What A Biking Network Is and Isn't

Recently I was with a bunch of fellow Quad Citizens talking to a potential candidate to move here, and the topic of biking came up. My compatriots were eager to describe the biking trails here--the Duck Creek trail, the twin riverfront trails--as a bike network. 

I was a little less enthusiastic.

That isn't to say that I don't enjoy biking in the QCA. I do! I commute by bike, for goodness' sake, at least when it's not terrible outside. But I think we have a bit of a way to go before we can call our trails a network, and I want to talk about why.

1. Scope

The biggest issue here remains scope. A true biking network needs not just one or two routes, but a whole interconnected system. And not just "roads one could theoretically bike on" but roads, trails, routes you could actually see real bike volume on without creating major problems.

This is part of what makes Dutch (and Belgian/Flemish, as in the photo above) biking distinct from many parts of the world. It isn't just that there are marginal improvements over what we offer here in the QCA; it's that there are deliberate fietsroutes (bike routes) that work together to create a transportation network. This above is LF 5; it crosses the entirety (more or less) of northern Belgium, ending in Bruges where I took that photo.

The 5 is an important part of that photo. This isn't the only one, and of course they link into local lanes along the way.

And for once, comparisons to much smaller countries than the US aren't meaningless; the QCA is much smaller than Belgium, so in our local context a denser network would still make sense, as opposed to claims that there should be a single bike route across the whole US (which would be cool, but hardly of significance to commuters or other high-volume users). An integrated network in a region, though? That's what Belgium has.

2. Scalability

As I mentioned above but want to emphasize here, it's not just about the existence of routes (though those are important!). It's about the idea that they should be routes that a lot of bikes could actually use at once. A route that I can bike on myself is good for me; but if adding more bikes than just me to it would create problems (either conflicts with cars, conflicts with other bikes, conflicts with pedestrians, or just plain lack of space) then we don't have a biking network; we have a personal bike path.

I love my bike, but the lack of other bikes in the photos I take here is meaningful. 

Seattle here is doing a bit better.

The Dutch are on another level, though.

These pictures are of bike parking, which is a significant part of scalability, because if there's nowhere to put the bike when you get somewhere that means fewer people will bike (shoutout to Temple Emanuel for installing the bike rack above! Thanks guys!). But it's also about the actual paths. I do a lot of biking on this kind of thing in the QCA:

Ignore the piled up water (itself a problem, but bad drainage can happen on an otherwise good bike network too). It's just...a residential street. It lacks cars because it lacks density, but it's not actually optimized otherwise for bike use at all (see, bad drainage, for example). If there were suddenly 20 of me, we'd fill it up and create a massive traffic jam, not to mention the problems with the cars that would develop.

Toronto's bike lanes aren't actually wider, but they're designed for use: 20 of us biking here will bike through here, not bothering cars or pedestrians or anyone else, and we'd know where to be and where to go from the design. Not to mention the visible grate that would keep the water off ;).

The street alone doesn't scale up; actually intentional design can.

3. Optimization

A truly good bike network goes beyond these two, however, and provides benefits other transit options don't, because of the distinct benefits of the bike.

One of these is that the routes for bikes can go places that routes for other transit, including cars, can't, or can't for similar prices and difficulties of construction. Sorry to go back to the Netherlands here, but they do really do it well--and here near Amsterdam Sloterdijk, this bike path literally goes places no other approach (except walking on the parallel path from which I took the picture) does. It can go over things because a bike path needs less support than a car, bus, or train route due to the lighter weight of vehicles. It can go through places that are narrower, for similar reasons.

This means that a bike network can unlock options that other transportation options don't provide, rather than simply paralleling other routes.

And it can integrate well with other modes, to build something bigger than the sum of its parts, as the view from that same bike path shows (hello tram, pedestrians, and bike parking). 

So I would love a true bike network in the QCA: expand things like the Duck Creek and Riverfront Trails (which do, to be clear, provide routes that can't be exactly duplicated on the road network), build them into a full system that covers the whole area, scale them up to allow greater traffic volumes). But we aren't quite there yet, and it's a bit disingenuous to tell newcomers that we are.

Traffic, Timing, and Clockfaces

One of the most common reasons I hear (both in person and in writing) for preferring using a car over public transit is control: the idea that with a car, I have control over when I go somewhere, how fast I get there, etc.

And superficially, this is true.

But I was thinking last week as I was stuck in traffic again (and that is becoming more common in the Quad Cities than it used to be--and of course has been common for a long time in some cities that I know well, *cough* Seattle *cough*) that this is not really as true as we want it to be. 

It's certainly easy to claim that a car allows me to control and predict when I'll get places, because it's jibes with everything we've been told all our lives in the USA about self-determination and individualism: no one knows my needs like me, I need to do it myself, I can do it best alone. And it may be that no one else on the street is going exactly where I'm going from where I'm going at the time I'm going. But that doesn't actually mean that good public transit (to be fair, something most US cities don't have) isn't more useful than a car for actually getting where you want when you want predictably and controllably.

1. Accurate Transit Schedules Are Predictable

This is perhaps obvious, but the main tool for this is that, unlike my car (no matter how much Google Maps tries to), public transit has a schedule. If that schedule is accurate--whether consistent by the hour like clockface scheduling in Switzerland or just never late to an extreme degree like the Jet Lag boys found in Japan--it actually gives me more power to determine when I'll be where than a car does.

Now, UK trains might not be the best example for this, but consider this board: it tells me when the trains are coming (should come) and where they'll call. Every single stop has its own designated time as well, which I can see on a schedule. If these trains run on time (which is largely a matter of design and investment, rather than the whims of fate) I can decide to take one and get to a place at a predictable time.

This relies on a few factors, of course. Right of way is the biggest. 

Not to be too on the nose, but there's a reason that this Amtrak timetable only shows the current time, not the scheduled one. Amtrak is notoriously late because while it legally should have priority on its tracks, in practice it doesn't. And the same is true of many bus systems, on the more local level:

There's a bus up there, but it's just in the same traffic as everyone else, because Toronto (like most cities) doesn't have separate right of way for its buses. 

Tragically, the same is true of their trams as well.

But once you get other traffic, whether trains or cars, off the transit's right of way, you create a more effective system--one in which it is actually more predictable to use transit than a car.

2. Virtuous Cycles

There's a reason my CityBracket competition was dominated by cities with extensive and growing transit systems. It's not just because I like them; it's because more transit tends to be more effective transit, and there's virtuous cycle of having more connections, more transit-only or at least transit-preferred rights of way, and more of the city area covered directly by transit--as well as more people living near each other.

Density and transit-oriented development lend themselves to people being able to and willing to use transit, and that in turns produces more demand for density and transit for development to orient itself on--witness Vancouver, above.

The system map, like Boston's here, is a good guide to this (though note that not all maps show the same levels of transit--as with these two maps of London). Bigger and more extensive systems allow for more use of transit, and less of cars. This much is obvious. But they do it not just by having more areas literally served, but by a near-exponential increase in the ability to predict how a trip will go: the more transit-oriented a city, the more (generally) you can assume that the trip will actually proceed as scheduled and planned, and the more options you have if something goes wrong (just like with a slowdown or a street closure in a car--freedom isn't just about being the one in charge of each vehicle). 

And of course, the ability to interchange makes a big difference--to the point where some transit advocates think that proposed free buses in NYC are an issue because they make transfers between modes more difficult.

The convergence of multiple forms of transit is a force multiplier, as here in Amsterdam.

3. Who Gets Grace

The real distinction, I think, comes down to what we blame for problems--or rather, what we don't. When people drive this, they don't place the blame on the car itself if something goes wrong.

I might blame other drivers, or traffic, or the road design, but not the fact that I'm in a car. That's the default!

But if I take this instead, I'm more likely to blame the bus for being late than the same factors that delayed the car.

Literally the same traffic--these pictures are from the same trip.

And while this is from Boston, not Indiana, the same is true if people take the train: delays get blamed on the mode, not on the day, on chance, or any other factor. We give grace to the car because it is transparent: it is for so many of us the absolute default mode of getting anywhere, and so blaming the car would be like blaming the fact that we chose to go anywhere at all. Transit, by contrast, is treated as a choice, and therefore as a potential factor in a delay in a way that the car is not. With transit the problem is seen as a problem of the transit mode; with cars, it's a problem of that trip. 

If we extended like grace to transit, we'd see that in many places it's at least as predictable and effective as a car (at least if it exists--too many US places just literally don't have it, or more than hourly at any rate). 

Giving that grace in turn provides transit a chance to build up to those virtuous cycles, and to be extensive and predictable enough to make trips much, much more predictable and controllable than any single vehicle can be.

Urban Spaces: Transit Station Edition

 In addition to pedestrianized spaces (or I guess technically as a subset of them, since you usually can't drive cars into these either) another kind of urban space I enjoy is the transit station. Let me tell you why!

1. Vaulting Architecture

While I suppose one could go to a big box store or a warehouse to experience wide open spaces that are also indoors, transit stations (specifically, usually, train stations) manage this with a completely different, far superior vibe.

Let's start with Chicago Union Station: these skylights make the room feel more open, more expansive, and more impressive all at once. The typical vaulted/arched ceiling gives the place a feel of lightness and airiness despite being absolutely clear that we are indoors thank you very much.

Amsterdam Centraal gives us an arched feeling too, though here we are out by the tracks, so the space is deliberately ambiguous about being indoors or out--it connects to both the clearly-inside market halls and the clearly-outside train line north. Here the sense of enclosure matters as much as the sense of openness; it straddles the line in a way that makes my heart happy to see it.

Haarlem Centraal does something similar, but note that which part of the station is actually open has changed: the archway is not open, but the side gratings are. It's appropriate to a station that is more open than Amsterdam Centraal was but still wants to give that overarching sense of space.

2. Public Monuments

A really good station (as opposed to just a stop) gives an opportunity for more public art and public interest than just a pretty roof. 

Public art outside a train station (here in Paris, I believe at Gare du Nord) gives a sense of significance and willing occupation of space. This station is not apologizing for its street presence, like some metro stations do, but boldly claiming that it is a meaningful spot in the city, and that you ought to look at it.

Even smaller stations, like Aquarium T station in Boston, can have a sense of street presence. The tilted glass box here isn't as flashy or noticeable as the big flying bear in Paris, but it still says that this is an interesting, different spot from all the plain office buildings around--or the Aquarium itself.

And it's not station-specific, but it would be an utter failure not to mention Chicago's Loop, the champion of not apologizing for its impact on the streetscene (and since the Loop has so many stations on it, you could almost call it a single giant station with internal transit).

A good station is a public monument, a space that draws attention not only for use reasons but because the city wants you to know it is there, and it matters.

3. Somewhere To Sit

A good station isn't just pretty; it's also functional. And that means that a good transit station has seating, as well as food, bathrooms, and other amenities.

Sadly. this is less photogenic, so I tend to photograph it less, but you can see that in addition to large areas for people to pass seated customers (which is also important!) Haarlem Centraal has seats.

I didn't take pictures of seating in Amsterdam Centraal, but you can see the whole concourse here of amenities: things to do while you wait for a train or after you arrive on one.

And while it's not the focus of this shot of the TGV in Gare du Nord, you can see the seating on the empty platform as well.

My struggle to find pictures of this is really a function of the fact that I use it--so unless I take more selfies, I don't tend to have pictures of the seating, even though it's really important!

So to sum up: a good transit station has a sense of openness and wonder; a clear artistic sensibility that is willing to take up public space; and practical elements that make it pleasant to exist in it.

I think this WMATA station in DC does a great job of all three, so that's probably a good point to end on. Look at that architecture! I'm glad the Metro comes frequently, but I could still appreciate spending time in such a space.

Urban Spaces: Pedestrianized Edition

 Today I want to touch on one of the elements of good urban design that I most enjoy and most miss when I'm not near one: pedestrian spaces. Specifically, I'm going to focus on pedestrianized spaces, spaces where only pedestrians can go and cars cannot. But I'm also going to talk a bit about the more general pedestrian experience to which these spaces are often linked.

1. Transit Integration Matters (So Does Density)

The first thing to notice about these places is that they're best when you don't have to drive to them and park. 

I love Greenlake Park in Seattle, and I have many times biked, walked, or bused there.

Seattle Public Theater at the Bathhouse is a great civic amenity, and that walking path right outside is the primary access route--even though there's a parking lot for it, the lot capacity is much smaller than the theater capacity, and that speaks to the larger Greenlake design as a pedestrian location (as well as a bike location).

So transit integration, which puts people into these spaces without driving, is one factor. But density is another: the more people there are already living close (as I used to in Seattle, for a given value of close) the less you need cars or even transit at all.

This zone near Canary Wharf is not a theater or a destination itself, but it's made much, much nicer by the fact that primary access to it is via the DLR. Transit integration matters. But then again, there are also those huge towers visible in the picture, and not all of those are offices...

2. Parks Aren't the Be-all or the End-all

Parks are probably, pound for pound, the most common pedestrianized spaces in our cities, especially but not only in North America.

This space in St. Louis is nicely foot- and transit-accessible, and was a joy to wander through. It also has a road through the park, of course, because naturally it does, but it's a very pleasant space to exist in on foot.

This little park with public art in Toronto is likewise lovely. 

But if the spots of green have to do double duty as our only pedestrian spaces, they make it seem like life cannot operate except by car, and foot is only for nature and breaks from routine, and can't be a part of normal life. While I appreciate walking as a form of both exercise and entertainment, it should really be part of everyday life--not an add-on. And while yes, green space should also be a normal part of life, I mean something slightly different here. I mean that you should be able to do everyday ordinary things like going to work, shopping, etc. on foot--and making only parks available for foot prioritization makes that impossible.

3. Paths Are Also Good But Also Not Enough

The flip side of this is the sorts of places where the "pedestrianized" areas are just paths--routes to and from places or along things. 

The Burke-Gilman Trail in Seattle.

The Riverfront Trail in Davenport. 

These are lovely, and I appreciate them so much! They do allow you to do things like run errands or go to work via bike or walking, without having to dodge cars for most of the route. That's huge!

But they're also in many cases the only such routes in their areas. I can ride or walk the Riverfront or Duck Creek trails--or I can be with cars. And cars (or rather their drivers) get quite mad when I'm not on my one designated path for non-car movement, if I get in their way.

As New York's Times Square knows, the true joy of a pedestrianized space is that you are just in it, with all these other people, without reference to cars at all. 

This foodtruck rodeo in Rochester, NY, speaks to the same ideal: a place where people just walk around and do stuff (in this case, mostly eat) without even thinking about cars except the foodtrucks themselves.

Pedestrian areas are a joy in addition to parks and paths. They are spaces where you can just be--whether that's busy and bustling like Oxford Circus above or empty like the bit of Toronto waterfront below:

I love a space where the fastest vehicle will be a bike or a tram, and even then the people will take priority.

We should have more of them. And if parks and paths are a start, I'll take them--but we should think bigger and bolder than that when building our cities.

Entering A City: Chicago and Comparisons

I wanted to think about how cities ask you to enter them when you arrive as a tourist (or anyone, I suppose, since tourists don't have a monopoly on entering cities, but I'm going to focus for the moment on the tourist experience). I want to suggest that what the entering space emphasizes deeply affects the sense the tourist may get of how to navigate the city and what it's like, and compare a few examples. 

Note thatI'm going to try to avoid comparing total apples to oranges here. The temptation to compare say Amsterdam Centraal to Chicago O'Hare would be unfair; a rail station and an airport come with different affordances, to use a technical term: different possibilities and options for what they could communicate. So train station to train station or airport to airport is a fairer approach, and the one we'll use here.

1. Amsterdam Centraal vs Chicago Union Station: what place does the car have?

So if not O'Hare, let's consider Union Station. I spent a whole school year commuting for my PhD between Chicago and Rochester, NY monthly (approximately) and mostly by train, so I have a lot of experience entering the city via train. The Megabus to Louisville also used to drop off across the street from Union Station, adding to my knowledge of this spot. I even took the train to Seattle from here, which was the only picture of from it I could actually find:

So even though we might think of the airports as the distinctive way of entering Chicago, there are plenty of us first experiencing the city via Union Station too (Amsterdam Centraal is an obvious entry point, given the greater prevalence of passenger rail there and the high speed lines to the UK and France).

At Union Station you'd be forgiven for not noticing that Chicago has mass transit besides buses and commuter rail. It has no L stop for some reason -- you can walk to the Blue Line or with a bit more effort the other lines in the Loop but it's neither obvious nor signed for visitors. There are bus stops and the Metra is present, but for travel within the city you're really not clearly given anything to do or anywhere to go except on foot or by car.

This Greyhound depot isn't quite next to there--but that's also kind of the point, isn't it? Union Station isn't well-integrated even with the long-distance buses, let alone the city transit.

Amsterdam Centraal has the Metro, the boats across the IJ, and multiple tram routes (as well as also pedestrians and buses, and well-indicated bike routes). It's a completely different experience of the city, one that emphasizes the ability to go about your day without a car and your interconnection with the rest of the city. It also physically presents those options to you more clearly.

I know I probably overuse the shots of this angle, but it's so notable: the tramlines are between this metro entrance and the main station, and the main station itself is clearly in a mostly pedestrian zone.

Here we can see the trams better, as well as yes, a motor vehicle as well--but that's not what the spot is emphasizing.

2. Chicago Midway vs. Toronto Billy Bishop 

Now let's look at airports, specifically smaller, secondary Great Lakes-region airports. The irony here is that Midway has much better connections to the city than Billy Bishop: more bus lines to the point of being a major bus hub, and an actual L stop! Billy Bishop has a tram line not tooooo far away, a bus line or two, and a shuttle to downtown. 

But Billy Bishop presents the connection to the city much more positively: you can just walk out of the airport into Toronto. Midway hides its bus and L depot as far from the active part of the airport as possible and does not want you exiting on foot if you can help it. It is all car-oriented, and the other options (which, again, are superior) are hidden like a separate secret level in a videogame.

How close to the airport do you think this is? Whatever you guessed, I'll bet it's too far.

And that's not even considering the ferry, which again just makes a visibly pleasant integration into the city.

Midway is so much more transit-integrated, but not showing it.

This is after ten minutes of walking within the terminal to get to the bus depot.

And actually getting to the train (here) takes another few minutes of walking. It's like they are ashamed to be connecting their airport to the city so well!

At least there's nice public art.

3. Boston Logan vs. Chicago O'Hare 

Lest this just look like dumping on Chicago, let's think about the big airport. O'Hare has a much easier and more clearly communicated link to the city than Logan, and a better system of transit within the airport too.

Cute lil' people mover.

O'Hare gives the vibe of being very connected to Chicago by transit even though it is much farther out than Logan is. And it wears its urban nature proudly.

Enjoy the trains to the City! They go straight from the airport!

For Logan, the line is still Blue, but there's an issue:

This train doesn't actually go to the airport.

This bus does. But since it's a bus, you have less tracking, less visible clarity on where it will be or where it goes, and (unlike O'Hare) no walking path.

Actually, there is a walking path.

But I don't recommend it.

Basically, while Logan is actually much closer in to Boston and much easier to get to from major parts of that city than O'Hare is from Chicago in terms of travel time or crow-flies distance, it's not actually presenting that part of itself except from the plane window.

What it's really showing you is just that it's a bunch of tarmac and buses--and eventually those will get you towards the city. O'Hare wins hands down.

What do you think? What other cities do a good job of clarifying how the city and its transit interact? Where else does Chicago do a good job? Let me know what you think!