“We are, when on our bikes, timeless kids crawling fast; experiencing what we had (and lost) when the conscious mind began to impede us.”  – Robert Seidler

At the end of my essay Which Cycling Politics: Doom or Possibility? I presented two stories for cyclists to live by.  One in which we see ourselves as vulnerable, pleading to the government to give us a place to ride; the other in which we present ourselves as confident equals, fully entitled and capable of using the existing roadway system.

Stories can have great power.  For thousands of years people have told stories – myths – to illuminate how we should move forward toward fulfillment.  While the word “myth” often has negative connotations in our culture, often disparaged as “somebody else’s religion,” or something foolish or untrue, the late mythologist Joseph Campbell wrote that one of the key purposes of mythology is to psychologically carry us through the stages of life; from the dependency of childhood to the responsibility of adulthood.  With a truly mythological perspective, one doesn’t worry about “facts” (not that they are unimportant) as much as a universal truth.

Campbell wrote extensively of the mythological Hero’s Journey; in which the hero hears a calling (often resisting it at first), undergoes transformation and trials, and comes out the other end with new wisdom, freedom and power.

You can read on it more extensively here:

It’s a story of such universal power that every culture has some version of it, and our culture has told the story over and over, including in many books and films.  George Lucas was heavily inspired by Campbell in his writing of Star Wars, and Campbell lauded the original film trilogy as a superb retelling of the Hero’s journey brought into the technological age.

To make an analogy between cycling and Star Wars, if Luke Skywalker had used the strategy of the “please give us a place to ride our bikes” side of bicycle advocacy, he would have asked for a barren little moon to live on where he wouldn’t have gotten in the Galactic Empire’s way.  And spent the rest of his life as a slave.

Most people in government have bought into the bicycle traffic myth.  When they say “bicycling in traffic is dangerous,” they rarely understand what they’re talking about.  They can’t explain coherently why it is dangerous, and have no idea how to remedy the risks of cycling.

Their “common sense” (in the most original sense of that term) of cycling is that small, slow and vulnerable users and large, fast and massive users cannot safely share the same roadway. This common sense isn’t based on any objective data, but on experiencing large vehicles passing fast and in close proximity while on a bike (because they’re hugging the edge) – a scary experience for many – and hearing sketchy fatality reports on the news.  People conflate the scary feeling of being passed close with the fatality stories and assume the former is the cause of the latter, when more likely the death involved some other violation of the basic rules of traffic.

Former Bogota, Columbia mayor Enrique Peñalosa has notably claimed that “A city should be so constructed so that it is safely navigable by any seven-year-old on a bicycle.”  A laudable goal, but is it practical and affordable, or even possible within our current land use configuration?  I’m afraid not.  As long as people in the suburbs have the need and money to travel long distances to work and shopping, they will demand that they be able to do so at speeds that make it unsafe for that seven-year-old on a bicycle to travel freely.  No bikeway design can remedy that problem.  We are far from ready to convert four- and six-lane arterials into woonerfs.  We are stuck with suburbia for at least decades to come.  People are not going to willingly let their large lot, single family homes be torn down to be reconfigured into pods of high density.

Over the past six decades we have created a type of wilderness on many of our arterial and collector streets.  Dangerous things run wild there.  Pre-civilized tribal peoples certainly didn’t put their seven-year-olds out there with the dangerous animals; they kept them safe in camp. Take the bicycle out of the equation for a minute.  Would you let your seven-year-old walk along this road, or cross it, unescorted?

Putting a six-inch high wall (a curb) between those wild things and our kids will not keep them safe, whether those wild things are cars or bison.  So the “seven-year-old bicyclist as design vehicle” argument is bogus.  It makes for good political rhetoric, but unrealistic traffic policy.

Our tribal ancestors understood the continuum concept of allowing kids to be exposed to risk when they were ready – both through training and maturity.  The problem today is most parents don’t understand the risks, so they don’t know how to train their kids or set boundaries for them.

Where this animal/car analogy breaks down – to our benefit – is that the bison are us.  We can change how they/we behave.  Ultimately it’s changing the way we see our streets that will make them humane again.

And we can change the manner in which we see our streets.  I wrote of this in my review of the book Fighting Traffic.   Such a change happened in the late Teens and early Twenties of the 20th Century.  We went from believing our streets were public utilities open to a multitude of uses – commerce, play, and socialization as well as travel – to thinking of them as a commodity paid for by motorists for the purpose of going fast.  It is that perception of the street that is the key to change.  Asking to be shoved into bicyclist reservations alongside the “adults” in cars is just reinforcement of that motorist mindset.

The Galactic Empire of Star Wars could just as easily be our current Gasoline Empire.  This Empire, which I named The Tyranny of Speed in another post, depends entirely on the belief that streets are primarily for fast-moving cars.  Overthrowing the Empire will require people behaving in ways contrary to the Empire’s desires. Segregated bikeways are not at all contradictory to the Empire’s belief system; indeed, they fit it perfectly.  (Some even claim that the concept of the bike lane originated in the motor-centric traffic engineering realm; and that while it was pitched as a “safety improvement,” the real agenda was keeping bicyclists from slowing down motorists.)

In her novel The Dispossessed, Ursula K. LeGuin wrote:

“You cannot buy the Revolution.  You cannot make the Revolution.  You can only be the Revolution.”

“Being the revolution” is a Hero’s journey.  One moves from childhood to adult.  From childish cycling – the playground, the sidewalk, staying out of the way of the adults – to adult cyclist; an equal, negotiating and standing up for one’s needs and principles.   Does a free and empowered adult ask permission to do the right thing?  Does she ask to be segregated from other adults in order to avoid upsetting them?

The most important thing the Hero does is inspire others to follow in his path.  In him they see the possibility of a better future.  Even the primitive Ewoks were inspired by Skywalker’s example.  Indeed, those Ewoks played an integral role in the defeat of the Empire.

But Empire’s can be defeated by means other than force.  Campbell wrote, “Revolution doesn’t have to do with smashing something; it has to do with bringing something forth.  If you spend all your time thinking about what you are attacking, then you are negatively bound to it.”  Once again, such a strategy is well suited to the cyclist’s situation.  Most people have positive feelings about cycling; it has a primal power over us.  Robert Seidler believes it taps into memories of early childhood, while we were crawling, experiencing movement for the first time.  Now we are in much the same position as that crawling toddler; head up, torso leaning forward, arms and legs down, but now with immensely greater freedom.  (Of course this head-forward position is not essential for the enjoyment of cycling, as any recumbent rider will tell you.)  Focusing on the positives of cycling is the most effective strategy we can use.

(By “defeating the Empire” I don’t mean eliminating cars.  I simply mean ending their hegemony.)

Where we have been failing for so many years has been with marginal education and outreach programs, and with messages that reinforce the Empire’s agenda.

“The adventure he is ready for is the adventure he gets.”  – Joseph Campbell

First things first.  If Obi-Wan Kenobi had told Luke right off the bat that he was going to confront Darth Vader in a duel, Luke would have been frightened out of his mind.  Instead, Obi-Wan focused first on building Luke’s basic skills in training for a “simpler” task – rescuing Princess Leia.  Similarly, we don’t start out by teaching cyclists to confront the Gasoline Empire on the worst arterials or in the political arena, we just get them comfortable with the skills of traffic cycling.

We show them what is possible.  Like this. (Mindful cycling can defeat mindless motoring.)

And this. (A light saber duel can also be a dance.)

The average American cyclist believes safe roadway cycling without special accommodation is like lifting an X-wing fighter with one’s mind – impossible.  Those of us who know better have to learn how to be Obi-Wans and Yodas; the shaman.  Campbell described the shaman as the one was drawn, by natural forces, beyond the commonplace.  Into – for lack of a better term – insanity.  Or at least seen as insane from the point of view of the rest of the community.  But traditional tribal cultures respected the views of the shaman; he was able to lead others to see new ways of dealing with the world.

That’s us – those of us who have left the fear of traffic behind and learned to be cycling Jedi.  It only looks supernatural to the uninitiated.

And that’s the role that awaits you if you’ll take it.

The common belief about European cities is that they have so many bicyclists because they have extensive (and “safe”) bikeway systems.  This travelogue from 1937* shows Copenhagen streets filled with cyclists.

Granted, auto ownership in 1937 Copenhagen was rather tiny compared to present-day American cities (or for that matter present day Copenhagen).  But watch how the motorists and cyclists interact.  To us it looks like chaos.  Traffic control appears minimal at best, yet the cyclists all seem blithley unconcerned.

It is certainly true that bike used plummeted in Denmark after World War II, and one can argue that the increase in auto use made it “necessary” to build segregated bikeways in order to increase bicycle use.  My point is: look at how they all behave.  Integration inspires cooperation — especially when the bicyclists are dressed just like everybody else.

Thanks to Copenhagenize for the find.

* YouTube shows this as from 1953, but info from IMBD and auto styles in the film indicate it’s 1937.

Similarly, many cyclists (and motorists who seem to revel in hanging out in cycling-related comment boards) seem to think lane control (aka “Taking the Lane,” aka “Commanding the Lane,” aka “Riding in the Middle of the Road,” aka “Impeding Traffic,” aka “Getting in the Way of the Important People in Cars”) is an all-or-nothing proposition.  As though lane control proponents do nothing but ride in the middle of every lane.

Of course that’s not the case.  We control the lane when it’s prudent; when keeping right will invite motorists to squeeze by dangerously close, when intersection conflicts are an issue, when pavement is bad, when we’re going as fast as other traffic, and in a variety of other situations.

I and others describe a lane that is too narrow to share as less than 14 feet wide.  (By the way, it’s not just us arrogant lane control advocates who say this; FDOT does, too.  See Florida Green Book, page 211.)  But there are situations in which a narrower lane might be shareable; particularly when motorist speeds are low.  One of the many benefits of lane control is that it slows motorists down so that they can pass safely.  While many cyclists like to tout Florida’s 3-foot law (motorists are required to give at least three feet of space when passing a bicyclist), many of us are comfortable with closer passes when motorists are going only a few miles per hour faster than we are (but want more than 3 feet when speeds are high!).  I’m happy with 2 feet when cars are doing 20 mph and the pavement is good.

Here are the factors I take into consideration:

Two-lane road

Lane not less than 12 feet

I’m not turning

On-coming traffic makes it difficult and dangerous to move into the on-coming lane to pass

Just one or two cars behind me

No debris or bad pavement ahead of me

The vehicles trying to pass are not very wide (no trailers, large trucks)

No intersection conflict issues

With those conditions I will move over towards the curb, but only after the following vehicle has slowed to my speed.  Then when it passes it will only be going a few miles per hour faster than I am.  If you have too many cars backed up behind you the later ones will get up a good head of steam by the time they pass you and will be more aggressive.  In such a case it’s better to just pull over into a driveway and let them all by.

UPDATE: Here is the link for the Pedal Co-op in Philly.

Explaining a diversionary fall and how to cross RR tracks safely in downtown Orlando. Photo by Keri Caffrey.

Keri Caffrey and I taught roadway cycling to a handful of teens from Parramore Kidz Zone today.

While on the one hand it’s rather like trying to herd cats, on the other it’s more rewarding that teaching cyclists who already “know it all.”  Fewer bad habits to break, and more smiles from the sense of accomplishment.

When you tell a teen, “It’s safer to ride in the center of the lane than to hug the curb,” they welcome the advice.  They haven’t been socialized as much to keep all the way to the right.  They also see us adult instructors as real experts, while many club cyclists think we’re just self-appointed know-it-alls; so the teen are more receptive to our teachings.  And I’m sure they really like the idea of being able to do something they originally thought was wrong, and that makes them feel like equals and grown-ups.

The ideal payoff for this will be seeing one or more of them out on the road on their own and implementing the skills and practices we’ve taught them.

Where do you ride if you are in a lane that is just wide enough for a car to squeeze past you within the lane when you ride ~3 feet from the curb? I’m struggling with this one. I don’t want them to squeeze past me within the lane. I don’t want to ride closer to the curb. Would this lane width be less than 14 feet?

The two key questions here are “How wide must a lane be to be “share-able?” and “How far from the curb/edge should I be if it is?”

Many states have statutes allowing bicyclists to leave the right-hand side of the lane if the lane is too narrow to share with another vehicle, but none of them define just how wide such a lane would be. The Florida Department of Transportation actually did define that in their standards: 14 feet. But that doesn’t officially (statutorily) define a 14-foot lane as wide enough to share. Still, I think it’s a reasonable width; it’s based on cyclist needs, safe passing, standard vehicle widths, and sound reasoning.

Of course you’re not going to stop and pull out a tape measure to figure out if the lane is wide enough to share. Instead, just look at a car ahead of you in the lane and ask yourself if there is enough width left over from the vehicle for you to operate safely. If the answer is No, then move left into the lane.

Keri doesn’t want to ride “less than 3 feet from the curb,” but lane widths are measured from the lane stripe to the edge of the pavement, not to the curb, so a 14-foot lane would be 15.5 feet if measured to the curb face. On most modern streets in Florida, the gutterpan is about 18 inches wide, so if you ride about 18 inches left from the seam of the asphalt and the gutterpan you’ll be about 3 feet from the curb face.

Moving inward from the curb face: 18 inches of gutterpan + 18 inches to the cyclist’s wheeltrack + 18-24 inches to the left shoulder of the cyclist + 3 feet of safe passing space = 7.5 to 8 feet. That would leave 8 to 8.5 feet of space for the passing motor vehicle. Standard-size cars are about 5.5 feet; full-size SUVs and vans about 7 feet; large trucks and buses 8.5 feet.

I think 18 inches is sufficient distance to ride from the gutterpan seam, usually giving you enough maneuvering room to deal with debris and crosswinds. Potholes are another matter.

If the lane is less than 14 feet, you’re justified in moving farther left. Unfortunately, most motorists don’t see it that way. They usually see a 12-foot lane as wide enough to share.