Ask the Amateur: 1

Yo, Amateur:

What's up with you guys? Why do you insist on riding on the road when there's a bike path two feet away? What is it, some sort of political statement?

Get Off My Road

Dear GOMR:

Chill, dude. I'm an amateur--how should I know? Though I do prefer trails to roads when I have a choice. To get a professional's perspective, I passed your question on to Mike Beadles, President of the Twin Cities Bicycling Club. This is what he had to say:

I actually do hear that question quite a bit from co-workers, family, and some friends that do not understand.

The safest place to be for a cyclist is "on the road."

Cyclists are twice more likely to be involved in an injury accident on a bike path, and 25 times more likely on a sidewalk.

I have logged over 5,000 miles per year since 1997, and I too believed before that year that I started that cyclists should only ride on paths and sidewalks. After my years of experience, I can personally say that the best place for me to ride now is on low traffic, well-paved roads.

Regarding safety, think of it this way, bike paths are full of others - kids with training wheels, roller-bladers, runners, people walking dogs, and there are no "rules" on a bike path, anyone goes whereever on the bike path they want to. Also, think of when a bike path crosses a driveway or street, do motorists stop before the path (like for the crosswalks downtown for pedestrians) to allow those are using the path to cross? I can say from experience that most do not.

Also, even though it's usually not enforced, there is a speed limit of 10 MPH on most bike paths, and I ride consistently at almost twice that speed all the time.

Also, bicycles are legal vehicles on the road (see Minnesota Statute 169.222) , and with that comes a legal responsibility. Obeying the rules of the road - i.e. riding on the right side of the road, stopping at stop signs and stop lights.

Change Is Coming

Well, I've decided that I can't really talk about bikes and bike commuting all the time. Boring. Though I did have a great weekend riding along the southern edge of the Mississippi River, from Harriet Island in St. Paul, through Lilydale, across the Mendota Bridge, past Fort Snelling, and back across the Mississippi River, then back home. I actually did that twice, and the trail along the Mississippi River is fantastic, though the climb up the High Bridge in St. Paul is daunting, as is the climb up Ohio Street and Cherokee Avenue on the way back. Seems lots of cyclists are using the bridge and Ohio Street to do hill work.

But I digress. I'm going to mix things up a bit. As promised, I'm going to start writing 'Ask the Amateur,' with the first one coming up tomorrow. I'll also reach into my bag occasionally for the things I collect over the course of each week, and will call that 'The Messenger's Bag.' Who knows what I'll dig up and dish out (lately it's been some hilarious '419' e-mails I've gotten). Finally, I'll pipe in on politics once a week in what I'll call 'On Your Left,' with an obvious leftist slant. These will be weekly deals, with plenty of biking news and personal biking observations filling in the rest. So, stay tuned.

Mouse 5, Cat 1

I've made it through a week of commuting and riding. I've also managed to play a good game of cat and mouse with the incessant rain that keeps hitting the Twin Cities. I've ridden on days that seemed like it would rain but it didn't, and on the one day I stayed off the bike it rained all day. Today, I flirted with the edges of every thunderhead that rolled into town. When riding to Max's school, I skirted the southern edge of a storm rolling in, then turned left and missed the eastern edge of another. I then rode down Minnehaha Parkway, right between rain coming down to the south and to the north of me.

That's not to say the cat didn't score some style points. I didn't get soaked by rain but did ride through puddles and over rain-soaked streets. Without fenders on my bike, I arrived at Max's school with a nicely defined rain and grease streak down the middle of my back, up my neck, and onto my helmet. I'm not sure if there's a name for the obvious splatter pattern of rain bikers, but to me it's like having toilet paper stuck to your shoe as you come out of the bathroom.

Agliochophobia

There is no name for the specific fear of being hit by a car, so I had to resort to making one up. Agliochophobia is actually a mix of agliophobia (the fear of pain) with ochophobia (fear of vehicles). It is not to be confused with arachibutyrophobia (fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth).

But, yes, of all things, my only real phobia in life is a fear of being hit by a car. It's not exactly an irrational fear, and it is one that seems to have developed in the last decade or so. It was definitely not present when I was a bike messenger in the late 1980's, when I was an undeniably stupid twenty-something American male. I actually tried to instill in Boston drivers the very rational fear of bike messengers. I was known at times to spit on motorists' windshields or pull out my Kryptonite lock and threaten to smash a driver's window. Usually, my rage was directed at cab drivers, who often dangerously cut me off and also fought back for any of my transgressions. One guy even pulled a Rockford Files move and blocked my escape across the Mass Ave bridge (though the cabbie didn't fully take into account my then formidable sidewalk hopping skills).

But, here's how it manifests itself today, nearly twenty years later. I cross only at corners, cringe at walking through parking lots, usually wait for the traffic signal to turn to White Pedestrian Guy before crossing the street, and rarely if ever cross against the light. I'm a model pedestrian and, by extension, a model bicyclist.

Sure, I've had my share of comments by many of you fearless lawbreakers out there ("that guy wouldn't last five minutes in New York" is my favorite) and I may look like the complete cycling dork, waiting patiently at the light while other cyclists whiz by and no car can be seen on the cross street for at least a mile. But, hey, I'm just following the law and, unbeknownst to everyone, engaging in field therapy for my slight agliochophobic suffering. In fact, inspired by my behavior as a model pedestrian and cyclist, I've decided to launch an "Ask the Amateur" portion of this blog. In it, I'll combine my training as a lawyer and my status as a certified agliochophobic and answer any and all questions about cycling and pedestrian travel. And I mean any, and I'll go to the source if I have to find the right answer. So, ask away.

Sweat Free Commuting

I passed the first test this morning of going to court while still commuting by bike. It involves going by bus and light rail, which is exceedingly easy. I start from St. Paul by bus, where I put the bike on the front end of the bus in a special rack for bicycle commuters. It's pretty easy to do, but I can't imagine everyone has the ability to lift the bike up so far to put it into the rack. From the bus, I transfer to the light rail at the Lake Street Station. Again, very easy to weave your bike through commuters and hang it up on a special rack in the train. Pictures of how to do this are here.

So, I ended up in Housing Court fresh and sweat free, where we are about to launch a new tenant advocacy project next week. More on that later.

Cornball Runner Admits All

Biking is going extremely well--I used my truck just a bit yesterday to get Max to his soccer game and then pick him up at a friend's house. We then had a "bike adventure" later where I packed up binoculars, a tupperware container full of fresh strawberries, a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, and about fifteen Hotwheels. We then rode along Minnehaha Parkway from Minnehaha Park to where he and his mom live in South Minneapolis, stopping at Mel-O-Glaze Donuts to get a cookie. He ended up playing with his cars on Cottontail on the Trail, the 11 foot bronze bunny at Portland and the Parkway. By the way, if you want to be serenaded by thousands of Northern Cricket Frogs, ride along the Minnehaha Parkway trail between the light rail station and 34th Street.

Earlier, I fit in a run as part of my training for the marathon. OK, I'm a complete cornball runner. Not my gait or stride, but how I motivate myself to run, and this is something I hardly ever discuss because it reveals how profoundly American and dreamily dumb I can be. First, let's take the music, which I need in the early part of training. Songs motivating me right now range from Sonic Youth's Kool Thing to Enigma's Eyes of Truth. Also in the mix is Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes, Seal's Crazy, and Moby's Alone. It's the rhythm that primarily counts. And the songs get me imagining what I typically always imagine: winning some prestigious marathon, usually the Boston Marathon, sometimes the Twin Cities Marathon. Here's a typical script from my head, and seriously folks, this is what I think about at some point on each long run, usually while listening to Enigma, all timed to various dramatic points in the song:

It's late in the marathon, about mile 19 or 20. The camera is low to the ground and at the top of a hill. Heat waves are coming off the pavement. Bobbing heads start to come into focus: two Kenyan runners, obviously on a record pace, their bodies rising as they come over the crest of the hill. Suddenly, I appear just behind the Kenyans, then move to the side, and the announcers go crazy. Who is that guy? My God, he's keeping up with the Kenyans. He can't last, he can't last. Even other regular runners on the course stop to listen to radios or watch the race on big screen televisions. No one can believe this unknown American kid is competing with the Kenyans. I'm just behind them, actually talking to them, sort of trash talking in Swahili, saying they can't beat me. We come down Beacon and into Kenmore Square in Boston, the huge crowds ecstatic. We race down Comm Ave and turn first at Dartmouth and then left for the final stretch down Boylston Street. The announcers have finally identified me and people from my hometown have now turned on their televisions because, somehow, they heard I was about to win. People who never believed in me suddenly see me in a new light, every person who ever slighted me is, remarkably, watching it on television. And then I pass the Kenyans and blaze down the final 385 yards to win the race, usually setting a new world record. I then collapse and sob.

That's the general vision, though there are lots of variations. Like it's the Olympic Marathon and I make my move in the tunnel into the stadium, with the crowd going crazy as me and a Tanzanian runner come out of the dark and onto the track. Or, in the late 1980's, I would beat Rob de Castella, the Australian marathoner. Yes, I always win. And sometimes I get a call from the President, which I refuse. I then fade into history, never winning another race, never to be heard from again.

Commuter Chic

Wanted: stylish business suit, suitable for an attorney. Must wick perspiration and be highly breathable. Water resistance a plus, as well as optional hood and hand-warming pockets. Fleece or H2No fabric a possibility, if decently stylish. Matching pants or slacks should be flexible, breathable, and able to deflect grease, oil, mud, and street grime. Also in need of a necktie that can simultaneously function as a headband, without loss of style or increase in odor. Serious proposals only. Paisley or gabardine not an option.

King of the World

Well, I think I rode about 25 miles today, crossing the Mississippi River twice. I rode to Max's pre-school and had lunch with him and his friends. If I ever need to feel like I'm the coolest person alive, all I have to do is go to Max's school with some information that is only a bit remarkable. The kids then think I'm gravy. The fact that I rode from St. Paul to Minneapolis got a bunch of "WHOAs" from Max's table, and the fact that I won a new bike put me over the top, along with having a Kryptonite Lock key that lights up. And, in the eyes of my five-year-old son, I'm just about King of the World.

Snap back to reality. Everyone passed me like I was standing still. Middle-aged women and men, hotshots on road bikes, grandma out for a ride. Actually, the only person I passed was, in all seriousness, yawning at the time and stretching her arms while riding with no hands. I left her in the dust, man, and ended the day with five pounds of sweat in my shirt and two sore legs. But all worth it, as I never started up my rusty ol' truck--I calculate that I lost 12 pounds of gas today.

Here's the scoop on the goodies: a Giant Cypress LE, apparently custom built with Shimano Nexus components, Kryptonite Lock and Cable, Bell Helmet, and Cateye Light Set. Plus a bunch of maps, a bumper sticker for Share the Road, Shimano coffee tumbler, water bottle, free bagels and coffee, and speeches by Lt. Governor Molnau, St. Paul Mayor Randy Kelly, and the Minnesota Commissioner of Public Safety. Penn Cycle fitted all of us on the bikes (about 25 of the 50 winners were there) and then we had a ceremonial ride around the Capitol.

Helmet Head

Just popped home for a bit after picking up my bike, light, lock, helmet, some coffee, maps, water bottle, mug, and other goodies. Very very cool bike, custom built by Giant and Shimano [play the "Jump Your Co-Workers" game on the Shimano site]. More details later, hopefully with pictures.

Funny thing is that we received driving and parking directions yesterday to get down to the Minnesota Transportation Building, where we received our bikes and celebrated Bike to Work Day. So, for some folks, they drove to Bike to Work Day. I took the bus, mostly because I'm only five minutes away from the Capitol.

I'll post more later today about the festivities. I did, however, ride away after the ceremony and got home long enough to check in before heading off to a meeting at William Mitchell College of Law, then lunch with my son Max at his pre-school. At this point, my only concern is how to take care of the helmet head that develops from wearing a helmet while I bike all over town. Maybe it's a status symbol among bikers. I'm not sure my clients will understand.

Boy Bites Bike

I'm being dogged by the press about this earth-shattering story of winning a bike. So, I held a press conference earlier today and my press aide, lawyer, and I fielded questions. Here are some snippets:

You seem to be portraying yourself as a simple boy with a bike. Isn't true, however, that you're a former bike messenger?

Uh, yeah, that's true. I was a bike messenger for two years in Boston, trying to earn money for college. It was the best job I ever had.

And you didn't wear a helmet then. What changed?

I was hard-headed back then, so all I needed was a pink Trek bicycle hat. I'm now approaching 40 and my brain is a lot mushier, needing more protection. I still have that hat, though.

What does your son think about all this?

I explained it all to him and he asked if he could have another treat. Actually, he thinks he can commute with me, but we'll see.

Umm, in addition to being a bike messenger, isn't it also true you rode in a 24 hour bicycle race while you were a teenager?

Man, how do you guys know this? Yeah, when I was twelve or so I picked up my blue Schwinn and headed over to Utica Square in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where I grew up. It wasn't exactly a race--more like a 24 hour ride. So, I rode that Schwinn for 24 yours, piling up more than 230 miles. There were all sorts of serious riders there and when I ended up third overall--because I was one of the few people who actually rode all night--folks thought I cheated. So, they nearly took away my medal before my dad intervened. I guess I didn't look the part--no bike shorts or shirt, on a beat up and out-of-date ten-speed, tennis shoes, just a pesky kid. I was like a twelve-year-old version of Dave Stoller, one of the cutters in the movie Breaking Away. But I ended up getting that medal.

Joining the Bike Commuter Cult

It's T-Minus two days before Bike to Work Day, when I pick up the bike and my goodies. Already, my world view is slowly starting to change, as if I'm entering a cult of bicycle commuters. I'm noticing bike lockers, bike racks, places to put a bike on the light rail, and also thinking 'how the hell am I going to do this?' I'm even thinking about moving to Minneapolis so I'm closer to the bike paths I will need to use.

One of the cool things that the Metropolitan Council sponsors is a 'Guaranteed Ride Home' Program, which does just that: guarantee you a ride home by bus or cab in case of emergency. Once you register for the service, the Met Council sends you two coupons every six months that you can use in a pinch--like when you need to pick up your kid at school or need to work late. I just registered, and also requested a free commuter bike map and some other stuff.

The Weight of Gas

OK, I actually haven't received the bike and haven't even signed the legal release and contractual stuff that goes along with winning (like I have to acknowledge that riding a bike can be hazardous, I agree not to run for public office for a year, and I can't plug or endorse any products). But I'm excited and a bit daunted. Part of the overall plan for BikeTown is to track how much weight we bike commuters lose over the course of the summer. I'm not the best control group for that experiment, as I'm also gearing up for running the Twin Cities Marathon this Fall.

But I am into saving on gas and d0ing my part to reduce dependency on oil. I drive a rusting 1990 Ford F-150 pick up truck, which gobbles up gas [but lets my five year-old son ride up in the cab with me so we can talk]. At $2 or more a gallon, I'm spending about ten bucks every other day in all the driving I do. Yeah, I'm one of those guys who, instead of just filling up the tank once, puts about $10 in the tank all the time, thinking that I'm not really using that much gas.

So, we'll see how much this will save me over the summer. Instead of losing pounds of fat, I'll shed pounds of gas. With a gallon of gas weighing about 6 pounds (water weighs just over eight), I stand to lose hundreds of pounds.

Ma, I Won!

On a bit of a lark, but serious enough that I would follow through, I entered the BikeTown contest to try to win a bike so I could commute to work and beyond. Well, I just found out I won. Pretty cool. There's a press event this Thursday announcing the winners, as part of national Bike to Work Week, with Thursday being Bike to Work Day.

Here's the deal--I get a bike, lock, helmet and light set. In return, I promise to, well, ride the bike to work and check in now and then about my efforts. I've sort of jumped the gun and decided to start a blog to boot. So, welcome. And stay tuned.