The Ban On Motorized Bikes In NYC

It's not often that cyclists and motorists agree on something, at least here in New York.

Then again, lots of other people who are neither motorists nor cyclists agree with us, at least when it comes to one thing.

I am talking about motorized bicycles.  Like many other New Yorkers, I have had a close encounters with them--including a time when a rider grazed my elbow when I was walking on a sidewalk around the corner from my apartment.

The rider was, like most motorized bikers, making a delivery for a restaurant.  Just after my encounter with him, he parked the bike.  I tried to talk to him, but we didn't speak any of the same languages.  So I went to the owner of the restaurant, who promised to talk to the guy and the rest of his delivery crew.

That the driver parked so soon after the near-miss, and that I therefore knew for whom he was working, made me more fortunate than others who've had similar encounters with motorized bikes.  So is the fact that I sometimes patronize the restaurant and the owner recognized me.  And, of course, the fact that I wasn't hurt.

Others, though, haven't been so lucky.  And I nearly crashed on my bike once when a motorized biker made a sudden turn in front of me.

More than a few stories like mine, and worse, have no doubt reached the Mayor's office during the past few years.  Perhaps as a response,  Bill de Blasio  recently announced a crackdown on motorized bikes.  When police officers have stopped motorized biker, in some cases, the biker has received a ticket.  Henceforth, said the Mayor, the city will fine owners of restaurants whose delivery workers use the bikes.

Now, I'm not a lawyer, but I have to wonder how that mandate is carried out.  You see, while it's illegal to operate such bikes in the five boroughs of New York--get this--it's not illegal to own one.  I would guess that some delivery workers own their wheels, but the vast majority of bikes are owned by the owners of the restaurants and other businesses who employ the delivery workers.  So, I have to wonder what will be the charge(s) against the business owners who are fined.

Does that mean the burden of penalties will fall to the riders, most of whom are eking out a living?  

Also, it's been pointed out that some delivery workers, mainly the older ones, can't pedal through an entire shift because of injuries or other debilitating conditions.  De Blasio expressed hope that such workers "could find some other kind of work with that restaurant or business."  There are two problems with that:  1.) Most of the restaurants and businesses are small and have few, if any, other jobs, and 2.) Most of the delivery workers are immigrants, many of whom don't speak English, lack other skills or don't have the documentation necessary to get other employment.

That said, I certainly think motorized bikes should not be allowed on sidewalks and bike lanes.  Ideally, I'd like to see them barred from the streets, too, but implementing such a ban might prove more difficult than the Mayor realizes.

Make Sure The Swap Is Consensual!

Many of you have been to "swap meets."  I've gone to a couple myself.  I went with the intent of trading stuff I didn't want or need anymore, but the real fun was meeting some of the people and seeing rare bikes, parts and accessories, some of which haven't been made in a long time.

If you ever decide to go to a swap meet, I have some advice:  Make sure that the owner of whatever you get in the swap knows that you're getting his or her stuff.

At least, that's the advice I would give to a fellow in New Orleans who traded his bike for someone else's.  

Details of the transaction, if you will, go like this:  He parked his bike on the 1400 block of Washington Avenue, an area that normally sees a lot of foot and bicycle traffic.   After parking his bike, he walked away from the area but turned around for a moment and seemed to survey the area before continuing on his way.

A little later, he returned.  But instead of getting on the bike he parked, he removed the lock on someone else's bike and rode it away.

Police are looking for the man.  They also are, no doubt, trying to find out whether the bike he rode to the "swap" was acquired in a similar fashion.

Tandem Role Reversals?

As I have mentioned in other posts, I've ridden tandems only a couple of times in my life.  It's something I would do again if the opportunity presented itself.  Of course, for such an opportunity to present itself, I'd need a tandem partner--and, of course, a tandem bicycle.  About the latter:  Not many of us who live in NYC apartments own them.

Anyway, my experience as a transgender woman has led me to notice some of the male biases in cycling I hadn't noticed when I was still riding and living as male.  

While I was of average height for a male, I am taller than most women.  That means it's still relatively easy for me to get a diamond frame that fits well (though I've still opted for custom bikes, for various reasons) and if I look and wait, I can get a women's or mixte frame that suits me.  On the other hand, it's more difficult for me to buy cycle clothing, as some of my body proportions have changed, in part from my gender transition as well as aging.  So, while it used to be easy for me to buy clothing--all I had to know was my waist and chest (or shirt) size--now clothes that are the "right" size might be too loose or tight in the hips, bust or other areas--or sleeves, pants, tights and shorts (!) might be too short. 

All of that, I believe, is a result of not considering the full range of measurements possible for a woman.  There seems to be an assumption that female cyclists will be young and built like fashion models.  Also, I have too often seen a built-in inferiority complex when it comes to stuff made for women:  It's, as often as not, just less-well-designed or lower-quality versions of stuff made for men.

Oh, there's another bias I've noticed:

The vast majority of high-quality tandems I've seen have "diamond" or "men's" frames in both the front and rear.  In a lot of ways, that makes sense because tandems have such long wheelbases and "diamond" frames are usually stiffer and more stable, than dropped top-tube frames with otherwise similar design and materials.

That itself isn't quite as much a reflection of bias as this:

Just about every tandem I've seen that combines men's and women's designs has the men's or "diamond" frame on the front and the dropped top tube on the rear.  The assumption is that the man will be the "captain" and  the woman will be the "stoker."  I guess it's still that way for most couples who ride tandems, but over the years, I've encountered a slowly but steadily increasing number of couples in which the woman is the stronger or more dedicated rider.  

For such couples, a tandem might look more like this:

unless, of course--to use a somewhat dated metaphor--the woman "wears the pants" in the couple.

Whatever their riding roles and styles, they will surely turn heads if they ride this:

He's Not Running For Office: He's Pedaling For The Vote

Why do political candidates "run" for office?

That's a question David John Wilson might ask.

He is one of 16 candidates on the ballot for the mayoralty of Minneapolis, the city that gave us Prince and launched the career of Hubert Humphrey. It's perhaps no surprise that in such a city a candidate--namely Wilson--could run on a "Rainbows Butterflies Unicorns" ticket.

Also not surprising--especially considering that Minneapolis is perennially rated as one of the most bicycle-friendly cities in the US, and even the world--is that Wilson is conducting his campaign from, if not the seat of his pants, then the saddle of his bicycle.

Most days during his campaign, he has dressed like a unicorn, complete with horns--and American flags.  He calls this persona, if you will, "Votey McVoteface."  He has alternate costumes as well, including one of George Washington.  But, not surprisingly, it's Votey that gets him the most attention.

Creating Votey, and coming up with his platform, was a way of appropriating a term of derision, in much the way young blacks call each other the "n" word or gay man refer to each other, and sometimes themselves, as "faggots".  (Proponents of "queer studies" claim that they are appropriating the "q" word in a similar way.) Wilson says he's often heard the phrase "rainbows, unicorns and butterflies" used to mock people who express ideas and points of view that are progressive, or merely different.

At the start of the campaign, he pledged to ride 1000 miles around the city as Votey.  He admits that he has no chance of winning the election. The purpose of his campaign, he explains, is to "make a difference" by helping to increase voter turnout and getting young people interested in politics:  things he couldn't do in years past, when he worked at the polls.

"I would like to dream that I could be mayor but that's not really what this is about," he says.  "This is about getting out the vote, this is about embracing the city that I love."

In other words, it's not about the destination; it's about the journey:  the way of a cyclist.

When Using "Bicycle Infrastructure", Be Sure To Take "Proper Precautions"!

Sometimes the bicycle infrastructure we get is worse than no bicycle infrastructure.  Three lawsuits that have been filed, and another that was recently settled, in San Diego bear this out.

Eight months ago, Clifford Brown won a $4.85 million for injuries he sustained in a crash on a tree-damaged sidewalk.  City officials had been notified about the damage five months before the September 2014 crash, which left Brown with several lost teeth, torn spinal cord ligaments and brain damage that has rendered him incapable of functioning independently.  

In San Diego, as in other cities, cyclists sometimes use sidewalks because they feel safer on them then on streets that are designed for vehicular traffic and thus have no shoulders, or even passing or parking lanes.  Cyclists might also feel safer on sidewalks than on some bike lanes, especially one like the Balboa Avenue path where a man who has filed one of the pending lawsuits crashed head-on into another cyclist.  

That man, Douglas Eggers, suffered injuries similar to Brown's.  His suit alleges that the accident resulted because the lane, which runs along the north side of Balboa, is built only for eastbound traffic.  According to the suit, the city should have built that lane wider, with a divider in the middle, to accommodate bicycle traffic going both ways, or a separate westbound bike lane on the south side of Balboa, one of the city's busiest thoroughfares.  

Michael Cizaukas, who filed one of the other lawsuits, was launched into a move most BMXers would admire when he was thrust into the air from a section of a bike lane buckled by a tree.  Not being a BMXer, though, he was thrown from his bike and, as a result, suffered fractured bones, a separated shoulder, muscle tears, hearing loss and a concussion in the May 2016 incident.

Warning: Shock Hazard!

Unfortunately, I've heard of crashes like the ones Brown, Eggers and Cizaukas endured.  But the third lawsuit filed I'm going to mention involves something I never before would have envisioned:  injuries sustained at a bicycle parking rack.  Oh, but it gets even better: Jasper Polintan says he's suffered damage to his upper extremities and other injuries that have reduced his earning capacity when--get this--he was electrocuted while locking his bike to a city rack.

His suit alleges that the city didn't properly install, maintain or provide adequate safeguards for that rack. In preliminary responses to Polintan's, Cizaukas' and Eggers' cases, however, attorneys for the city say that officials were unaware of the problems and the injured cyclists didn't take "proper precautions."

Sometimes, it seems, "proper precautions" involve simply avoiding bike lanes and much else of what's offered up as "bicycle infrastructure" in too many places.

If The "Beer Bikes" Had Been Like This...

The other day, I wrote about the "beer bikes" that have just been banned in Amsterdam.  They were essentially pedal-powered rolling bars that could accomodate a dozen or so revelers.  City residents got tired of having to contend with drunks weaving in and out of bicycle, pedestrian and motorized traffic on the narrow streets in the city's center.

Maybe there wouldn't have been a problem if the "beer bikes" were like this:

Signs Of Other Times

The other day, I managed to sneak out for a mid-afternoon ride between classes and conferences with students.  It wasn't a long ride, and it didn't take me far from the college where I teach.  But it did, as rides often do, reveal some interesting and unexpected sights.

In both the "interesting" and "unexpected" categories was this:

One almost never sees a sign like that anymore in the New York Metro area.  For that matter, one rarely sees the kind of store that's attached to it, at least in this area.  

It's at the intersection of East Tremont and Park Avenues in the Bronx.  Yes, the Park Avenue you've all heard of--the one of Zsa Zsa Gabor--extends into the Bronx, hard by the Metro North (formerly New York Central) railroad tracks!

You wouldn't expect to find a store like this on Zsa Zsa's Park. But in this part of the Bronx reside folks not unlike some of my relatives, including two blue-collar uncles of mine who lived in Brooklyn and  went up to the Catskills and sometimes even the Adirondacks to hunt around this time every year.  Their ethnic origins may be different, but their lives and desires are, I believe, similar:  They need to live in an urban area and to get out of it every now and again.  

That is why, even though I've never had any desire to hunt, and have fished only a couple of times, I understand those who love those sports.  Of course, there are very practical reasons to allow hunting:  Deer and other animals that are pursued by hunters no longer have natural predators, so hunters help to keep their population in check. If they didn't, even more animals would starve and freeze to death during the winter.  Also, although I'm not too keen on guns (and support restrictions on access to them) I am not afraid of hunters and other sportsmen, such as competitive shooters, who use them. 

Anyway, the proprietor of the store caught a glimpse of me photographing his signs.  I think he knew that I don't hunt or fish and, barring the collapse of civilization, probably never will.  Still, he was polite and was pleased when I complimented his signs.  "You just don't see these anymore," I said.  He nodded.

The sales clerk gave me their business card.  I told them I'll be back:  I did see a jacket I really like.  And they have hiking boots as well as equipment for all sorts of other sports--but not cycling!

No More Beer Bikes In Amsterdam

Within the past week, I've read articles in The Atlantic and Vanity Fair about Tim Piazza, a Beta Theta Pi pledge at Penn State University.  Those articles confirmed what I have long suspected:  Even though the legal drinking age is 21 almost everywhere in the US, and even though national fraternity organizations (and, often, college and university administrations) claim that "hazing" is not allowed and that fraternity recruitment programs are "alcohol free", the booze flows freely and pledges are often treated terribly.

I can only imagine what would happen if those frats operated in Amsterdam--and, more specifically, had access to something that's been part of its landscape for some time.

I'm talking about the "beer bikes", so beloved by stag parties and other (mostly male) groups who do all manner of things in the Dutch capital (and in other places) they would never do at home.

The "bike" is really more like a cart with pedals.  Whatever one calls it, it's essentially a rolling bar, or at least a rolling beer garden.   Not surprisingly, users of the beer bikes, almost all of whom are tourists, often become rowdy and, to put it politely, have difficulty navigating those vehicles.

So it's also not a surprise that they have become almost as despised by residents of the city as they are beloved by revelers.  Last year, then-mayor Eberhard van der Laan, who died last month, heard the collective cries of "Genoeg is genoeg!" (All right, that's a Google translation.) and instituted a ban on the beer bikes.  

That ban was challenged by beer bike operators and struck down.  However, the other day, the Amsterdam District Court agreed with the ruling.  It took effect the other day.

It's been a long time since I've been in Amsterdam and, I admit, when I was there, I was probably was in an even more altered state of consciousness than most patrons of the beer bikes.  Still, I remember the narrow streets that run alongside, and are punctuated by, the canals.  As I recall, navigating some of those streets is difficult even for sober cyclists, pedestrians and drivers.  And if I had to get up and go to work every day in "The Venice of the North," I probably wouldn't be too happy about losing sleep to, and weaving around, loud drunks.  So, I think I can understand and sympathise with those who wanted the ban.

Now, whether it will curb some of the "undesirable" tourism some city leaders and other residents lament, I don't know.

Who Were They?

Yesterday I wrote about the tragedy in my hometown:  On a sunny, breezy autumn afternoon, a man drove a rented van onto the bike path that rims the Hudson River and mowed down eight cyclists.

Authorities are saying it was a terrorist incident.  That it is, whether or not Sayfullo Saipov, the driver said he committed the act in the name of Isis or some other group, or simply out of his own private rage or torment.  Terror is something that strikes, as Albert Camus wrote in The Plague, la mort est descendue du ciel clair--like death out of the clear blue sky.  Who goes for a ride on a beautiful fall afternoon--whether as part of a tour or a way to unwind after work--and expects to meet his or her destiny at the hands of someone whose face he or she will not see?

In yesterday's post, I mentioned six of the eight victims.  Six came from Argentina, another from Belgium.  I had no information about the other two victims, or the names of the six I mentioned.  Today I will provide those details, for they deserve to live on, even if it's in the confines of a bike blog and through my own limited talents.

Anyway, I learned that the other two victims were, as I somehow suspected, local residents.  In fact, one of them lived almost his entire life literally just a few wheel revolutions from where he was run down.

Nicholas Cleves

That benighted young man was Nicholas Cleves, a 23-year-old software developer who had recently graduated from Skidmore Colllege, less than a four-hour drive from the city.  Before going to Skidmore, he'd spent his whole life in downtown Manhattan where, according to friends and family, he grew up "biking everywhere."  

Darren Drake

The other local victim came from across the river, in New Jersey, where he served on the local board of education in his hometown of New Milford.  Darren Drake would have been 33 years old in two weeks and worked as a project manager in Moody's Analytics, just steps away from the bike path.  

Ann-Laure Decadt

Ann-Laure Decadt, a year younger than Drake, was riding with her mother and two sisters.  They were going to return to Staden, their hometown in the West Flanders province on Belgium, on Friday.  Now they and her husband are waiting for the US authorities to release her remains and no doubt thinking of when and how to tell her two sons--one three years old, the other three months--about her.

 (L to R) Hernan Ferrucci, Alejandro Pagnucco, Ariel Erlij, Hernan Mendoza and Diego Angelini

The other five victims, as I mentioned in the previous post, came from Argentina. They were celebrating the 30th anniversary of their graduation from a high school in Rosario, a town about 350 kilometers northwest of Buenos Aires.  

Hernan Ferrucci, Alejandro Pagnucco, Ariel Erlij, Hernan Mendoza and Diego Angelini were childhood friends.  Their lives since graduation had taken them to far-flung corners of the world but they met again, in a faraway city, as middle-aged men. I would not be surprised to find out that they talked about reuniting again, perhaps five, ten or twenty years from now--or for some occasion or another.

Except, I don't think any of them envisioned being joined in fate with three strangers who were much younger but whose lives, like theirs, were cut short--for reasons neither they, nor anyone besides the driver who mowed them down, can understand.

I Could Have Been...

It could have been me.

I could not get that phrase out of my mind as I rode to work this morning.

It could have been me.

Today dawned bright and clear for me, as it did for them--yesterday.  A beautiful mid-autumn day, sunny, a little chilly but not unpleasantly so, with strong breezes shaking leaves turned red and yellow from their branches and rippling reflections of the sky, glass, steel and concrete at the mouth of the Hudson.  

In other words, the sort of day people picture in their fantasies about bike-riding in New York.

It could have been me.

And so they went for a ride, for fun.  I was riding, too, in an entirely different part of town, from my job back to my apartment.   Though they weren't going to work, many others who followed their path, on bike or on foot, no doubt were.  I myself have ridden along that path, to work and for the same pleasures they were enjoying.

I could have been one of them.

Five came from Argentina--old friends celebrating the 30th anniversary of their graduation from their high school.  Another came from Belgium, with her mother and sister.  They survived because they weren't with her.

I could have been her.

So could any of the kids who were leaving Stuyvesant High School at that very moment.  No doubt some of them sauntered along, or pushed or shoved each other (as high school kids are wont to do) into or along the path.  They would hang out with other kids.  Or they would go to practices in sports they play, languages they are learning, plays in which they are performing or skills for tests they will take and essays they will write in the hopes of getting into the colleges they or their parents choose.  One assumes that one day, at least some of them will be part of some 30th anniversary celebration, wherever in the world they may be.



They could have been among them.

Still others walked dogs, pushed strollers and held hands as they strolled along the nearby piers.  Or they sluiced through crowds on skates and skateboards.  They were all mere blocks away from the 9/11 Memorial and even closer to--though, as fate would have it, a world apart from--the Argentinian and Belgian tourists on bicycles.

I could have been with them.

For a time in my life, I was riding daily along the stretch of the Manhattan Greenway known officially as the Hudson River Greenway-- or more commonly as the West Side Highway Bike Path-- along the stretch that separates Greenwich Village, SoHo and Tribeca from the river.  At that time, it was part of my route to work.  Before and since then, I have ridden there for pleasure--sometimes as part of a city jaunt, as the tourists did yesterday; other times en route to a ferry or bridge that would take me to another part of my ride.  More often than not, I rode alone, but sometimes I'd accompany whomever I happened to meet--along the way to my job or wherever else I happened to go.

They could have been with me.

Every time I pedaled along that path, I was home within a few hours.  Today I will be home about 40 minutes after I leave work and get on my bike.  They, I am sure, thought they were going home, too--today, tomorrow, next week or the week after.  

I could have gone with them.

But they are not going home.  They probably never even imagined that they wouldn't:  They could not have foreseen the way their rides, their vacations, their journeys, would end.

It could have ended that way--for me, for anybody.

The Argentinians, the Belgian, never suspected that under a clear autumn sky in New York, death would descend upon them.  They certainly never expected it to come in the form of a van jumping the barrier that kept all of the other West Street traffic away from them, or for said van to be driven by someone who knew nothing about them except that they were riding bicycles peacefully.  On their bikes, they never expected to meet the fate of the folks sipping drinks at Le Carillon or listening to music at the Bataclan.  Or the ones enjoying a fireworks display on Bastille Day or shopping in a Christmas marketplace.  Or simply out on a summer day.

No one expects it to end that way.

Of those five Argentinians and the Belgian who went for a bike ride--and two others who went for a walk--on the West Side Bike Path, all that remain are mangled bicycles and shards of clothing and other personal items.  They went for a stroll, they went for a ride, and each of them is gone, gone, gone.

It could have been me.


I can only be grateful that it wasn't.  My thoughts are with the victims.