Enough Excuses... Let's Bike to Work!

By Delphine Taylor and Ira Liss

At least a million New Yorkers own bicycles, but only a fraction of them bike to work regularly. On these pages, City Cyclist presents tips to help you with your first bike commute along with a fable of one New Yorker's first rides to work.

If you already ride a bike in NYC, you know the freedom.

On a bike, you can go anywhere, anytime. You're not limited by subway locations or breakdowns. You're not stuck to fixed routes. You can be spontaneous. Choose from dozens of ways to get around. See more of the city.

You're not waiting - for the train to arrive, for your ride to show up, for traffic to clear. You're in control. You're independent.

If you ride, you know the ecological benefits too.

No fuel. No oil. No fumes. No noise. No hogging of space. No complicity in poisoning the environment.

If you're not already biking to work, you could be.  What's your excuse? Here we describe common obstacles to bicycle commuting, and we offer help. 

Lets get rolling.

Bike to work!

"Traffic is too scary."
Minimize the risks. Bone up on bike safety; find an experienced commuter who lives nearby to buddy up with until you're comfortable going solo.  Find car-free greenways and low-trafficked or traffic-calmed streets to incorporate into your route.

"Where can I park?"
If you want safe parking, you have to arrange it. Talk to building management. What's their policy? Can you use the main entrance? If not, the freight elevator? Can you park in the basement?

Are they uncooperative? Take it to your boss, preferably the V-P who signed the lease. Ask him or her to negotiate with building management. Still can't crack the building? Look for ways to get your foot (and wheels) in the door; a Monday holiday when building traffic is light; a weekend; special occasions - Earth Week or an oil crisis.

Be persistent but don't threaten. Your goal is getting your bike in the building, not winning debates. Appreciation and respect will pave the way for the next commuter.

Getting nowhere? Scour the neighborhood for a bike-friendly building. If a friend near you has access, ask to park with them. Or ask at nearby garages. Some will allow bikes.

If all else fails, park outside - a big step. Plan it. Where are other bikes parked? What locks do they use? Two locks are much better than one: Install a seat chain. Take your front wheel with you so thieves can't ride away. The sight of you bringing a wheel into the office every day may inspire others.

Or consider a folding bike. There are several models that are perfectly safe, maneuverable and durable for NYC streets.

"It's too far to bike."
Try it. Ride the route on a weekend. You may find it invigorating, stimulating and easy to do. If you live outside the city, bike to the train station and park there. Or get a folding bike. They go everywhere. Trains, buses, elevators.

"What if I get a flat?"
Carry a patch kit, spare tube and pump. Take a bike repair course. Know the bike stores and subway stops along the route, just in case.

"I can't fit a bike in my apartment"
No basement storage? Use your ceiling or wall. Ceiling hooks cost $3 a pair at hardware stores. Wall brackets are $20-30 at bike stores.

"I'm afraid to ride at night."
The more visible you are, the safer your ride. Lights cost from a few bucks to over $100, depending on features. Slap reflective tape on your helmet and bike. Concerned about security? Find a partner and stick to well-traveled routes.

"What If It starts raining?"
"There's no such thing as bad weather," say veteran bike commuters, "just bad clothing." A thin nylon shell over your clothes will keep you warm, and you'll stay dry with Gore-Tex or Thinsulate jackets and rainpants.  Consider garters, rubber boot-covers or even plastic bags over your feet. Fenders help too. If the weather's really grim, maybe that's the day you take the train.

"My clothes will get dirty."
They don't have to. Carry your good clothes and change at the office. Use a basket, bag or panniers (saddlebags, about $60 a pair). Or wear part of your outfit, and slip on shoes, jacket and tie when you get there. Loose clothing cuts down on sweat, but don't forget pantclips. Keep a spare outfit at the office in case of a mishap.

Sid's First Commute

A Story by Jeff Delia Penna

Riding a bicycle was his doctor's suggestion. "The exercise would be good for you Sid," his doctor told him. "It'll lower that blood pressure, get you to relax a little, and take a few pounds off." Sid knew the doctor was right. He had been feeling crummy lately and needed some exercise.

So, Sid got a bicycle - a brand-new mountain bike like the one he'd bought his daughter when she went away to college in Albany - and one morning he decided to use it to commute to work. "It's a great idea," Sid told his girlfriend, Connie. "I gotta go to work, and I gotta ride the bike. So, I'll ride the bike to work." To which Connie made one of her typical remarks, "Oh Sid," she said, "you're such a rocket scientist."

Sid Sheldon is not a rocket scientist. He's in real estate, and he does pretty well. He owns real estate land in Queens, his parents' condo, his apartment on Central Park West, and his office building on 23rd St. and 3rd Ave. This morning, he neatly folded his jacket, slacks and shirt and put them in an old backpack he found in his daughter's closet. It was cold out, so he put on his sweat pants, a sweat shirt and a windbreaker. He pulled a wool cap over his head and put on his sunglasses and the helmet the guy at the bike store had insisted he buy. He took his bicycle and went down in the elevator. Outside he took a big, deep breath, mounted the bike and started pedaling.

Sid figured that the safest route for him to take was through Central Park, over to the southeast corner, and then down 5th Ave. to 23rd. But when he reached the park he was surprised by all the automobile traffic. Sid rode along the park drive for a a while, with all the cars zooming by. "This is ridiculous," he said to himself. "The one spot of green we've got, and it's full of cars - doing 40 and 50 miles per hour."

"That SOB almost reamed you!"

Just as he rode past the Delacorte Theater, he heard a woman yelling behind him. Some sixth sense told Sid to veer over to the curb. He barely got there before a gypsy cab, using the recreation lane to pass another car, flew by so close that he could see the smile on the face of the little Virgin Mary stuck to the dashboard. It happened so fast that Sid really didn't have time to be scared. But now, as he coasted down the hill, the fear was creeping through him like a chill. He was feeling a little weak-kneed, so he just coasted and tried to concentrate on the road in front of him.

The woman soon caught up to him. She was older, riding a 3-speed bike with a basket in front. "That SOB almost reamed you," she said, "he's lucky I don't have my rocket launcher. I'd stick one where it hurt." Sid gave a weak "yeah" and tried to smile.

She studied him for a second and then said, "They go faster in here 'cause there's fewer traffic lights than on Central Park West. I've seen them run right over children in here and never stop. They don't care."

Sid said, "We should get the city to keep cars out of the park. Like they do on the weekends."

To which she replied, "The city ain't gonna do bird poop about this. Fastest way to get cars out of the park is to get some snipers in here shooting their tires out." Sid couldn't tell if she was just saying that to be funny and cheer him up, or if she was serious. They rode together until they reached the zoo, where she was going to try and figure out a way to free the seals. If he knew of anyone who had a wetsuit, preferably black, and they would lend it to her, she wished Sid would let her know. He said he would.

Rolling Through the Red

The first thing Sid noticed as he came out of the park and pulled onto 5th Ave. near the Plaza Hotel was the rise in temperature. It was at least 10 degrees hotter than it had been in the park. And the air suddenly seemed heavy and dirty.

At the first stoplight he stopped and waited with the cars. But he noticed that none of the other bicyclists were waiting. He quickly figured out why. If he stopped with the cars and waited for the lights to change, he'd be stuck with the cars. He would never get a chance to ride away from them. And when the light changed, the cars and the buses pulled away and left him breathing their exhaust while pedaling his bike back up to speed.

So Sid started "rolling through" the red lights, like the rest of the bicyclists. But the pedestrians were driving him crazy. Stepping out in front of him. Ignoring him. He saw that there is a mind game that pedestrians play with cars and bicyclists and even with other pedestrians. A pedestrian sees a cabbie or a bicyclist or someone coming on a collision course and pretends that they don't see them, leaving the responsibility of yielding the right of way to the other person.

At first Sid thought it was a pretty interesting phenomenon. But after about 20 people walked in front of him, or stepped out and forced him into the traffic, he'd about had it. Finally, Sid got the hang of it and started to pretend that he didn't see them. This threw an interesting twist into the old game of chicken, but it helped Sid maintain more of an even pace. As he puffed past the 42nd St. Library, Sid realized to his amazement that he was almost through midtown.

"Come on man, ride!"

At 33rd Street, Sid rolled through a red light, and a big fat policeman, sitting in his patrol car in front of the Empire State Building, eating a jelly donut and drinking a cup of coffee, stopped him with a "Yo! Over here!"

Innocently, Sid rode over, thinking the officer needed some assistance. The policeman, white powder crumbs from his donut lighting up his mouth and the front of his steel-blue, NY's finest shirt, asked, "You got some ID?" Sid didn't have his wallet with him. There were no pockets in his sweat pants. He had a $20 bill in his sock for emergency, and that was it. Sid asked the officer, "What's the problem?" The policeman said that Sid had run the light and he was going to give him a ticket. Sid told the officer he didn't run the light. The cop replied, "I just sat here with my own two eyes and saw ya." Sid tried to explain that he had rolled through it, after looking both ways to make sure that it was clear. The policeman said rolling through the light was the same as running the light, and Sid could take it up with the judge.

A messenger was unlocking his bike from a pole on the other side of the police car. He told Sid that running a light was an automatic $65 fine and that if he was smart he'd just ride for it. The policeman heard this and in trying to get out of his car, spilled hot coffee all over his lap and dropped the last piece of his jelly donut onto the ground. As the policeman was cursing, the messenger called to Sid, "Come on man, ride!" And Sid went. He didn't know why. He just did it. He took off, and right at that second, a UPS truck pulled up and boxed in the police car.

Sid could hear the officer yelling at the UPS driver over his loud speaker, as Sid pedaled hard down 5th and followed the messenger east, the wrong way, on 31st St. Sid's office was only a half-mile away. He hung a right on Lexington and sprinted to 23rd. This time every light was green. He was going fast enough to keep up with the traffic lights - or almost. He turned left on 23rd just as the light was changing. "There's my building," he thought. "I made it!"

"Get that bike outta here!"

As Sid rushed in to the safety of his own lobby, he was totally caught by surprise when Thompson, one of the security guards, yelled at him from the reception desk, "Get that bike outta here!"

Sid looked back toward the door and didn't see anyone with a bike. "I'm talking to you," Thompson yelled. Sid touched his own chest, "Me?" he asked. Thompson bolted from his seat and stomped across the lobby toward Sid, yelling as he came, "Who do you think I'm talking to? Get that bike out of here!" Sid stood his ground, his legs shaking slightly, maybe from the cold, maybe from fear. He looked around the lobby for help, someone who would recognize him. But Sid was out of his usual office attire, m the six years that Sid had owned the building, he had never been seen without a suit and tie. And now, in sweats, with a helmet and glasses, he just didn't look like The Boss.

There was another guard standing over to the left, near the magazine stand. Leon, the director of security was with him. They were both watching what was going on. They both had big smirks on their faces.

Thompson was on him now, yelling right into his face, "I SAID, GET THAT BIKE OUTTA HERE!" spitting the word "bike" across Sid's face. "Watch how you talk to me!" Sid yelled back, as he tried to get his helmet off. Thompson wrestled the bike from Sid and pitched it out the front door. "You got a package to deliver, you leave your damn bike outside."

"I'm not a messenger," Sid screamed, finally pulling the bicycle helmet off, knocking his sunglasses to the ground.  "I'm Sid!"

Thompson's jaw dropped.  So di Leon's and the other guard's.

Leon rushed across the lobby just as Sid told Thompson he was fired.  Then Sid stormed outside, picked up his bicycle and marched it over to the elevators.

Leon came up from behind Sid with the helmet and sunglasses. "Mr. Sheldon, he didn't know it was you."

Sid just stared straight ahead and waited for the elevator to arrive. Then he turned and took the helmet and glasses from Leon. Sid asked, "You and your men treat all bicyclists like that?"

"Mr. Sheldon, you told us to keep 'em out of here."

"Well, I was stupid, Leon. It's a stupid rule. From now on, bikes are allowed in the lobby, and in the elevator, if they want.

"Yes sir, Mr. Sheldon."

As Sid pushed his bike into the elevator, a guy from one of the offices that rents the fifth floor slipped past him. The guy gave Sid a look, like "don't get that dirty bicycle too close to me and my sporty Brooks Brothers suit." As the elevator doors closed, Sid said, "Look pal, if you don't like it, take the stairs." The guy turned away and kept his mouth shut on the ride up to the fifth floor. As he got off the elevator, he turned and said he'd be speaking to the management. Sid told him he'd be waiting.

After a morning like this, Sid figured the rest of his day was going to be a breeze. It was. The ride home that evening was almost uneventful. A couple of cabbies making left-hand turns from the far right-hand lanes. A few spaced-out pedestrians. A jerk in a limo opening his door on the street side. But nothing Sid couldn't handle.

That night his daughter called Sid from Albany. "Dad, did you really ride your bicycle to work?" she asked.

"Yeah, I did," he said, a little pride sneaking into his voice.

She was amazed. "Are you gonna do it again tomorrow?"

"Yeah..." Sid said, "I think so."