Further to yesterday’s post, the A. Homer Hilsen is now running beautifully–so beautifully that the very next morning I decided to commute to Brooklyn on it:
As I’ve mentioned, I commute to and from Brooklyn twice a week. The distance is a bit under 20 miles each way, and it’s an ideal bike commute in the sense that probably something like 80% of the route is on fully separated bike paths. At first I rode exclusively, though it takes longer than mass transit (I simply cannot maintain a civilized pace and match the subway over that distance), and so now I only ride occasionally, when the weather is perfect and I feel like treating myself. Speaking of the route, I noticed something odd recently, which is that if you use a popular search engine’s mapping application and ask for bike directions between my home and my office it sends you across the East River via the ferry:
This is extremely puzzling to me since the two bridges pictured have deluxe bike paths, so why would it tell you to pay a fare and ride a boat instead? Either this is some scheme to drum up business for the NYC Ferry, or else this is an implicit admission that in the age of micromobility riding over the bridges has become too dangerous:
Or maybe it’s just a dumb computer trying to save you a minute and a half, what do I know?
Anyway, directions are mostly irrelevant, since I know exactly where I’m going, including exactly where to take “rests,” if you understand what I mean:
This underscores the profound difference between active transportation and passive transportation. If you arrive at work via active transportation (e.g. cycling), you’ve probably urinated publicly at least once, and you’ve probably almost been killed at least twice. Conversely, if you arrive at work via passive transportation (e.g. the subway), you’ve probably seen someone urinating publicly at least once, and you’ve probably seen someone almost kill somebody else at least twice. Also, when you commute via passive transportation, you are often surrounded by people who smell, whereas when you commute via active transportation the smelly person is you.
Heading down to Brooklyn, the ride is mostly peaceful–not in the ironic “this protest is really beautiful if you ignore the rampant looting and arson” sense, but in the actual “this ride is really pleasant and relaxing” sense:
However, approaching midtown I remembered something, which is that cyclists don’t stop at lights. They just don’t. To prove it, I stopped at this light and watched as nobody else did. It doesn’t matter if they’re in stretchy clothes on a road bike:
Or in street clothes on a Citi Bike:
It also doesn’t matter if there are pedestrians in the crosswalk, which at this moment there weren’t, but at other moments there were.
And no, I’m not saying I am a slavish adherent to the tyranny of the traffic light. Certainly I too have been known to take a liberal interpretation when it comes to these beacons when they take on a reddish hue. But I at least slow down first.
Of course, on a path like this it’s not really about the color of the lights anyway, which is largely incidental. It’s about yielding to pedestrians and letting them use the crosswalk, light or no light. For example, I was particularly vexed by a middle-aged Fred in a MAAP jersey who cut off some pedestrians as they tried to us a crosswalk similar to this one:
They were just stepping into it, and so I slowed as I approached to let them cross. However, past my left shoulder sped a middle-aged Fred in a MAAP jersey. (It’s always either a MAAP jersey or a PNS jersey, which is ironic because most of these people couldn’t find their own PNS with even with a MAAP.) Not only did he make no attempt to slow down, but as he cut them off he chided them–I don’t remember his exact words, but his point was that they were stupid to cross because they only would have had to wait for the red light once they got to the other side.
Uh, sorry, no, MAAP-tard. It’s a crosswalk. They’re entitled to use it, and they have the right of way when they do. If they want to cross and then wait for the light when they get to the other side that’s their business. Furthermore, once the light changes they only have so much time to get across the West Side Highway, which is six lanes wide. So why would they wait on the far side of the crosswalk and add the extra crossing distance? And most significantly, the pedestrians no doubt know all too well that if they wait for the light to change 20 more MAAP-tards will come along, fail to yield, and prevent them from crossing anyway. But sure, buzz them and then tell them off because you need to get back to your Tribeca apartment in time for the morning Zoom meeting after doing your laps in Central Park.
But other than that the path was lovely, though once I was downtown I left it and hit the streets in order to head across to the Manhattan Bridge:
Ah, micromobility… Little Amazon cargo bikes are much better than big Amazon trucks, right? Well, yes and no. Sure, in theory they’re better, but in practice they’re sized perfectly to completely plug up the bike lane. Ironically, the trucks are almost better, since when they stop in the bike lane you just ride around them, whereas if there’s a cargo bike in the bike lane and motor vehicles in the motor vehicle lane you’re completely stuck. You know those puzzles that are a bunch of tiles and an empty space and you slide the tiles around in order to arrange them properly? These things are like adding one more tile and closing the space so nothing can move at all.
Another problem with micromobility is that street bikes are disappearing. This is a shame, because street bikes are one of the few interesting things left in battery-powered, hyper-gentrified, 21st century New York City. But they’re not all gone yet, and if you’re a bike dork there’s always something locked to a pole or a bike rack that will turn your head:
I was tempted to leave a note on that Vitus offering to buy it just so I could rotate the handlebar back down, though I suppose I could have saved some money by simply rotating the bar down and leaving a note in which I explained why I did it. Also, it’s a scientific fact that 50% off New York City street bikes are bonded aluminum Treks, so this is a perfect cross-section. In fact, between the bonded aluminum Trek and the milk crate this is as New York as it gets, and the only thing missing was Ratso Rizzo smacking the hood of a yellow cab and brusquely informing the driver that he’s perambulating.
Heading back home that evening, there was plenty of Brooklyn-bound bike (and sundry) traffic on the Manhattan Bridge:
On several occasions riders in full-face helmets on high-powered stand-up scooters came at me head-on as they passed people, but I didn’t take any photos, because I didn’t want to die:
I guess there’s always the ferry.
Between the commuters and all the people doing their evening workouts the bike path was also quite crowded, though this afforded me the opportunity to admire some truly impressive shoaling formations:
I’m way too lazy to find where, but I recall years back someone somewhere in the bike media insisting shoaling was distinctly male behavior. I objected to this–not because I’m a male, but because I literally invented the term after being shoaled by a woman. In fact in my experience males and females are both equally likely to shoal you, and just as every street bike formation is at least 50% bonded aluminum Treks, this shoal is 50% female.
Besides the additional bike traffic, the other major difference between my morning and evening commutes is that in the evening in order to get home I have to ride up very steep climbs in a dark forest:
Fortunately I had my headlight:
By the way, the Homer was fantastic as it usually is, which is no surprise. But what’s more noteworthy is that the new shifters were also fantastic, and even though I’d only just installed them the evening before they were utterly flawless and I didn’t have to so much as touch a barrel adjuster:
And they don’t even need batteries!