I’m now securely in “Old Guy” mode, ready to brag about the longevity of my beautiful old steed, the Miyata 618 tourer, circa 1988. Roger Levy at Freewheelers is getting hold of some fine replacement wheels that soon will grace the Miyata – and get me ready for a planned tour through NE Pennsylvania and Downstate NY (i.e. big hill country). The wheels now on the bike are 20 and 23 years old, respectively, and they’ve experienced too many ruts, potholes and cobblestones to recall, and without a broken spoke or rim, but not without a repairable dent or two. Still, I don’t feel confident enough that they’d hold up for another long, remote ride, so I’m shelling out for some nice lighter-weight newbies: 36-hole Alex rims with Quando hubs, etc. But actually, though all wheels are mortal, 20 years is only early middle age for a decent bike. It’s easy to forget, especially as one is bombarded with ads for the latest and greatest techno development (or more often, marketing ploy), just how good the touring bikes of the 1980s were – and remain. I’ve test-ridden some really fancy uprights and recumbents of recent vintage, but none is more pleasant and efficient than the ole 618, all things considered (especially real-world pavement conditions). It pays to stick with a good thing. But hey, if anybody wants to donate a Surly or Cannondale or Trek or Fuji or Rivendell tourer, etc., to yours truly, I won’t bar the door. One can’t have too many examples of this design, probably the best all-round bike configuration of our era.

Sometimes the explosion of interest in bicycling actually saddens me. How so? How can a fanatic two-wheel advocate and activist feel or say anything negative about our beloved mode of transport, which is exceeded in holiness only by the canoe (only one moving part – and it doesn’t get any better than that)? Well, consider what many of our local brethren and sistren, as the late Molly Ivins would have called them, are up to.

An organized group of off-road cyclists, the product of years of passionate but disorganized efforts, seems determined to open a couple, and perhaps eventually all of the Monroe County Parks trails to “shared use” by mountain bikers. A draft Master Plan regarding the county parks around the rim of Irondequoit Bay is rapidly moving toward adoption – so rapidly as to arouse suspicions of insider influence. Among other things, the plan would legalize mountain biking, within stated limits, in Tryon and Irondequoit Bay West parks. I say “legalize” rather than “introduce” because rogue cyclists long ago invaded these and other county parks. I regularly see these “enthusiasts” in Highland, the most urban park in the system, where I’ve come close to being run over by off-trail slalom freaks. And just last week, on one of my regular strolls there, I paused to tamp down a gash left in the wet soil of the Pinetum by a lugged tire powered by some Lug Nut. And as for Tryon Park – why, to hike there is to enter a laboratory of off-road-bike-wrought destruction.

Well, my purpose here isn’t to rant, though a little bit of that feels mighty good. No, I want to enlist bicyclists of conscience in an environmentalist campaign to limit mountain biking in the parks, preserve the fragile park habitats and ambience, and prevent unpleasant or even dangerous interactions of hikers and bikers on narrow trails. Bikes are vehicles, and they’re not appropriate “sharers” of walking trails, even on durable soils. It should be possible to create special-use areas on appropriate sites (newly purchased parklands, anyone?) for mountain bikes, but that’s not what the Master Plan is focused on, nor is that what the off-roaders seem to desire. In any case, the county may take irreversible, or at least difficult-to-reverse, action on the plan very soon. So get plugged in, and let me know if you need more information. For starters, read the letter below, then check out the environmentalist website www.parkspreservation.org, which has considerable background material and a link to the text of the Master Plan. Thanks to all.

March 13, 2009
TO: Hon. Maggie Brooks, County Executive, et al.
RE: Ellison Park Area Master Plan Update

Dear County Executive:

The thirteen undersigned organizations find the draft Master Plan for parkland around Irondequoit Bay to be unacceptable. The proposed Master Plan does not represent the interests of the residents and park users of Monroe County, but instead, the interests of a small, vocal user group. It does not meet its stated goals of conservation and sustainability. In short: mountain biking does not belong on existing, often narrow and winding, park trails.

Please consider:

• A ban on off-road bicycles was written into our park code for good reasons that remain valid today. It was based on concerns for the safety of the public, and the care of our environment. Political winds should not compromise proper park stewardship.
• Safety is a major concern. Trail walkers must not be placed in harm’s way by cyclists traveling on the same narrow dirt trail. The experience of walkers is greatly diminished if they must be looking over their shoulders for oncoming cyclists. “Shared use” is a myth on existing, narrow park trails.
• Numerous public statements have been made, and letters written, both from individuals and prominent environmental organizations, that express serious concerns about opening our parks to cyclists. The draft Master Plan ignores these concerns.
• The Master Plan states, “public comment indicated that this [shared use trails in Tryon Park] is something that is highly desired by the community.” This is a misrepresentation of the public comments. The comments of members of the undersigned organizations, representing some 6000 citizens, indicate a lack of support for shared use on existing park trails. A single, small special interest group of mountain bikers does not represent the community, or most park users.
• There were major, unacceptable changes introduced in the Master Plan presented to the Parks Advisory Committee (PAC) in February 2009, despite representations by the Parks Director and Consultant at the January 2009 PAC meeting that there would be no substantial change to the preliminary recommendations.
• These major changes included the use of existing trails in Tryon rather than carefully designed sustainable trails, the addition of a second park (Bay Park West) for mountain biking, and proposed shared use trail loops in the Ellison Wetlands.
• We are concerned about environmental impacts caused by cycling on steep, erodible trails. Simply allowing use on existing trails without considering impacts is not good stewardship.
• With the many miles of recently constructed multi-use trails (Genesee Riverway, Genesee Valley Greenway, Lehigh Valley, etc) there are ample bike paths in the county to help cyclists stay healthy. The county park trails are a unique domain without faster traffic where walkers can safely do the same. To claim that mountain biking on park trails is necessary to stem the epidemic of childhood obesity is to distort the facts.

All the above concerns cause us to ask: Is there an unstated agenda to open all trails for shared use in the Ellison Park Complex? Will Ellison Park Complex be the first falling domino in the county park system, as we open each park to off-road cycling? That is the stated goal of the mountain biking organization.

This is a cause for alarm for all park users, for all of us who cherish our parks as one of our County’s greatest resources, and pay for them with our taxes.

Finally, the master planning process has not been inclusive. We recommend that a citizen participation group comprised of diverse representative user group organizations work with the consultant and Parks officials in order to contribute ideas and review and discuss each successive draft in the process.

We urge our County Executive and our Legislators to continue to be proper park stewards and to resist the political pressures so that we, our children and grandchildren will be able to have access to safe, environmentally sound, park trails. We urge you to reject this draft Master Plan at this time – there are too many important issues that must first be addressed.

Respectfully submitted,

Burroughs Audubon Nature Club, Center for Sustainable Living, Federation of Monroe County Environmentalists, Genesee Valley Audubon Society, Genesee Valley Hiking Club, Living in Harmony, People for Parks, Rochester Area Mycological Association, Rochester Birding Association, Rochester Butterfly Club, Sierra Club (Rochester Regional Group), League of Women Voters (Rochester Metropolitan Area), Wednesday Hikers

People tell me I’m nuts when I say I look for black ice to ride on with my studded tires. But it makes perfect sense, in a kind of loony way. The studs grip the ice perfectly – though you still; have to ride conservatively, especially when descending a steep hill or taking a hard turn. But smooth ice provides a very quiet, pleasant ride, one made more pleasant by the fact that the motor vehicles are either going more slowly than usual or staying off the streets altogether. There’s a rub, of course, or actually a harder form of potential contact: cars and trucks slippin’ and slidin’ and maybe plowin’ into you. So make sure you give them lots of space. Even get up over the curb, if necessary, until the coast is clear.

And while you’re standing there in the snowbank, pause to pity the poor pedestrian. I keep telling people not to shower sympathy on winter cyclists but on the winter walkers who have to negotiate unshovelled sidewalks and perilous mini-glaciers at many corners. Residents, homeowners and businesses mostly do a lousy job of clearing their walks, and the municipalities do an even lousier job of educating and policing. It should be obvious that many folks become in effect housebound by the conditions. And many others struggle: the other day in my neighborhood, I saw a young woman trying to push a double kid stroller over a mass of crusty snow between her and a crosswalk. Amundsen never had it so bad. And I frequently see people operating wheelchairs in the street because the walks are impassable. I think we bikers need to organize some kind of solidarity with our transportation cousins. I guess we can always call City Hall… and then wait for spring like everybody else.

This past Wednesday was a tricky one for my commute to the RIT campus, which is nestled on what should have remained 1200 acres of beautiful farmland, woods, and wetlands in once-rural Henrietta. The seven-mile trek felt like it was about a quarter-mile deep in slush – what had been actual ice was beginning to melt at around 7 AM. But the ride turned out to be very pleasurable. That’s because my Kona, equipped as I’ve said before with 26 x 1.75 studded Nokians, made mincemeat (okay, wrong metaphor, texturally speaking) of the mush, and it only took 5 minutes longer than usual to get there from here. By the time I pedaled for home (around 6 PM) it was still relatively liquid out there, but ice was starting to solidify on some surfaces. When I went up the twisting path alongside McLean St. between Wilson Blvd. and Mt. Hope Ave., near the UR campus, which conveniently sits along my route to RIT, I could only get a grip while riding; it was too slick for walking. This confirms the point made by stud-enthusiasts: the trickiest part of riding on ice is when you dismount and lose your footing. It also confirms my feeling that it’s pedestrians who get the short end in terms of transportation conditions, not cyclists, though we cyclists seem to get more pitying glances from passing drivers. But I’m really writing to ask a question. Does anyone out there know why so many oncoming motorists will assault a cyclist with their high beams? I’ve got my theories (e.g. they think they’re helping by “lighting” our the way for us poor benighted devils), but what’s yours? And how do you deal with problem? This has been on my mind since I got blasted/blinded Wed. night on East River Road near the golf course clubhouse. Dear drivers who may be reading this: Dim your brights!

Great to read about Ethan’s first ride in the snow. It’s an experience no one should deny him- or herself. I’ve been making my usual commute to RIT on the Lehigh Valley Trail (N Branch, which runs between the UR South Campus and Brighton-Henrietta Town Line Road very close to intersection of Jefferson Rd., Rt. 252). As long as the snow doesn’t get more than a few inches deep, the trail is quite passable. Of course, it helps to have good lugged tires to churn through the heavier accumulation – and I recommend a good set of studded tires for serious winter riding in this climate. I splurged on a pair of Nokian 26×1.75’s a couple years ago; each tire has 160 carbide-steel studs, the kind that you can put on a lot of mileage on (even on bare pavement) without noticeable wear. Well worth the investment. The perfect set-up is to have more than one machine in operation: keep one bike equipped with studded tires for the more challenging conditions, and another with regular rubber for the clear days.

Last night, as our regional blizzard hit – and to my mind, the snow is a beautiful thing, indeed, at least till the ambient crud turns it to a crappy shade of brown – I went for a two-wheeled spin around the neighborhood. It was at the beginning of what was to become an extended rush hour, and over at Goodman and Clinton, as I’m sure at other major intersections, the fume-belching traffic was stop and go – mostly the former. Even with my Nokians, I slid a few times; the detestable brown “pancake” (a.k.a. “car snot”) was beginning to semi-solidify. This stuff prevents your lugs/studs from getting purchase, so you shimmy a little or a lot. But all in the all, such conditions make for a fun ride; just watch out for fishtailing or rotating SUVs, etc. Rides like this are also work, so you might not click off many miles. My little excursion was more easily measured in yards. But this is a matter of principle. I try to never let a blizzard go unanswered. I mean, isn’t it every RocBiker’s duty to demonstrate that there’s no such thing as “unrideable conditions”? Hey, I also mean within limits. But what limits, exactly? As with jazz, if you’ve got to ask, you’ll never know.

(Footnote: I’ve been away from RocBike for a while because of some health concerns that luckily didn’t turn into anything major, but did throw me off my game temporarily. Great to be back!)

Last Sunday I was pleased to do a short workshop on bike commuting at the Abundance Cooperative Market annual meeting. I think I covered most of the essentials, and since it was a chilly, rainy day; and since the onset of winter is on people’s minds, the discussion swerved toward coping with the elements. I touted my highly visible rain jacket (which doubles as a snow jacket) and talked about Gore-Tex and ventilation. But would you believe I forgot to say anything about fenders?

Not that they were absent totally from the discussion. I did have my pseudo-hybridized Kona on display front and center, and it should have been obvious that this beauty of a commuter machine is equipped with full fenders. Notice I didn’t say “pair.” That’s because I’ve got a mismatched fender duo scrounged from other bikes: a mountain bike style clip-on in the front, and a traditional plastic job with steel stays in the rear. They aren’t beautiful like the bike, but they work great.

Then this past Wednesday, I went on the Cruiser Ride with what turned out to be an unusually small group, only a half dozen of the hardcore. (These weekly rides have been drawing two or three dozen riders, but now the fall weather and lower-light conditions may be taking a toll.) We spent the first hour of the ride dodging raindrops and the occasional puddle left by a day of intermittent showers. Just as we were getting to the corner of Main and Clinton downtown the rain got pretty heavy, so with the collective instinct of a flock of migratory birds, we zipped and swooped under the overhang of the old McCurdy’s building on Main St., right across from the old Sibley’s. It worked out fine: a nice half-hour break, mostly spent talking politics (insert here your favorite Palin story) while (at least for me) contemplating the sad lack of street life.

So what has this got to do with fenders? Well, I noticed that I was the only rider that night who had them. And I wondered if our riding group had sought shelter at least in part because we – on average – weren’t properly equipped. I mused about how different things are in Portland (OR) and Seattle, or many northern European communities, where a large proportion of bikes have fenders – and not necessarily modern high-tech ones, but old-fashioned metal fenders, not lightweight or rust-proof but, as if in compensation, practically immortal. I think that the success of bike commuting and other routine bike usage in places like these is related to the widespread use of practical accessories, with full fenders at the top of the list.

Okay, fenders ain’t sexy. But who cares, or should care? Aren’t riding comfort and preparedness for the weather more important considerations? American riders overall have been seduced by the stripped-down charms of naked rubber – tires, that is. They’ve been metaphorically drafting the road racers, in pursuit of bike weight reductions measured in milligrams, as well as maximum efficiencies in reducing drag. This has led our bike culture to reject fenders, though the new types tip the scales at less than a pound a pair and have surface areas and shapes that only minutely increase drag. To lose an ounce here or there, we’ve condemned ourselves to wearing that charming mud-stripe up the backside and that delightful rain-in-the-face recycled off the pavement. And even worse, by gearhead values, we’ve left our brakes and derailleurs fully exposed to blasts of water, grit and debris.

As a bike culture, we’ve made a serious error in judgment. So I say, let’s write another chapter in The Revenge of the Nerds and press our fenders close to our hearts. (Actually, they work better when attached near the wheels. This is my tech tip for the day.) Here at RocBike we declare we “have nothing to lose but our chains.” Well, we’ve also got mudguards to gain, and whole new worlds of inclement weather not merely to endure but in which to seek pure delight. (Did I say fenders ain’t sexy? Then why I am getting so worked up?)

In some ways the RTS bus system’s recent successes (see NY Times article below on this site) have benefited cyclists a great deal. Now you can go intermodal for just a buck. I sometimes take the #92 bus to cover the 30 or so miles from Downtown Rochester to Newark, Wayne County, then pedal the last 5 miles to my usual destination, Peacework Organic Farm, as a kind of transportation dessert. When I started doing this intermodal run a few years ago, the trip to Newark cost $3.10 one way. Then about a year ago, when the transportation authority adopted a new fare structure (which also eliminated transfers and zone charges), the cost went down all at once to $1.25. These days, there aren’t many prices and fees that are declining like this. And you can bet the bulk of bus riders are happy with the lower fare, though I’m sure the bottom-line for many low-income urban bus riders is more ambiguous. (They certainly haven’t benefited to the same degree that riders from the distant ex-urbs have.)

But we have not rolled into that blessed Nirvana Terminal, the mass-transit paradise where one achieves oneness with Intermodality. RTS fares have gone down, but so has RTS service in some respects. For example, on Route 92 there used to be two bus runs (i.e. two round-trips) in the morning and two in the evening. This meant fewer people on each bus, of course, but it also meant the route had some capacity and flexibility that today would be of some use in attracting riders driven to mass transit by current gas prices. (Notice I don’t say “high” gas prices – I say, let ‘em hit $10 a gallon, as in Europe; and let us subsidize the poor somehow, in cash or in transit service, so that they won’t suffer from the excesses of the privileged. And then let us the windfall to build bike facilities and boost mass transit.) So now the bus service on Route 92 works extremely well, and very cheaply, for those whose destinations and schedules are compatible with the service. But many people, including many would-be intermodal cyclists, are simply out of luck.

We need more as well as cheaper service – more routes, and more buses on many routes, and more ways to tote more bicycles on each bus. Here’s a cautionary tale: one Friday evening this past summer, I was planning one of my frequent intermodal trips to Newark. I showed up at Midtown Plaza to catch #92 eastward about ten minutes before the scheduled departing time (5:10 pm). But lo and behold, when I rolled up to the bus, which as usual was set to move out on time, I found the bike rack was full – that is, two bikes. This particular bus, like most that do the longer runs, was a coach-style one, so there was no way to bring a bike on board, even if the driver had been willing to break/bend the rules and allow this to be happen. So what did I do? I cancelled my trip and waited till Saturday morning – but not to take the bus to Newark, since there are no freakin’ weekend buses at all to Newark and Lyons. Instead, I rode the whole way on Erie Canal Trail, which is a delight, for sure, but not what was in the game plan.

Lessons learned: first, you can ride a folding bike and be prepared for anything (I unfortunately had left my Dahon at home); second, if you’re unable to board the one bus that makes an evening run like this, you’re outta luck, since there’s no later bus to catch; and third, RTS may be artificially limiting demand by cutting buses/routes, and then producing surpluses by, on one hand, letting the buses become (over)crowded and thus lowering labor and fuel costs per capita; and on the other hand, bringing home the bacon from Albany in the form of transit subsidies.

Another time I faced a similar situation – a full bike rack on a Friday evening on #92 – but in this case the driver let me slip my bike between the pair on the rack and fasten it with bungee cords. Not an ideal solution. I silently prayed to Hermes to keep my bike from getting dumped or dented.

The best-case scenario would be to have “people mover” type trains that allow bikes to be rolled aboard easily. But we live in a region of transit backwardness, where the discourse is largely limited to moans and groans about prices at the pump. In this context, I suppose that anything said or done about the buses is an improvement.

Imagine my surprise: while cycling through the Erie Canal park at Lock 32 a few days ago, I found a scene of destruction that stopped me in my tracks (i.e. single-track). State DOT crews were just finishing up the removal of a couple acres, more or less, of mature trees and understory next to the basin northwest of the park. A DOT supervisor told me the plan was to build a parking lot there to complement some changes in the trail itself – he said the steep concrete stairs that take you down to the continuation of the trail under the Clover St. bridge will be replaced by some kind of sub-Clover ramp.

Later I talked to a Pittsford town official who told me the project was connected to reconstruction (“re-destruction”?) of the intersection of Clover St. and Jefferson Rd. If you venture down Clover (Rt. 65) toward Mendon Ponds – one of the most popular bike roads hereabouts – you’ll see the scraped-earth policy being mercilessly implemented. I wondered if the project had been properly vetted and publicized; the Pittsford official assured me it had been, though his tone reinforced my feeling that when it comes to the DOT’s version of democratic process, you’ve got to watch your back.

I also contacted the DOT point person by email, but I haven’t got a response yet. A news story I retrieved said the state is relocating the vehicular entrance to the canal park a little bit north on Clover, opposite Framingham Lane. Undoubtedly, this new design will help avoid traffic “interactions” both on the shared trail/driveway and on Clover St. But I assume, too, that the intent is to increase parking spaces overall – something I oppose in principle.

To anyone who knows more about this project: please post a comment. I hope, too, that someone can provide some photos from ground level. We need all the facts. But I have to say, my first impressions of this business is that, as happens so often with DOT activities, a whole lot of trees may have given their lives in vain.

For a map/satellite view of the location (obviously, from before the project was begin), go to http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&q=new%20york%20state%20department%20transportation%20pittsford&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&tab=wl

Julie, I’m so sorry to hear about your getting ripped off! (See post below.) I know a trusty bike can be like a good friend, and that there’s a real sense of loss when it disappears. I hope you get past the very understandable feelings and are back on the road/path very soon.

I’ve had three bikes stolen. The first time I was about five years old, and some kids from a few blocks away (this was in Niagara Falls) took my red two-wheeler from near our side porch. My dad retrieved it a few days later, after it had been thrashed and dented. I’ll never forget the experience.

The second time, my old Royce Union, a stolid but dependable ten-speed, was taken from the garage behind my apartment near Park and Oxford. You needed to know a little trick to open the garage door, and my landlord wrongly thought this meant he could keep the door unlocked. The third rip-off was in front of the old Genesee Co-op on Monroe. I had my old Raleigh ten-speed, the replacement for the Royce Union, locked with a padlock and cable out in front of the building. Turned out the cable was a lot more secure than the padlock. A witness told me two kids snipped the lock in two seconds with a cable-cutter and sped off.

I also had a near-miss with a bike I locked in front of the Monroe Library years ago. There were four or five bikes locked there that day; witnesses said a pick-up truck had stopped at the curb to “unload” a few thieves who’d been riding in the truck bed; the thieves hopped out brandishing tools, and in mere seconds they had cut the cable locks on several bikes, hoisted them aboard the truck, and made their getaway. My bike was the only one left unstolen, but it hadn’t been untouched. As is my custom today, I was using two locks, a u-lock and a cable lock. The thieves cut the cable in a split second but were deterred by the u-lock – too time-consuming to deal with under the circumstances.

Well, I hope there are some lessons in these unpleasant memories. We all need to share info about theft-prevention, which is even more challenging in some other communities. I’m still trying to refine my strategies, but here’s how I approach the problem right now: first, I don’t keep any bikes in the garage, even though that’s where I guess they belong. I keep them in the house (they’ve got sculptural value, too, even if they do take up a little space). I’ve know too many people who’ve lost their steeds from a garage, even when the bikes, doors, windows, etc., were locked securely. Unless you’ve got some kind of surveillance system or a set of Fort Knox-worthy barriers, a thief can easily get into the garage, which then provides good workspace and adequate time to do the dirty deed.

And of course, unless your bike is in a secure interior space under your obsessive gaze, it should be locked to something solid. I suppose, as well, that bikes left inside a home when you’re away on vacation, or whatever, should be locked – unfortunately, a bike is especially attractive to a burglar, since it can double as the perfect getaway vehicle. Then there’s the question of crimes of opportunity: too many bikes are stolen because the owner neglected to lock it while “popping into the store for just a minute,” etc. You may need only a minute to do your errand, but believe me, the thief needs only a half minute to spirit your bike far, far away.

Next is the subject of what locks are best and exactly how to lock the bike up (worth a whole dissertation). The “New York locks,” which include u-locks and big superhardened chains, are very good, but they’re also pretty heavy. There are other brands out there that have grabbed market share since the “Bic” fiasco some years back – when it became known that cylindrical-keyed u-locks could be opened with a ballpoint pen (mightier than the sword in this context, I guess). I used to have a Kryptonite New York flat-keyed u-lock, but I gave it to my son to use in downtown Providence; the lock weighs almost four pounds, but that’s only about half the weight of the best chains. Plus, when you use any KNY u-lock, you need to secure the wheels, either by removing the front wheel and putting the rim within the lock, or by carrying another lock as a supplement. My son continues to defy the Fates by failing to lock his wheels – even though he just invested in a new, pricey rear wheel and cassette. Alas, what’s a nagging dad gonna do?

Most of the trustworthy authorities say it’s good to have two locks of different types, to frustrate a thief who’s carrying only the tool(s) for cutting one type (e.g. a saw versus a cable-cutter). But you’ve got to find a compromise between weight and security: Today I travel with two locks, a Kryptonite New Evolution “Mini,” a two-pounder favored by bike messengers; and a slightly less than two-pound Specialized keyed (not combination) cable lock that has small strips of metal embedded in the braided cable, a feature that defends against smaller cable-cutters. I use the Mini to secure the frame to a rack or signpost (the lock is too small to get around large poles or posts, etc.) and the cable to secure the wheels, which have quick-releases.

One last thought: if I were taking my bike into an office or other semi-public building, I’d lock it to something immoveable indoors, like a pipe or radiator. Again, I’ve heard too many stories about bikes being stolen from storerooms, and so forth. You’d be amazed how thieves can case a joint and brazenly invade in broad daylight. Sometimes building owners and staff think they’re doing you a favor when they allow you to bring your bike indoors – for example, I’ve had staffers at Union Place, the NYSUT headquarters on Union St. right near the Inner Loop, ask me to bring my bike inside rather than use the very good “sine wave” style rack (rack designs merit another whole dissertation) out by the parking lot. I always decline the supposed favor. All in all, it’s preferable to lock the bike outdoors in a visible space, using truly secure locks – not toys like those skinny cable locks that unaccountably are in wide use, even in high-theft areas – than bring it indoors and unwittingly hand it to a rip-off artist.

All of Rochester owes the good folks at Full Moon Vista a big round of applause and a few high-fives. The Rochester Omnium, sponsored by the downtown bike shop and steered to victory by FMV owner Scott Page, has already become a local tradition – and an international attraction.

As a commuter and solo/family bike tourist, I’ve never been involved in bike racing, except marginally, through watching events like the Tour de France on TV – i.e. being a velo-couch-potato. But I took in all three Omnium events this year and loved every minute.

First came the time trials in Charlotte Friday afternoon. I approached the event the right way: biking out St. Paul St., then taking the designated trail through Maplewood Park and the Turning Point, and ending up at the harbor. Things were pretty quiet that morning along the trail, and also along Lake Avenue, which had been cordoned off. (What a contrast to the “other” Lake Avenue, which thunders with beer-powered motorcycles on Boys’ Nights Out.) The contestants were amazing: the winning average speed over the 4.4 mile course was, if my calculator doesn’t lie, a hair under 36 mph. Damn showoffs. Hell, I probably hit 36 mph for a good twenty seconds as I coasted down the big hill at the southern approach to Turning Point Park. I won’t discuss the 3.6 mph I achieved on a notorious short uphill stretch on my way back.

My brother came in from Buffalo Saturday night to join me at the Criterium downtown. He’s been riding the Riverwalk in Buffalo and Tonawanda and is showing more and more interest in longer excursions. But he’d never seen a live bike race – and so, as you’d expect, he was blown away. Just like anybody who considers the pure athleticism of the pro riders. Talk about muscle tone and lung capacity.

I had an unusual experience during the Sunday road race, a 101-miler that ended with a few rousing 6-mile loops in and near Genesee Valley Park. There I was on Wilson Boulevard at the north end of the River Campus, innocently minding my own business and trying to get near the action, when I was “drafted” by an RPD officer to monitor an exit from the UR’s back parking lot. Actually, I volunteered; I seen my duty and I done it – keeping errant vehicles and pedestrians from wandering onto the closed course. Well, the errant traffic never materialized, so I was left standing there, a solitary sentinel – though I did have a great view of the racers as they flew down the slope toward the boulevard. More showoffs! They ride a hundred miles in a leisurely four hours and then, as if from the ultimate caffeine rush, really pour on the speed.

When things got preternaturally quiet, I figured the race was over. And so it was: I got to the finish line, a half mile from my guardpost, just as the awards ceremony was starting. Too bad I missed the winner crossing the line, but I have no regrets. The event was a success, the weather was cooperative, and the crowd was lively. Actually, that brings up one regret. I wish more people had come out to watch the end of the road race, and I wish the same about the Charlotte time trials. Each of these deserves a crowd of thousands, the kind that swarms downtown for the “Crit.” I’ll bet the turnout will be better next year, because the Omnium seems to be on a steep upward curve.

Thanks to Julie for her report (see below) on biking through the obstacle course that the western fringe of the MCC Brighton campus has become. The last time I ventured through this area (let’s call it a “destruction zone,” since it’s a lot more about making things car-and-truck-friendly than anything else), I had to watch my “step” almost constantly. Still, the rough-and-ready asphalt path along the W side of East Henrietta Road did provide some fun.

But if I had to negotiate that mess every day, or even once a week, I’d be tearing out my hair and hurling imprecations at the Petro-gods, who clearly rule the roost at MCC, DOT, and various local governments. Of all the colleges/universities I’ve attended or taught at, MCC probably has the worst record of inattention to pedestrians and cyclists. For a long, long time (the Brighton campus turns 40 this year), bikers and other transpo-orphans have been the object of a de facto discrimination campaign. Sometimes as you wend your way between the city line and the campus, which from a distance looks like a very downscale Oz surrounded by vast defenses in the form of parking lots, you feel like The Fugitive braving hostile territory and inching toward vindication – “I made it alive! And I’m not guilty!”

I hope the ongoing reconstruction improves the situation. In some ways, it will have to: current DOT guidelines call for accommodations for pedestrians/cyclists whenever practicable. Indeed, the specific NYSDOT plan for this section of 15A calls for “bicycle lanes throughout.” But don’t expect MCC to turn into UC Davis. I’ve monitored the changes for years now, and the only options I’ve seen seriously considered are those that will sooner or later (more likely sooner) substantially increase traffic volumes around the campus. Bikers will find better conditions, but the campus, which is shortchanged on transit, too, will still be the academic equivalent of a Wal-Mart.

We should remember, too, that what’s happening around MCC Brighton is part of larger, darker picture. Brighton is becoming heavily sprawlified east of the campus, where the last vestiges of dairy farming have given way to ever-proliferating office “parks,” a land-hungry megachurch, and (soon) a gated community next to the Erie Canal. The canal trail and a couple of spurs (short trails through Meridian Centre Park and Brighton Town Park, plus the Lehigh Valley Trail, N Branch) are among the best biking spots on the planet, or at least this little corner of it. But overall, regarding the bicycle, Brighton and partners like NYSDOT have taken away more than they’ll ever give back.

I owe RocBike a follow-up post about my biking in Italy – but for now I want to write about a follow-up bike trip I took with Ian, my son, in New England and Québec.

Ian’s living in Providence, so we arranged to meet in Boston and head north from there. I chose to, or made the mistake of, going from Rochester to Beantown by plane, mostly because I had a leftover credit from AirTran. The credit reduced my fare to a staggering 10 bucks! But… the airline charged me $69 to take my boxed bike along. (I could have taken my folder in a large suitcase for nothing, but I wanted to ride my hybridized Kona, which has a gear range more suitable for the kind of “mountaineering” the route entailed.) Lemme tell ya: there’s nothing pleasant about standing outside the busy terminal at Logan Int’l and reassembling a full-sized bike, especially in the dark, and most especially when your bike-mechanical skills are as basic as mine. But this prefatory transpo-adventure had a happy ending. I got the bike together, made my way to a subway station a mile or so from the airport, and got to downtown Boston without entirely losing my sense of direction or my cool, such as it is.

Ian had an easier time: he took his bike aboard the commuter train from Providence and met up with me in the heart of Boston. Then, after a stop at an excellent Back Bay bikeshop for some last-minute adjustments, we boarded Amtrak bound for Portland, ME.

On this route, Amtrak accommodates bikes the right and proper way: for a $10 surcharge, you can roll your bike aboard (loaded with panniers or not) and stow it in the oversized luggage area. I can’t see why this service couldn’t be added to every Amtrak run, but as a rail enthusiast and member of the Empire State Passengers Association, I understand the train folks have got bigger fish to fry.

Portland, which I hadn’t visited in 35+ years, is a fine city indeed. Ian and I enjoyed the waterfront and restaurants, and frankly, I could have been persuaded to stay seaside for a few more days. But the Open Road beckoned… at least till it became clear that the road we’d chosen, largely because in this region there are practically no viable alternative routes that actually get you where you’re going without unreasonable “detours,” was not beckoning but in effect hollering, “Watch out, stupid.” In short, Route 302 north from Portland is not a cyclist’s dream: it’s got incessant heavy truck traffic, plus in the summer, an endless stream of moto-vacationers seeking fresh air even as they foul it.

The part of our route that took us through central and northern New Hampshire was much better in terms of road conditions – but of course we were hauling loaded bikes over some serious hills and mountains, too. I do love riding in hill country – the flats can get pretty boring, and besides, steady headwinds in the lowlands or plains can be mighty discouraging, much more so than even demanding ups-and-downs. Overall, I think NH is prime biking territory. Especially prime is the Dixville Notch area. Ian and I went through this high pass during a series of thunderstorms; we kept ourselves safely away from lightning (which should be one of the bike traveler’s biggest concerns) but we couldn’t dodge the raindrops.

After an exciting but wet descent, we holed up at The Balsams, a historic hotel complex, set on a mere 15,000 acres, that “donated” us a gazebo for shelter. When the storm cleared, we pushed on through a wetland plateau that gave us the best wildlife sighting of the trip: a moose that was browsing at roadside jumped and ran through the spruce thickets as we zipped by. We hadn’t noticed this fine specimen of the natural SUV of the North (maybe the label does a disservice to a noble animal) until it moved – and luckily the movement was not in our direction. You’ve got to take “moose crossing” signs seriously in this neighborhood, even if you’re nonmotorized.

When we left NH, via a seriously short trespass into the extreme NE tip of Vermont, we thought we’d conquered our quota of hills. Not so. This past of southern Québec, which despite many Anglo names on the map is a solidly Francophone region, is similar to the Southern Tier/Finger Lakes in the quality and quantity of long, long inclines. And even the major roads, which are wondrously free of heavy traffic, can be challenging when you’re packing lots of gear.

We went through towns like East Hereford, a sawmill town that’s surrounded by forests (duh!), lots of Xmas tree plantations (destined for, among other places, Long Island and Westchester, one local farmer told us when we stopped in St. Malo for lunch) and a dwindling supply of dairy farms. We also stopped for libations in the college city of Sherbrooke, from which we accessed La Route Verte, the newish Québec system of bike trails and designated roadways. (Check it out online – maps, etc.)

You notice how different the ambience is in Québec from that of NH and even VT, even though both the latter are heavily populated by descendants and relatives of Québécois/Québécoises. Ian posits that Québec Francophones are more European in their vehicle choices: smaller, more efficient and cheaper cars and trucks overall. What we saw on the roads, and what we didn’t see, tended to confirm the theory. I do hope that this and other aspects of what various commentators see as the province’s ongoing “Europeanization” drift down our way against the prevailing winds, both meteorological and political…

To be continued… with short notes about cycling in Québec City, hearing Paul McCartney almost by accident, tenting among the Vanbagos in a surprisingly (amazingly) quiet and pleasant private mega-campsite (again, that Québec ambience), and other stuff.

It seems like I’ve been away from RocBike for a long time – and yes, it’s been a couple weeks since I even checked in. But my absence was for a good cause: a trip to Italy, with lots of biking there (I brought my Dahon folder, which fits easily into a couple suitcases for air travel) and now some impressions to pass along.

My trip took me to several northern Italian cities: first to Modena, home of fabled tenor Luciano Pavarotti, almost equally fabled soprano Mirella Freni, and oddly fabled, expensive, gas-guzzling Maserati, whose headquarters are not far from downtown. Modena’s population is about 177,000, and I’ll bet the figure includes about 40,000 regular cyclists. As in many European communities, regular Modenites in huge numbers get around by bike, doing the shopping, dropping around to the caffe/café, going on dates (two per bike, and not on tandems), and otherwise getting through the day. If you wander the deliciously narrow and pedestrian-friendly streets and alleyways of the old parts of town, you see hundreds of bikes locked up everywhere. The bikes tend to be utilitarian, affordable models, some of them decades old and well-worn. (It’s only out in countryside, on the beautiful but narrow ancient roadways, that you see helmeted, bright-jerseyed riders on fancy road bikes.) Partly for economic reasons, and helped along by a human-scaled urbanscape and bike-friendly traditions, Italians depend heavily on appropriate transport technology.

The principle held true for two other communities I visited: the small city of Vignola, mid-sized Parma, and sizable Bologna (ca. 400,000 people in the urban core). I recommend all three to bikers and walkers – again, it’s the traditional urbanscape that makes the difference. Bologna, with plenty of piazzas and 38 km of “arcades,” i.e. Gothic-arched covered walkways, is especially attractive to pedestrians. I think this town’s Renaissance and Baroque architects could teach our RenSquare planners a thing or three. (And isn’t it odd that not long ago, Rochester was courting Parma interests for a deal to redevelop Midtown Plaza – without so much as considering the physical features that makes the city of Parma a resounding success?)

Not that Italy is a total biking Paradiso. At least in the Emilia Romagna region that I toured, the secondary highways are miserably clogged with trucks and cars moving at excessive speed, and there’s precious little space for bikers or pedestrians. And in the suburban zones, you see many working-class cyclists pushed to the margins, same as you see around home. But in Italian town centers, everything’s rosy: ample bike paths and lanes, urban traffic that’s respectful of cyclists, and an official commitment to alternative transportation. Modena also has begun a bike-borrowing/rental program. You just put down a deposit and get a key, then access publicly-owned bikes at any number of parking stations around town. There’s no fee for the first three days – perfect for travelers, though I must say the bikes themselves are a little stodgy in design, solid and serviceable but not suitable for long rides.

Well, I’m now coping with transpo-culture shock. I went to the Rochester Public Market this morning and did a few errands. Amazing how few bikes you see around the market (I counted about a dozen), considering the huge turnout (thousands on- or just off-site) on a Saturday morning. Part of this is the durability of the Auto Craze, part is the result of the Rochester’s failure to create the infrastructure that would seduce people into going to the market by bike. Why, the city only recently added another parking lot, this one on Railroad St. And still – as any competent traffic planner should have foreseen – the cars and “light trucks” jam the access roads and turn the market grounds into ground zero for air pollution and conflicts with mere persons who make such daring, self-indulgent moves as trying to cross a street! Maybe RocBikers, joined by Critical Massers and others, should target the market for some kind of actions. City Hall shouldn’t be allowed to ignore or downplay bike issues any longer. (I note with pleasure the departure of Dumbass Supremo Steve Minarik, the Republican boss who did something to offend everyone – and did everything to maintain the status quo that barely acknowledges alternative transport. Not that I expect M’s replacement will be much better.)

One last note: Italian towns also are home to vast numbers of motorbikes and scooters. This was especially evident in Bologna. But the odd thing is, I didn’t hear any straight-pipe monstrosities like those that take over Rochester-area roads every summer. Interpret that as you will.

One of bicycling’s least appreciated pleasurable aspects is walking. I mean, you go on a tour and you think you’re gonna pedal, pedal, pedal without a break? Give me a break.

Some examples: You’re carrying a big load and up comes a monster hill. Why pedal in a 19-inch gear and go no faster than you would on foot? Stop, smell the flowers for a minute, then walk to the top. Or you have a mechanical breakdown that makes your mount unrideable, so you end up walking it to the nearest settlement. No disgrace in this; the stroll may even buoy your spirit. (I’ve seen bikers laid low by a mere flat – that is, those bikers crazy enough to hit the open road without carrying a patch/toolkit. So be warned.) Or you just need to stretch a different muscle group – and you realize that biking isn’t supposed to be torture. So relax!

I think it’s fair, maybe even necessary, to rate bicycles on a, shall we say, pushability index. I give my old Miyata 618 tourer high marks here. I can lightly grip the bike by the stem with one hand and roll it along with almost no effort. And this holds true even when the Miyata is loaded to the gills with camping gear, clothing, tools, etc. Pushing the Big M certainly imposes less discomfort than humping the same load in a backpack.

But why am I bothering with this topic. Just a lead-in to a travelogue: my three days accompanying the peace march to Fort Drum, which meant that I pushed my bike (the storied Miyata) as much as I rode it.

Maybe you’ve seen something in the news about the march. (Check out nysmarchesforpeace.org for updates, with special attention to an upcoming rally.) Marchers will soon be converging north of Syracuse for the last push toward the base, which reportedly sends more troops to Iraq and Afghanistan than any other US military installation. I can’t vouch for the latter factoid, but I do know the base has grown wildly in recent years. No longer is it the miserable little hellhole it was in the early 70s when I had the bad luck to be sent there once in a while for “training” – no, today it’s a miserable enormous shithole and insult to humanity. But, hey, it brought jobs!

I digress. The point I’m trying to make is that it’s as simple as it is morally appropriate to bring a bike along on a peace march, and as simple as it is obvious that walking your bike is a natural form of locomotion. The vehicle itself is a symbolic presence – a human-scale machine that contradicts the brute logic of the highway (think SUVs, lots of them, as I found to my displeasure on Route 104) and the military (think Humvee/Hummer). And a bike’s inherent modesty, even with all the bells and whistles and panache of current models, allows you to function as a human being among pedestrians.

Which is exactly where you and I – not to mention the folks in uniform – belong.

I knew this month’s Critical Mass ride would be a standout: the weather was great, and many of the college students who regularly take part haven’t left town for summer yet. But I wasn’t prepared for just how wonderful the ride would be. We started as usual at the Liberty Pole a little after 6 pm (actually, some riders start at 5:30 at the UR River Campus), then rode for about two hours. The serendipitous, spontaneous route took us along the Genesee, over to Corn Hill, through downtown again, down Park Avenue (twice) and Monroe and East avenues, straight south on Goodman Street (a roadway practically begging for a velo-takeover), by the Strong Museum and Manhattan Square, and finally Gibbs Street. I don’t think I’m getting the sequence right – but you get the picture. We hit a lot of high spots, and none of them struck back.

If it’s not too much of a contradiction to say so, CM has become a solid local institution again. But we need to get more bikers out for it. (Make a note: we ride the last Friday of every month.) In a town where such boondoggles as Renaissance Square can pass for transportation projects/progress, grassroots action is especially important. Hey, maybe an upcoming CM ride can take an inside tour of the infamous Mortimer Street garage, which so many “downtown interests” are committed to preserving, even as they salivate at the prospect of tearing down attractive old buildings nearby. I remember an Urban Assault ride a few years ago that went up and down the ramps of the Farash building’s parking garage (I mean the suburban-looking office building that houses the IRS, et al., right across East Avenue from the Little Theatre). Probably trespassing – I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t lock my body or bike up in jail! – but a nice complement to taking back the streets. And lots of fun and exercise. Anyway, isn’t the Mortimer Street garage, that prime component of the Uglysphere, a public space?

Even crazy year-round cyclists will admit it’s more pleasant to cruise through 60-degree afternoons under a gentle sun than to battle a blizzard, though the latter has its special pleasures. But the bikers of spring face an unpleasant reality: seemingly glacial deposits of debris: cinders, pebbles, broken glass, metal shards, and lots more – all the stuff that gets thrown to the curb or shoulder by passing motor vehicles, only to sit in the narrow piece of pavement “reserved” for bikes till some spring rainstorms – or in town, the streetsweepers – wipe the slate clean again.

So how do you navigate the debris and avoid flats? Well, steering around the heaps and windrows can sometimes work – but then you run into obvious safety problems. Especially in heavy traffic, you must keep to the very straight and narrow, which of course leads you straight into the mess.

I’ve found the best strategy is to equip your bike with the right tires. As wonderfully efficient as those teeny 23mm road tires may be, spring riding calls for heavy duty rubber. I can’t think of a better investment than a pair of high-end commuter tires – at least 32mm in width, with plenty of tread material and solid sidewalls. A few years back, my son, Ian, and I were riding in early spring (I recall piles of snow here and there) on the trails in the Toronto port lands. We were plodding along, only to be passed by a hot road bike. But passed only in a contingent sense: the roadie hit a patch of stones and glass ahead of us and, pffff!, experienced a blowout you could hear 200 feet away.

I’ve been using Specialized Armadillo and/or Infinity commuter tires on my 20-year-old Miyata touring bike, and what these tires lack in efficiency (and the lack is minimal), they more than make up for in durability. Schwalbe, Continental and other companies make good stuff, too. Some models have Kevlar belts and other high-tech means to counter punctures and cuts, but I believe that the basic thickness of the tread and sidewall are more crucial – the more distance a shard has to travel from the exterior to the inner tube, the greater the chance you won’t get a flat. In any case, tires like these ain’t cheap, but they can run flatless literally for years; in fact, they may wear out before you have a single puncture. Or rather: you’ll have many near-punctures that the hefty tires will prevent from turning into flats. Look at any commuter tire with more than a few miles on it and you’ll find many scars and other evidence of abuse and assault. I’ve actually pulled pieces of wire and glass out of my treads with needle-nose pliers, and I know that any one of these tiny hitchhikers would have defeated the typical road tire.

On my mountain bike I use basically the same tire, though fatter and more buoyant, all the better to ride out the potholes. Don’t underestimate what potholes can do to a tire or wheel, and don’t have too high an opinion of your ability to dodge the craters and canyons. Sometimes, in low light conditions or when they’re filled with rain water, potholes can be almost invisible. Other times you’re forced into them by the traffic flow at your left elbow. In any case, you need solid, ample tires and wheels (the traditionalist in me still goes for 36-spoke wheels with fairly wide rims, and I’m a bit skeptical of many new wheel designs that severely reduce the number of spokes – I mean, what price do you pay for saving a few grams?). Yes, you’ll have to work a little more to keep these wheels/tires turning – the dreaded duo, rotational force/inertia and rolling resistance. But how much energy would you eat up while changing a flat and cursing your fate?

Today one of my trusty toe clips, which was semi-fastened to a pedal not with trusty but very rusty hardware, broke and fell off as I was tooling down Mt. Vernon Ave. I just undid the strap, put the broken item into a pannier and moved on. Later, when doing errands downtown, I stopped at Full Moon Vista and bought a new pair of clips. And once back home, I put the new ones on – after resorting to cutting off the old bolts with a bolt-cutter. So now I’m good to go again.

Maybe you’re thinking I should just have taken the clips and straps off altogether and left them off. And there’s something to be said for that route. On short rides, especially around town, there’s no terrible need to be strapped in or otherwise be attached to your pedals. Pedaling efficiency, which surely is improved by clips and SPD/clipless systems, isn’t such a big deal for routine, everyday kinds of riding.

But I like old-fashioned clips for things other than efficiency. Indeed, I keep them pretty loose when I’m doing my commutes and errands, so the boost in efficiency is minimal. No, what I like about clips is how they make it easy and natural-feeling to position your foot just right on the pedal (assuming you’ve got the right size of clips and they’re installed right).

Even more important, I’ve found that clips can improve safety – crucially, once you’ve had adequate practice getting your feet in and out – by keeping your feet from slipping off the pedals. This is a real issue when it’s snowy, slushy or very rainy (and of course it also depends on the pedal style and the type of sole on your shoes or boots). You can imagine what kinds of accidents you could get yourself into if you’re pedaling like mad in traffic, your foot slips off the pedal and hits the ground, and your shin or calf is struck by the still-rotating crank. Ouch, and then some.

I do understand why people avoid using clips or similar devices. When you’re new to serious biking, they seem to just get in the way – very distracting, as you’re tempted to stare at your feet while trying to slip your toes into the damned things. Sort of like the questionable habit of staring down at your drivetrain as you go through the gears, which allows you to know precisely how many gear-inches you’re using in that dreamlike moment just before you slam into a parked car. But come to think of it, here’s one advantage to a recumbent, whose drivetrain is easily visible ahead of you, so you don’t lose sight of the road ahead, even if you’re not exactly focused on it.

I loved reading Adam’s post on, shall we say, spontaneous ice-biking. It can happen to anyone: the evening begins with a warm breeze, but then comes the rain, which soon turns to sleet; and as the temperature keeps dipping, the whole visible world becomes as slick as a “greenwashed” ad from Big Oil. And there you are, the intrepid bicyclist, faced with riding when even walking is a challenge.

The scenario is one of many arguments in favor of studded tires for winter riding. I’ve been using a pair of Nokians this year, after an apprenticeship in past winters with some cheaper but less durable Innovas. The Nokians are peerless (well, maybe equaled by Schwalbe, about whose studded tires I know very little) and well worth the price (the model I have runs about $60 apiece).

When the latest ice storm struck the other day, I had to do my usual commute to the RIT campus, about seven miles one-way from my place, through varied conditions: level streets, a couple gentle hills, some parking-lot-shortcuts, and a good length of untended multi-use trail. After the ice had landed, these surfaces were slippery as all get-out, and worse, textured by a wind-driven splattering effect (the elements as a sort of environmental Jackson Pollock) that added a little bounce to the ride. Still, the tires worked nicely. There were a few times when I felt a bit insecure, as when I went up and then down a steep pedestrian bridge over the Erie Canal. But for the most part, the tires kept me upright and going forward on ice that would have stopped a pedestrian cold.

I’ve got a lot of winter riding under my belt, and the experiences have included more than a few wipe-outs on unexpected or unseen ice. I remember one afternoon a few years back on the Genesee River Trail: it was about 10 degrees F, sunny and clear, and the ground and trail were almost bare. But as I swooped down and around a curve under a railroad bridge, I “encountered” a patch of black ice maybe 20 feet long that covered the full width of the trail. By the time I understood what was ahead, it was too late to take evasive action – or even let out a good ole Tarzan yodel. Down I went, sliding along on my left side as various add-ons from my bike tinkled and scattered on the cold, cold ground. (I instantly recalled an earlier fall on ice, this one at night, when it took me a while to find and reassemble all the little pieces of my headlamp, some of which had skittered under a parked car.) But my bike and I escaped without real injury. And I was glad nobody had been around to witness a most uncool maneuver.

Now cycling life is boring: my studded tires keep me from having more experiences like the above. So what stories am I going to tell my great-grandkids? Surely if you embellish it enough, you can make an absolutely uneventful ride into a heroic journey. I’ll give it a try.

Ever since my son, Ian, moved to Providence, I’ve been planning on a pilgrimage (by bike?) to Harris Cyclery, only an hour north of Prov, just outside of Boston. This sidetrip would not have been geared to seeing another bike shop, nice as that experience can be – and as great a shop Harris Inc. apparently is. No, my plan was to shake the hand of a mensch named Sheldon Brown.

Now all of us in the cyclosphere have learned of Sheldon’s death. (See the links below.) And to judge by the postings on bike-related sites all over the web, a great many riders of all descriptions are mourning the loss of a person they never met but who became a real and trusted presence in their lives.

I’ve gone to Sheldon’s web resources many times, looking for some bit of advice on parts, wheels, and more – but also, as a fellow sexageniarian, to enjoy his boyish enthusiasm for two-wheelers (and three-wheelers, for which Sheldon, who suffered from MS his last few years, had developed a passion born of necessity).

A good part of Sheldon’s charm came from his openness to the issues of everyday bikers, not just the performance-oriented. He knew that cycling culture and development of bike transportation depend on our all pedaling together as one.

Sheldon is already much missed. I’m sure, though, that his spirit must be present at the shop he worked for – so I’m still planning that pilgrimage. And I hope the web resources he created will long be available, because here we’re not talking about mere information… As Walt Whitman said, and I paraphrase, Whoever touches these words, touches a man.

I’ve just returned from Cyclotopia, formerly known as Ecotopia or the Pacific Northwest, and I’m brimming with thoughts about urban transportation.

In cities like Seattle, which I explored for five days, and Portland, the locals take transportation seriously. I understand their high-ranking public officials actually utter words like “bus,” “rail,” and “bicycle,” and not just as token references.

Take Seattle. Though this major trade, commercial and aerospace hub is notorious for sprawl and traffic jams, it’s remarkably friendly to bikers and pedestrians. There are marked bike lanes aplenty, and locking posts in all the logical spots. (The posts are actually steel pipes bent into a squarish “C” with the end-points bolted to the pavements; the horizontal section sits at the level of a traditional bike’s top tube. This design, elegant in its simplicity and probably cheap as dirt, allows for locking two bikes, one on each side. I suppose it would be simple to use two locks per bike for added security – and the two-lock method is certainly preferred in urban settings.)

The bike literature says Seattle has one of the most organized and largest biker populations in the country, and the infrastructure bears this out. Yet I was surprised at how relatively few bikers were on the streets. The weather was no obstacle. Seattle gets lots of slow, steady rain in the winter – Cyclotopian bikes are equipped with full fenders at a rate well above the national average – but the temperatures are moderate, even in January. And the trendy areas of town were packed with Gore-Tex’d and sumptuously fleeced yuppies, a naturally bike-inclined demographic. But still: I don’t think there were more bikers actually biking than you’d see in mid-winter in Rochester. Not even around the home store of REI Coop, the premier outfitter, which has surrounded itself with a quasi-wild microhabitat complete with MTB pseudo-trails – right next to thundering Interstate 5.

One reason might be the lay of the land. Seattle is mighty hilly. If your daily commute took you west from the Volunteer Park area, a delightful set of neighborhoods, to downtown and the waterfront, you’d start the day with a schuss. There are some great downhill runs, for sure. But as every experienced biker knows, what goes down must later grind upward. And for many Seattle downtown office workers, the trip home is a long pull – even adjusting for a possible boost from a tailwind off Puget Sound.

And this is where Rochester and other cities in our region have the upper hand. The terrain here is conducive to bike transportation. You may not be riding in a marked bike lane, and you may have to hunt for a signpost to lock up to, and you may have to slip-and-slide through slush in December and January and beyond (though, thanks to our fossil-fueled competitors, global warming may make slush a thing of the past, even deep in winter). But no matter where you go around these parts, you won’t need to power up a 10 percent grade for a half mile – and then after stopping for a red light, contemplate an immediate repeat performance.

Don’t get the wrong impression, however. I think the Pacific Northwest is great, and I plan to explore it by bike this coming year, possibly as the first leg of a cross-country trek. (I planned to do this last summer, but stuff happened, and I switched to a tour of Northern NY and New England.) But the truth is, the ideal place for biking is wherever you happen to be – you know, that old business about “being present” and “in the moment.”

Right now, I’m thinking about my commute to RIT tomorrow morning. It will be windy and a little cool (we hit 64F here today!), and the Lehigh Valley Trail will be open. Maybe I’ll see a red-tailed hawk along the way, as I did on Monday. It doesn’t get better than that.