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December 30, 2006

The Belly of the Beast

It was made official just before Christmas--my employer would be moving to new offices, located in Sewickley, effective sometime in February. This was not a surprise, as intentions had been announced months before, but there was doubt that it would actually happen. This meant my 8 mile commute would suddenly become nearly 21 miles, one way. There was a silver lining, however, as I would be permitted to work from home several days a week. I could rationalize 80 miles a week, since that was actually 10 miles less than I accumulated on my current five-times-a-week schedule.

But still, 21 miles. On unfamiliar roads.

I took my last vacation day on the last Friday of 2006 and decided to recce my planned route. Thanks to recent bike path development by the city, I could ride the first 10 miles on the Heritage Trail, beginning in Etna (the trail officially begins in Millvale, but more on that later) and ending at the old jail in Manchester. From there, a quick loop through Brighton Heights brings me to the McKees Rocks Bridge, through Sto-Rox, across Neville Island, and then back across the Sewickley Bridge.

I opted to skip the initial part of the trail on the ride there, as the first few miles are not officially part of the trail, but rather a rough railroad access road. Instead of dealing with the unknown, I rode through Lawrenceville and the Strip District and into town, crossing the 9th Street Bridge and catching the trail at PNC Park. It was good to be on Butler Street and Penn Avenue again, my commute for nearly two years when I worked downtown. It was two old friends getting to know one another again.

The trail itself, once you pass Heinz Field and the Science Center, is paved and nearly pancake flat. Bordered by the river on one side, and miles of warehouses on the other, it passes quickly. Before long, I am riding behind the decaying facade of the old Western State Penitentiary. While most of the jail is hidden behind tall sandstone walls, the rear part of the compound, providing access into and out of the prison, is protected by little more than a wrought-iron fence. A cage, likely a conduit for transferring prisoners, gleans with still-sharp razor wire, while several pickup trucks sit rusting nearby. I slip between the poles that mark the end of the trail, and ride under Ohio River Boulevard into Manchester.

The part of the ride was the great unknown--the only real climb through a less-than-desirable neighborhood. Passing through the shadows of the overpass, the lone pedestrian bends at the waist and regurgitates his lunch. Fantastic. McClure Avenue isn't terribly steep, and I make use of the gears on the Cannondale and spin, spin, spin my way up to Brighton Heights. The change at the top of the hill is startling. From the rundown tenements of Manchester, the landscapes morphs into old, well-kept houses. Geography delineates the classes in Pittsburgh, and here it is no different.

A short descent and I'm crossing the McKees Rocks Bridge. The deck is wide, so traffic isn't a concern. It's a long span, crossing the Ohio River and the low lying portions of the Rocks. Once across, I am on Route 51 through the heart of McKees Rocks. Passing between garages, warehouses, and strip clubs, I cross the Ohio River again and I am on Neville Island, an oasis of chemical plants, cement producers, and, oddly, a small town. The first half of the island is an industrial wasteland. The road is flat and straight, and trucks rumbled by my shoulder. Passing the chemical plant, I smell and taste the by-products of production, and I note that perhaps I'll be missing a brain cell or two when this is all over. At this point, I fall into a bit of funk. After passing through the dilapidated outskirts of Pittsburgh, this is too much. The ride is hardly the idyllic river-side cruise I had envisioned. Suddenly, I hate my job, and hate the fact that this stretch of road will become part of my life.

But all is not lost.

Interstate 79 divides the island in half, and the change is startling. The industrial wasteland gives way to compact residential blocks, trees, playgrounds, and a church. The road is still very flat and very straight, and ahead I can see it swerve left to the bridge that would carry back across the Ohio River and into Coraopolis. The gentle rise to the bridge deck was a welcome opportunity to get out of the saddle and stretch my legs. Once across the span, I turn westward on Route 51, and pass through the township's business district. The traffic lights keep the cars moving reasonably slow, and I can enjoy the scenery and spy what shops line the corridor.

After another mile or so, the business district peters out, and the road, which has been split by a block of businesses, comes back together. I'm happy to see a PA Bike Route A sign, and as Route 51 becomes highway again, the shoulder is wide and clean. I wave and nod at a fellow on a commuter bike who is obviously heading to work. After another mile or so, I slip across the highway and ride up to the Sewickley Bridge (unfortunately it is a left lane exit). Once across the bridge, which has a relatively wide deck, I am in Sewickley proper, and a few blocks later I see the new office building, right in the middle of the business district on Beaver Street. I spy a coffee shop just across the street, and decide some caffeine and a snack might be a good plan. Once my bike is leaning against the brick wall of the building, I pull off my gloves and look at my watch. 90 minutes. Essentially what I expected, given I got turned around a bit in Manchester and meandered through Brighton Heights as to not get lost. And I assume without the climb into Brighton Heights, I can get home in better time.

Five minutes later and I'm back on the road. Once I am back on Neville Island, the road seems shorter. I don't even notice the chemical plant, and I spy the bridge back to McKees Rocks. Crossing the bridge is a bit disconcerting--the deck itself is probably close to a mile in length, and the (closed) sidewalk is a buckled, wavy ocean of concrete. Still the deck is wide enough that cars and trucks can pass easily, and before long I'm on the short cobbled rise to Brighton Heights again.

There's a bit of headwind on the Heritage Trail, so my speed drops a bit, but I still manage to enjoy the scenery. Once I am on the North Shore, I decide to explore the northern reaches of the trail, which should, in theory, allow me to get to the 62nd Street Bridge. North of the Veterans' Bridge, the trail turns to packed dirt covered with cinders, and it relatively fast, protected from the wind by trees on the riverbank. Once in Millvale, the official trail ends and joins a Suffolk Railroad access road. I had been warned that this road isn't necessarily well-maintained, and may not be the best choice, but the 42mm tires on the Cannondale, I knew that unless there was deep mud, I would fare well. As I entered the road, a line worker drives toward me in his pickup. I move off the road a bit to allow him to pass. This would be a moment of Truth--whether the railroad tolerated bikes on their access road. The man nods and casually lifts his left hand in a wave. I return the gesture and continue on my way.

The road is mostly just bare dirt, with some sections of ballast. I am grateful for the wide tires, but I also knew the 28mm tires on the Steamroller could also handle the terrain, if I were inclined to commute on the fixed gear. The road is flat, but I am not maintaining a terribly fast pace. It would likely be faster to deal with traffic on Butler Street and take advantage of the smooth pavement. Soon enough, the 62nd Street Bridge looms in the distance. I bounce across four sets of tracks, wind my way through the Etna industrial park, and cross the now-familiar bridge deck. The final climb up Baker Street passes quickly, and I am dismounting the bike in the alley behind our house.

Three hours on the bike. I expect once I settle into the commute, I could do the legs in under 90 minutes, especially on the ride home without the climb on McClure Avenue. Still, the route is long, and the tail end of winter could mean snow, though I could likely work from home when the weather doesn't cooperate.

December 26, 2006

Small Is Beautiful

ISI Books has just published Joseph Pearce's Small Is Still Beautiful, an examination of E.F. Schumacher's Small Is Beautiful and its relevance for the 21st century. ISI has also started a group blog to discuss the ideas in the book.

December 25, 2006

Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming

Lo, how a rose e'er blooming
From tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse's lineage coming, as
Those of old have sung
It came, a floweret right,
Amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night,

Isaiah twice foretold it,
The Rose I have in mind;
And so then we behold it,
The virgin mother kind
To show God's love aright
She bore to men a Savior,
When half spent was the night.

December 21, 2006

Bicycles

Behold, the Rando-dale. This is an early-to-mid 1990s frame, with mostly original components (mid-level Shimano MTB gruppo). I finally manage to find a used Selle Turbo saddle and, yes, it is white, but it is also quite comfy, and works well with the Carradice saddlebag. The bars are currently flipped True North clones. I can't say I'm terribly chucked with them. They are fine for general cruising, but when climbing out of the saddle, my hands feel too far back. Ideally, I would swap them out for the moustache bars sitting on my workbench, but the GripShifters won't fit. I've pondering the switch to friction shifter, which would allow me to get a set of cheap thumbies from Kraynick's, but I haven't gotten around to the switch. I probably wouldn't mind a sweeping MTB riser bar, but I kinda like the look of something curvy on a bike with 26 inch wheels. It is worth mentioning I purchased the bike for $250. Complete. I've put maybe $50 into it (road tires and mudguards, primarily), and it runs quite well. The previous owner thought the headset bearings were done, but upon further review, he simply had the cups cranked down too tight. The steal of the year.

And this is Jen's bike. We found the Specialized Langster frame and fork on eBay, and we build up the wheels around a set of Formula hubs laced to Sun CR-18 rims. The bike is silly light, even with the rear rack and lights, thanks the frame and fork. The design of this bike has confounded me. The frame has braze-ons for a rack and mudguards, yet there is barely enough clearance for a set 28mm wide Paselas. And don't get me started on the racing fork. The bike is great, don't get me wrong, but it could have been a much more utilitarian machine with a bit more clearance.

December 20, 2006

Catching Up

Macht has several posts that deserve a few comments...

First, he examines the difference between technology and a technological way of thinking. This distinction is quite important in the work of Jacques Ellul--Technique is not simply computers or televisions or radios; it is a way of looking at the world that sees the progression of means as being paramount. I would, however, disagree with Macht's assessment of a technological way of thinking:

Modern technology has a tendency to hide the process from us while still giving us the result. People often talk about all the problems with fast food - processed food, trans fat, poor work conditions, poor treatment of animals, etc. But rarely do people talk about the problem that fast food is supposed to fix - the burden it is supposed to relieve us from. As Borgmann says above, that is "the burden of preparing a meal and getting everyone to show up at the table and sit down." Is a meal really just the end result - the ingestion of calories and nutrients? Or is the burden of preparing and finding time to sit down with friends and family part of the meal? Yes, these may not be as efficient and may take more effort than running to McDonald's, but I'm very inclined to say these aren't burdens we want to get rid of.

It's quite the opposite, I think. Technique forever seeks to remove the ends from the process. In the example of fast food, McDonald's doesn't simply hide the process, it turns the meal into a means to something else. Eating a burger in your car on the way home from work is a means to making your life more efficient. And this itself isn't an end--it simply leads to a greater progression of means.

(I believe that what I just wrote is thoroughly confusing. I think the distinction is important, and perhaps I'll work on this more over the holiday.)

Macht also examines the relationship between philosophy/theology and science. While I do not consider myself Dooyeweerdian (primarily because I do not have the time or energy to seriously study his work), I do agree with his position that (to paraphrase Macht) we all have pre-theoretical religious commitments that shape what we do and how we interact with things. "Religious," by the way, does not necessarily mean faith as Christians understand it--it is the worldview, the philosophical system that shapes our lives.

And finally, he offers a small tribute to Clyde Bruckman, err, Peter Boyle.

December 12, 2006

Anarchy Amid the Chaos

Neille Ilel, writing in Reason, explains how decentralized, grassroots organizations (religious and non) have far outdone both the State and the Red Cross in helping the survivors of Hurricane Katrina. Ivan Illich would be proud of people like this:

Common Ground’s initial incarnation was a medical clinic in an Algiers mosque. Algiers is a decidedly poor and drab cousin to the rest of New Orleans; it’s hard to believe that its sprawl of nondescript homes and apartment buildings is just across the Mississippi River from the French Quarter. But unlike the city across the river, Algiers didn’t flood. And within a few days of the storm, several young men on bicycles started knocking on doors in this unremarkable place, asking if people needed medical help. They called themselves street medics.

“A street medic,” explains Iggy River, a Common Ground volunteer, “is a person with an indeterminate amount of knowledge, usually from mass gatherings or street protests, of acute need first aid”—treatment for dehydration, cuts, broken bones. With his dark disheveled hair and giant wooden ear spools, Iggy looked like he would be more at home at a World Trade Organization protest than coordinating supplies in the ruins of a poor black neighborhood. Indeed, it was for such protests that the street medics learned their craft. After Katrina, street medics provided first aid and basic medical services such as blood pressure and diabetes testing.

Bike Advocacy

Local councilman Bill Peduto last week proposed an initiative to traffic cameras at the busiest, most dangerous intersections in the city to automatically ticket drivers who do not obey the traffic signals. According to plan, the revenue raised by the tickets ($100 each) would go directly to improvements for alternative transportation, namely cyclists and pedestrians (those most affected by drivers who disobey traffic laws). A friend initiated a discussion among a group of bicycle commuters, and generally, our reaction has been lukewarm. The general feeling is that, yes, better safety is a Good Thing, but are we being fooled into thinking there is a pot of gold waiting at the end of rainbow? Peduto said he expects "millions of dollars" to be generated through the tickets, with most of it going into a fund for alternative transportation initiatives. That sounds quite good in theory, but given our cash-strapped city, I have trouble imagining council allowing pedestrians and (eeeww!) cyclists to sit on that much money for a few signs and maybe another bike trail.

In thinking about this over the last few days, my own cynicism has softened. I've connected the dots a bit between the ideas of Ivan Illich (who actually wrote extensively about the bicycle and the role the government should play in promoting alternative transportation) and my own localist tendacies and realized that this is the sort of thing our city government should be doing. I am hopeful that pedestrians and cyclists will see the "millions" of dollars these cameras might generate? Not terribly. Even if council passes this measure today, it is likely to be de-fanged a bit. It isn't good politics to tell your constituents that you just helped pass a bill that would give millions of dollars to pedestrians and cyclists, not when the city has trouble providing basic services. In the end, however, this is likely a better initiative than the city spending more money on bringing another failed department store to downtown.

And perhaps, just for a moment, I can suspend my political cynicism.

December 01, 2006

This Is the End

Eight hours later. We've been battered with rain and, now, howling wind. The fast moving gray clouds have filled the late afternoon sky, and there is just a hint of orange on the horizon, a sign that somewhere up there, the sun is shining. The temperature has dropped at least twenty degrees. I swing my leg over my bike, cursing my jacket choice (my rain shell instead of the fleece), and pull out of the parking lot and on to the first hill. The wind pushes back against me. Here, it is steady, threatening to stop me in my tracks. I climb a bit more and find a bit shelter thanks to an incline.

This doesn't last. I hear a sound like fabric tearing, and I know what's coming. The wind hits my right side, and I lean and swerve to compensate. Cresting the hill, my speed barely rises on the downhill. For the next few miles, it is the same thing--a bit calm, the sound of the wind through the trees and houses, and then it's blast. And I never know where it will hit me--just the sound, a moment of trepidation, and then the moment of impact. I lean into the gust, then wobble as it stops.

Descending into the Pine Creek valley, I'm protected a bit from the wind, and there's little more than a steady, light headwind. I'm getting pelted with something, either snow or detritus from the trees, I cannot tell which. As I approach the downstream mouth of the valley, the gusts pick up again, and I can't help but think ahead to the 62nd Street Bridge. There are few bad weather moments that I dread more than crossing the river in the wind. I am completely exposed, feeling as if I could simply be plucked off the deck at any moment and thrown into the waters of the Allegheny.

The bridge does not disappoint. I am sheltered on the ramp, as it approaches the deck in the middle of the bridge. But I hear the wind whistling through the gaps in the steel and concrete. I slow a bit, allowing a line of car to pass before I merge on the deck. Immediately, as I leave the shelter of the ramp, I'm pushed leftward by the wind. I grip the bars a bit tighter. Then, suddenly, the wind changes directions and I'm pushed to the right. I grip tighter still and set my jaw. The white circle cast ahead by my headlight dances as the wind pushes left and right. Thankfully, traffic is light, and I simply settle into the middle of my lane, feeling only slightly more comfortable. As I crest the rise, I focus on the traffic light, knowing that I can relax soon. Soon I'm spinning out my little gear. Closer, closer. The light changes to red, I brake, and unclip a foot from the pedal. I sit on the top tube and let out a deep breath. The rest of the ride will be uneventful, and I will likely have a tailwind, at least for the short stretch on Butler Street.

This Is the End

It's 8:30AM, 1 December 2006, and I'm standing outside of our house, bike on my shoulder, wearing shorts and t-shirt, and I'm not cold. Not even chilly, really. I didn't bother to look at the weather forecast, so I guess that it's close to 70 degrees. It isn't sunny, but there is a sliver of orange on the eastern horizon, and patches of blue in the blanket of white and gray.

But it will not last.

A cold front will move through the city today, bringing first rain, then wind, then cold. Winter cold. Temperatures in the 30s. A bit of snow (though, thankfully, considerably less than the rest of the country). Winter shall arrive. We can only hope his stay will be brief, and mild.