A Nervous. Fucking. Breakdown.

Is what I'm about to have. In the condo next door to the north, for the second day in a row, they are replacing flooring and otherwise making such an astonishing amount of noise that it's like having a dance party inside a 747 engine. On our floor to ceiling windows to the south and east, the window washers dangling from ropes are slamming around. (They also make a surprisingly massive amount of noise.) They are allegedly cleaning the windows.

I'm going to go read new urbanism at a coffeehouse. In the not-very-amusing irony department, I'm going to have to ride my bike to get to one, since there really isn't a good one within a five minute walking distance (consistent with NU principles.)

Before I go, here are a few pictures from the 65 mile (~metric century) ride I did with a friend on Sunday, mentioned in the previous post. We'll call this friend J2, to distinguish him from J. As mentioned, the first two thirds of the ride were fantastic: rolling hills, and quiet back roads in central Georgia.


Here is the obligatory bucolic country road, with white picket fence, and cyclists approaching the second rest stop image:



Here is the obligatory condom-icecube-in-the-portapotty urinal picture. Yes, really. (This is at that same rest stop):

It was a lovely rest stop, complete with a friendly volunteer mechanic who fixed J2's rubbing front derailleur. In other news, J2 had never heard of the idea of a condom icecube?!? Consider this a request for a Highly Scientific poll of my readership: please leave a comment if you knew this fantastic utilization for condoms.


Remember, dear reader, how I said that the first two thirds of the ride was fantastic? Well, after the last rest stop it rapidly got marginally less fantastic, as the last twenty miles was in apocalyptic-quality rain, thunder, and lightning. Here is the obligatory standing-water-in-my-shoes at the end of the ride picture:


We had great conversation the whole time, including shouting to be heard over the thunder and rain about whose bike was more likely to be struck by the lightning that was blasting at nearly the exact same time as the thunder boomed: my friend's steel frame urban commuter style bike with slightly wider tires, or my aluminum frame road bike with super skinny tires. My friend maintained that his bike and person was less likely to be struck down due to the wider tires (because the lightning would have to go farther to get to ground.) I maintained that my aluminum frame was less attractive, period, and still believe the lightning wouldn't be doing the endgame analysis when it decided who to strike down for their wicked ways.

Of course, in the wicked ways analysis, I definitely lose. (Incidentally, when I described this to J later, she agreed that the steel frame was far more susceptible to lightning strikage. And she's Really Really Smart about such things.) Sorry, J2.

Bicycles and feasibility

Many of you know that I think bicycling in the sprawl of Atlanta is hideous, and only rewarding because I'm a bit of an obsessivist freak: the more difficult it is, the more committed I am to doing it.

In my reading for this New Urbanism course, there is a recurring theme, namely that you can't exist in daily life in most American cities without a car:

Low-density, single-use development that is spread out over large regions has created a settlement pattern that is completely dependent on automobiles to carry out even the simplest daily tasks such as going to school, picking up a loaf of bread, visiting a friend, seeing a doctor or dentist, visiting a park, or going to work....

Well actually, in the 72 hour period starting yesterday morning, I'm going to do every single one of these tasks by bicycle with the exception of going to school (which I'm doing online) and going to work (which I do from home, but which J does five days a week by bicycle.)

Yes, it can be done: yes, we CAN do most of this stuff by bicycle. By foot. By public transportation. If absolutely need be, by car.

But many of us, at least those of us with the leisure time and internet connectivity to sit around and read random, mediocre blogs like mine, CAN avoid the car 98% of the time. We just have to decide to.

Atlanta as miserable place?

From a video lecture by James Howard Kuntsler, Our Civic Spaces, at minute 38:

“...Atlanta is now becoming perhaps the most miserable city to be in in America.”

To paraphrase, he was referring to the barracks-like concrete buildings on central Atlanta streets (including "about four miles of Peachtree Street") that are built more to repel people than to invite them in.

Traffic sewers

My favorite thing from my reading today for the new urbanism course I'm taking:

"Streets that once served vehicles and people equitably are now designed for the sole purpose of moving vehicles through them as quickly as possible. They have become, in effect, traffic sewers."

--Suburban Nation, p. 64

Still irritated by the lack of footnotes and conclusory nature of a lot of the statements in the book, though. That's probably the attorney in me.