I haven’t reviewed, and don’t intend to review, Brooks B17 saddles, even though I now ride the standard version on two of my bikes (Helene and Vera) and the narrow version on my other two (Arielle and Tosca).  I could write a post, or more, about what I like about them but, for the most part, I would simply paraphrase what other fans of those saddles have already said.  

On the other hand, I hadn’t seen many reviews of the King Iris cage, White industries or MKS platform pedals, Bike Burrrito or other products reviewed on this blog.  I’ve debated whether I want to review the Carradice bags.  Some time, if I’m feeling really ambitious, I might write a blow-by-blow analysis of the bikes I now ride.  I love them all, but I still feel as if I’m learning about them.  Then again, I have felt that I was always learning about any bike I kept and rode for any period of time.

I’ve also debated whether I want to write about past bike tours or races.  If I were to write about them, I’d probably concentrate more on my feelings and impressions—and, perhaps, other things that were going on in my life—rather than to scribble (Can you do that on a computer?) travelogues or accounts of race tactics.

Anyway, as I said, I still love writing this blog, so I expect to keep it up for some time.  In the three years since I’ve started this blog, I’ve posted about three out of every four days.  I don’t know whether I’ll keep up that pace.  One thing that will determine the frequency of my future posts is, of course, what else goes on in my life. 

So, to those of you who have been reading and following this blog:  Thank you.  And if you’re here for the first time—or started following us recently—welcome aboard!  I hope you’ll enjoy the ride with me!

"Death By Bike"

I don't mean to pick on one political party or another.  But I simply must ask:  Why do some conservatives go totally apopleptic when the subject of bicycles comes up?

I think Dorothy Rabinowiz's rant about the New York's new bike share program takes the cake:



Now I will say, in her defense, that I used to respect and even admire Ms. Rabinowitz.  Sure, she has always been more "conservative" (whatever that means) than I am on most issues.  However, she took a courageous--and, as it turned out, correct--stance back in the days when it seemed that every week, some hapless day care worker was  being incarcerated over testimony that included "recovered memories" and other since-discredited evidence.

Please note that I am as disgusted as anyone can be by adults who abuse children sexually or otherwise. However, I also don't want to see people punished for crimes they didn't commit.  That, in essence, was Ms. Rabinowitz's stance when Kelly Michaels and others lost years or decades of their lives over the wildest stories imaginable.

What's happened to her since?  Why exactly does she think bikes are such a scourge?  While I agree, to some degree, with her criticisms of Mayor Bloomberg, I think that she doesn't represent the majority of citizens, as she believes she does.  

Purple Haze And Another New York Pretzel

Today I rode to the Village to meet a friend.  Along the way, I saw this:

A couple of posts ago, I wrote about the "New York Pretzel."  Most of the time, it's a rear wheel that's so mangled. Sometimes one finds a front wheel in similar condition, and some unfortunate cyclists find new meaning in the term "wishbone stays."

But this is the first time I saw a rack so twisted.  Actually, now that I think about it, I'm surprised that more racks aren't even more wrecked.  After all, a rack is usually not as strong as a wheel.  If yours is, Goddess help you!

Speaking of things the Goddess helped, check out what I saw in front of the former United States Appraiser Store:

What I Remembered On My Memorial Day Ride

I can't think of any bike ride I've taken, at any time in my life, that didn't leave me in a better state, in some way or another, than I was in before the ride.

Sometimes it's the exhiliaration of riding a particular distance, up a mountain or across some other type of difficult terrain. Other times, the euphoria can come from having braved rough weather conditions--or enjoying favorable ones.  Or we can be happy about something we've seen, someone we've met or a meal or snack we've eaten (or drunk!) along the way. 

I was happy I took my ride to Somerville on Memorial Day because, as I mentioned, I got to see a race and I pedaled my first (non-metric) century in three years. But, ironically enough, some of the happiness I felt from doing, and having done, the ride came from the moments of melancholy I experienced along the way.

You see, along the way, I rode along roads, through places, I hadn't seen in a very long time.  But I once rode them routinely, especially when I was a student at Rutgers and during the time I lived in the area after returning from living in  France.  

Sometimes I rode with the Central Jersey Bicycle Club, back when long-distance (or almost any adult) cyclists were still geeks of a sort.  In those days, most people who didn't live within a town or two also didn't know about the race, let alone the Tour de France or the Giro d'Italia.  And most motorists had no idea of what to do when a cyclist was on the road.  (Many still don't.) 

Much of what I saw, and experienced was familiar to me.  Road surfaces on Route 28 in and around Plainfield and Bound Brook were just as bad as I remembered them.  Of course, that added to the charm of Monday's ride.  Also, the towns I saw along the way hadn't changed nearly as much as I expected.  Sure, there were some new houses and office buildings, and the complexions of some towns' residents had darkened or lightened, but they--and everything around them--were unmistakably Central New Jersey.  In other words, they're close enough to New York that many commute to it, but far enough not to seem like a suburb of the Big Apple.  Also, even in an affluent town like Westfield--whose downtown has stores that rival those of other high-income enclaves--there is still the down-to-earth quality one finds in more working-class towns like Bound Brook and Plainfield, a quality I don't find, say, on Long Island.

Also, I found myself re-connecting with a rhythm of riding I didn't realize I followed through all of those years I lived and rode in the area.  New Jersey, of course, doesn't have the kind of mountains that Colorado or Vermont have.  But, when you ride in New Jersey, you can count on this general principle:  If you are riding north or west, you're going to higher ground.  So, you can expect to do some climbing.  Because many extant roads in the Garden State were created by simply paving over older roads (or even trails)--some of which date to the Revolution or even earlier--climbs tend to come more suddenly.  You climb mostly in short bursts because there's often very little to lead up to it.  More modern roads have more gradual (if longer) inclines and longer straightways leading to them mainly because modern road-building techniques made such things possible.

Also, if you pedal south or west, there's a good chance you'll be riding into the wind (if indeed there is any).  In thinking back to the days when I rode almost daily in that area, I realize that I often, unconsciously, rode in accordance with the terrain and wind patterns I noticed on Monday.

I guess some rides--especially if we begin them when we're young--never end.

Bicycling: An Early Ex-Gay Therapy

By now, I'm sure you've heard that Michele Bachmann is not running for re-election.

I'm going to miss her.  After all, how many other people can make Sarah Palin seem--if only momentarily--sane and, at times, relatively coherent?

I mean, it's not just anybody about whom we can say that her assertion that gays can be "cured" is one of the less wacky things she says.  After all, she consulted the most impeccable authority on the subject:  her husband, who runs an "ex-gay clinic".  

Now, why am I mentioning that crazy couple on this blog?

Well, one reason is, of course, that this blog may be the only one in the world written by a onetime boy racer who became a lady rider.  But, in reading about so-called "conversion therapies" intended to make gay people straight, I learned that this sort of thing has been going on for even longer than I'd realized.  As you may know, people have tried to "cure" lesbians and gay men with electroshock treatments, lobotomies, cold baths, physical torture and even attempts to nudge benighted boys and girls to form loving non-sexual relationships with peers of the same gender.

And, for centuries, doctors, athletes and others have claimed that they could "cure" homosexuality through lots of intensive outdoor activity and vigorous exercise.  And, as you know, bicycling falls into both categories. 

So, as you've probably guessed, a physician who was once a respected authority in his field saw bicycling as a way of exorcising same-sex desires.

Graeme M. Hammond was a New York City-based neurologist and competitive fencer.  (He appeared, at age 54, in individual fencing events of the 1912 Olympics.)  Given that he was an athlete of one sort or another for nearly his entire life, it's not surprising that he would think that exercise is "good for what ails ya'."  Nor is it unusual to find that he believed homosexuality to be a neurological disorder, as nearly every physician and scientist who thought about the matter--including Dr. Harry Benjamin--believed the same thing. 

However, what's really interesting about Dr. Hammond's work is the reason why he proposed cycling as a "cure" for homosexuality:  He believed it to be a result of "nervous exhaustion." Cycling, he said, would help to "restore health and heterosexuality" and to cure other nervous conditions.

He also advocated bicycling and other exercise for women because--to his credit--he believed we are the "fighting sex."  The good doctor/fencer thought we would make better soldiers than men 'if only they could "acquire the physical strength and mental discipline" which, he believed, had been denied us through a culture that "mollycoddled" us and promoted "overindulgent lifestyles in regard to diet and exercise."

I like to think he was right about women.  Now, about cycling:  I'm all for just about anything that will get more people to ride bikes.  But now I know one place where I draw the line.  Plus, if you're reading this blog, you have some idea of just how effective cycling is at changing a person's sexual desires--or gender identity!

My Tour To Somerville

Memorial Day was cool and a bit windy.  The former part I like; the question was what to do about the latter.

Of course, if you're a savvy old cyclist, you plan a ride in which you're pedaling into the wind on your way out.  That way, the wind blows you back home. 

Plus, Arielle was begging not to go on just any old ride.  She wanted to see a race. 

 
Because she's been good to me, I granted her wish.  Actually, she granted mine, too:  I felt like taking a nice, long ride.

Where did we end up?

  
No, we didn't go to the hotel, as interesting as it is.  But we went to the eponymous county--out in West-Central New Jersey.

Said hotel is located in the county seat, just down the street from the courthouse.  The name of that town is Somerville.   If you're a bike racing fan, you've heard of it:

    
The Tour of Somerville Cycling Series is a three-day event that includes several races (including a women's race) andculminates with a Senior Men's 50-mile race on the afternoon of Memorial Day.  The series has run every year since 1947.  Actually, 1940 witnessed the first Series; World War II suspended it from 1943 to 1946.  The Senior Men's Race is  officially named the Kugler-Ross Memorial Tour of Somerville, in honor of the first two winners:  Furman Kugler (1940 and 41) and Carl Anderson (1942).  Both were killed while fighting the war.

For a long time--particularly during the Dark Ages of US cycling (roughly the two decades after World War II), the ToS was, arguably, the sport's biggest--or only--showcase in the US.   Whoever won the race was generally acknowledged to be the best American cyclist.  

Calling the race a "tour" in not some francophilic (or europhilic) affectation.  Rather, it was a legalism the race's founder pulled off just so it could be held at all.   At the time, New Jersey state law prohibited racing for prizes on highways.  Somerville's Main Street is State Highway 28.  So Fred Kugler (Furman's father) labelled the Somerville event a "tour".

As you might expect, many townspeople and residents of nearby communities turn out for the event, as there is no admission charge.  Also, because the races are held on a loop of closed-off street and are therefore fast and full of tight turns, they excite even non-cycling fans.

One of the more amusing aspects of the race is watching people cross the street after the peloton has passed--until the next lap, anyway.

 
They have to be quick:

 
 Otherwise, they could meet an unhappy ending:

 
 All right.  He didn't cross the path of the peloton. He wandered into US Highway 22, which I crossed en route.  Perhaps another race will be a memorial for him.

Seriously, everyone else seemed to be having  a good time. And, given the routes I took, I ended up doing a century.  I mean, an Imperial, not a Metric One.  101 miles, to be exact.

New York Pretzels

Time was, not so long ago, that every true New Yorker had eaten a hot pretzel sold on a street cart at least once.  And, if you were a tourist, that was part of your "New York experience."

As often as not, we bought those pretzels from the same carts that sold hot dogs--usually the Sabrett's brand.  You could find such carts in just about every neighborhood in the five boroughs, and, it seemed, on nearly every corner in the busier parts of Midtown and Downtown Manhattan.

By Francisco Companioni

But I've noticed that in the past fifteen years or so, those carts have been disappearing.  Or, perhaps, I just don't notice the existing ones as much, as The Big Apple's street food offerings have become more diverse.  Now it's possible to find carts and trucks from which crepes, waffles, fried chicken, various Middle Eastern and Indo-Pakistani delicacies, sushi and even Maine Lobster rolls are vended.  Back in the day, carts that sold pretzels and Sabrett's hot dogs pretty much were New York street food.

Truth be told, most of the time the pretzels weren't that good.  Usually, when you bought one, it spent hours over the warmer, so it was probably as dry as the salt crystals that coated its top.  Now, I don't claim to be a pretzel aficianado, but if I'm going to eat a big, hot pretzel, I want it to be chewy.  If I want hard pretzels, I'll stick to the smaller ones that you can buy in most grocery stores.

Anyway, as those Sabrett's carts have disappeared in New York, I've noticed another kind of pretzel.  I found this sample on a Tribeca street today:

That doesn't even come close to being the worst I've seen.  Here's something even more bent:

From Abandoned Bicycles of New York

When I worked in bike shops, we used to say such wheels were "pretzeled".  But a wheel like that can only be found in the Big Apple, I think.

The street pretzel vendors of yore didn't seem to realize that it doesn't take very long to turn something into a pretzel--which is the reason why their snacks were usually dry and hard.  But seriously: Once I parked on a street near the UN for about 45 minutes.  That's all it took to turn my rear wheel into one of those twisted treasures.  The difference is, the New York pretzels on bikes can't be made edible by slathering them with mustard!

A New Neighbor

I pedaled into wind that felt more like a boomerang of January than the first wave of summer.  Only a block from my apartment, I felt as if a season, an age, had passed. In the corner of my eye, I glimpsed this:

Even at this distance, something told me this wasn't a typical bike parked on a street in my neighborhood.  I made a U-turn so I could take a look.  

What else could have set off my radar?  I hastily snapped this photo, the one above it and another

when the bikes owner showed up.  I internally braced myself; he smiled warmly and said "hello."

Noah is from Montreal but now lives a couple of neighborhoods away from me.  He bought his 1981 King of Mercia from a woman on the Upper West said who, he said, was offered more money than he paid for the bike.  The would-be buyer was a collector; the woman, who'd stopped riding, still appreciated the bike enough that she preferred to sell it to someone who would ride it.  

Shortly after buying it, he converted it to a single speed but kept the old components. He set up the original crankset with a single ring but, of course, installed a new pair of wheels and pedals.  However, he rides the bike with the really nice Sun Tour Superbe brakes that came with it.  And he replaced the original saddle with one that really belongs on that bike:  a Brooks B-17.

In the course of our conversation, I might have talked him out of repainting his bike, even to "restore" it to its original look.  Actually, I was talking myself out of doing the same to Vera. Truth is, I can't justify spending the money, given my current finances.  But Noah said he was "glad to hear" that I'd considered refinishing  but thought better of it.  "It's really a beautiful bike."

So is his.  Refinishing it would only make it look new, or newer.  That, I think, is the real beauty of bikes like his.

Record Holder Is Gissy, Not Evel

The next time you're sideswiped by some guy delivering Chinese food on a motorized bike,  call him the  slowpoke he really is.  After all, he can't hold a candle (especially a Roman one) to this courer:





On a track neaer Mulhouse, in eastern France, Francois Gissy rode a rocket-powered mountain bike in the slipstream of a dragster.   In the process, he set a new speed record for mountain bikes--163 mph--which fell just short of the overall record of 167mph.  

With his bike and white suit, he reminds me, in a way, of Evel Knievel.  Evel couldn't jump the Snake River Canyon on a motorcycle that looked more like, well, a rocket.  What if he'd had a mountain bike--with rockets--instead?  And what if Gissy had Evel's motorcycle?

A French Evel Knievel?  What an idea!