During his career, Marty Nothstein won a lot of races. But he couldn't win one on Tuesday night.
Most of his victories came on the velodrome, including the gold medal he won as a sprinter in the 2000 Olympics. The following year, he turned professional and met with considerable success on the road. In doing so, he defied common wisdom (Is that an oxymoron?) that said a sprinter couldn't stand up to the long distances of road racing.
The other night, however, he couldn't defy the odds or common wisdom. He ran as the Republican candidate to represent Pennsylvania's 7th Congressional District. Although 20 of its previous 25 representatives have come from Nothstein's party, his Democratic opponent, Susan Wild, was favored to win the election, in part because district was redrawn.
I am not a political scientist or analyst, but it seems to me that most of the district's Republican representatives were moderates. Indeed, the most recent rep, Pat Meehan--who resigned in April amidst scandal--even supported the reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act, which most of his party opposed. Perhaps it's not surprising that politicians like him would represent the district, which includes the blue-collar areas near the oil refineries of Marcus Hook and Trainer, as well as the Main Line and Haverford College.
Such an area seems like fertile ground for a backlash against President Trump--which, of course, people expressed, in accordance with expectations, by voting against his party. So, it really wasn't such a surprise when Marty lost that race.
He might, however, win a consolation race, if you will: He and Wild are locked in a dead heat for a special election to finish the term of Charlie Dent, who retired as representative of the neighboring 15th District. If he wins, Marty will represent that district until the end of this year.
After that...well, maybe he'll win another race. He still cycles and has also driven hot rods to victory. If nothing else, he's a competitor.
Now, about his--ahem-- party affiliation....
How bad are the Middle Street bike lanes in Portsmouth, New Hampshire?
Not having ridden them, I don't really know. But I can tell you this: They've been panned by both motorists and cyclists. Oh, and school kids aren't crazy about them, either.
Drivers made at least one of the usual criticisms: They took away two of "their" lanes. Perhaps more to the point, though, the bike paths force them, as one driver pointed out, to cross the double yellow line dividing northbound from southbound traffic when passing. Also, the buses don't have a place to pull over when picking up or discharging passengers.
The pupils' dislike of the lanes was observed by attorney Charles Griffin. At a meeting of the city's Parking and Traffic Safety Committee, he recounted his own informal survey, taken from his car. He sat at one intersection between 7:50 and 8:20 am--the time during which most kids are going to school--on 15 mornings. "On two days, there were two students; on seven days there were (sic) one student; on six days, no students at all. Most kids who rode their bikes to school, he said, used the sidewalk instead of the bike lane. "I suspect they did because they didn't feel safe" using the lane "because it's too close to traffic," he speculated.
This was a poignant criticism, from the city's standpoint, because one of the arguments used to sway reluctant community members was that the lanes "would result in significant numbers" of kids riding to and from school, according to Griffin.
As an educator, I understand that young people often know more than we realize. That point was underscored by cyclist Roger Peterson who complained about debris, including wet leaves, in the lane. On his ride to the meeting at City Hall, he said, he also saw recycle bins scattered throughout the lane.
But if that were the only problem with the lanes, it could be fixed by maintenance. His and other cyclists' main issue, he said, is that the lanes are "very narrow and restrictive." Before the lanes were built, Peterson said, Middle Street "seemed to be one of the safest roads in the city." The street was "wide enough" for cyclists "to avoid traffic and for traffic to avoid the bicycles," he explained.
"It's puzzling as to why a bicycle lane was put in there," he addded.
I could make--and have made--the same criticisms, almost verbatim, about some of the bike lanes I've ridden here in New York and other American locales. Sometimes it is actually safer to have enough room on the street for cyclists and motorists to maneuver around each other than it is to have a lane that restricts both cyclists' and motorists' movements. Moreover, making turns--especially right turns--or going straight through an intersection when motor vehicles (especially trucks) are turning right is actually more dangerous when a cyclist has to leave a bike lane than it is if he or she is riding continuously along a street or road.
The worst part is that such lanes actually increase tensions between cyclists and motorists: The latter believe that lanes "take" "their" roadway away from them, while the former become frustrated with motorists' impatience. This could lead to city planners and administrators deciding that no bicycle infrastructure project is worthwhile and to removing whatever good infrastructure might have been created.
As I said previously, I've never ridden the Middle Street bike lanes. So, in all fairness, I don't want to suggest that they are worse than other lanes, including some I've ridden. But I can't recall hearing of another lane that received such resounding criticisms from both cyclists and motorists. And those criticisms are an accurate reflection of the misconceptions--and, sometimes, sheer folly--behind the planning and building of bike lanes.
Last week, I said this year's foliage seemed less colorful than that of previous years. Well, it seems that I picked the wrong week to complain. I saw some more color during a ride I took--to Connecticut--on Thursday, and even more about 50 kilometers north of the city.
Bill and I rode along the South County Trail, which begins in Van Cortlandt Park, near the Bronx-Westchester border, and continues parallel to the Hudson River. Parts of it follow the Saw Mill River. In some places, it looks more like a drainage canal than a river; in other spots, it's a turbid pool. But, believe it or not, there are rapids and falls--and, even better, scenes like thesw.
Most of the trail is paved or hard-packed dirt. But the part in Van Cortlandt seems to have been mud since the beginning of time. There was a time when I would have said that getting myself muddied up, or sweaty, made me "deserving" of the beauty I saw around me. But, the other day, the mud was simply another part of the picture, if you will.
Because of the marathon, we started later than we'd planned: So many streets were closed that we had trouble navigating our way to our meeting point. The part of Queens where I live was effectively cut off from Brooklyn, and the bridges and streets where people were allowed to circulate freely were full.
Not only did we start late, we had less daylight to work with because Daylight Savings Time ended. The day ended early, but at least, in Sleepy Hollow (a.k.a. Tarrytown), we saw this:
When I was a literature student, I learned about something called the "closet drama".
Now, dear reader, could you forgive me for believing, at first, that it was a play written by someone who hadn't admitted his or her "love that dare not speak its name." Of course, I was in a closet myself--one from which I wouldn't emerge for a few more decades--and doing everything I could to convince myself that it was really my home.
Anyway, a "closet drama" is something its writer does not intend for performance. Perhaps it seems silly to write a play that you don't want produced--why not write a novel instead?, you might ask. Well, as I understand it, the play allows for certain kinds of plot and character development that are difficult, if not impossible, in other genres of writing. I say "as I understand it" because I've never tried to write a play.
I would later learn about architects' "closet plans". A number of renowned architects designed edifices they never intended to be built. There are, I learned, even architects who've designed dozens, even hundreds, of buildings without having a single one built. Most such architects, not surprisingly, are professors: They design such buildings for instructional purposes or as academic exercises.
Such an architect might be behind this bicycle:
Of course, it began its life as a bicycle--a Pashley, the "Princess" model, to be exact. But the Arcade Bicycle Basin not intended for you to ride to school or the park or simply to be seen looking fashionable while riding a bike--even though it retains everything the Princess normally comes with, save for the Brooks saddle, if you buy it in your local shop.
Instead of the seat, the designers installed a shelf, which mounts to the wall and supports a vitreous china washbasin. Interestingly, the bike retains the wicker basket that's normally supplied with it. Not surprisingly, it comes in handy for hand towels and the like.
I guess I can understand integrating a bicycle into one's daily ablutions. I wonder, though, whether anyone has tried to turn a washroom unit into a rideable bicycle.
One thing I know: That basin wouldn't be nearly as comfortable as a broken-in Brooks saddle. Not for me, anyway!
What's even more interesting than what people transport on bicycles--whether of the pedal- or pedal-assisted variety--is how those things are transported on two wheels.
What's just as interesting is how passengers are transported on bikes built for one.
I won't ask what she was doing there!
