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This blog is moving

I'm very lucky indeed to have attracted a fairly large, and undoubtedly loyal following to this blog, and will feel luckier still if most of you adjust your dial now, to:
                         cycle-space.com
I'll be blogging there under the same old loveable pseudonym, Dr. Behooving, in that old-letch professor voice I have honed. But with my own domain and wordpress platform, I can do more than just blog. I can take on a talented editor/photographer/web developer, the great Gusto, who I've known for a few years now as a true bike nut like myself, and a pretty good student. We're partnering, to split all the moolah, and marry our unbridled energy for changing the world, through what we know about cycling and architecture.  
While you're adjusting your RSS feeds, please take a moment as well, to follow @cyclespace via twitter. I'll still be posting on twitter as @BehoovingMoving, but Gus will be posting using @cyclespace.
Cycle-space.com will run like a blog, but eventually have pages providing a more accessible resource, mainly aimed at helping bike loving architects and urban designers.
BehoovingMoving will stay here as an archive for as long as Livejournal's Russian Mafia owners allow. Despite the occasional glitches, I highly recommend livejournal, to anyone starting out blogging. For $25 per year, you get an easy to use diary, that other people can read. That's how I've always treated this: as diary writing. But it has out me in touch with like-minded souls all over the world, some of whom I have had the chance to stay with during my travels. I have some great friends, thanks to this diary, and hope this change of address doesn't mean we'll fall out of contact. 
If you have any trouble reading, or leaving comment at cycle-space.com, please let me know via twitter: @BehoovingMoving, or via email at BehoovingMoving [hec hem] gmail.com.
See you in cycle-space dudes.

I've gone commercial!


As soon as I figure out how to upload a gif to my sidebar, I'll be advertising for Brompton. And as soon as all my readers (566 yesterday, can you believe it!) click on their banner, to let Brompton know traffic is coming to them via me, well then I'll be sitting in their boardroom (or them in mine) holding out for a cool million per year, to endorse their fine product in perpetuity. Not that I don't endorse their bikes now. Hell, I own one, that has survived baggage handling in Naples. Plus their bike made my list of 5 bikes of importancce to architects, way back when the thought of being a highly paid pro Brompton blogger was merely twinkle, somewhere in my subconscious.

If so, have you considered cycling in cyber space? The dude there in the middle, in blue: he's my bicycling avatar. I haven't yet bothered to choose him a more tasteful jersey, though that option exists. In the darkness of my front room each evening, I have been exploring virtual reality models of islands, designed purely for sports riding pleasure. I can leave the virtual road, ride through virtual buildings, race artificial intelligence competitors, ride on the right to pretend I'm in Europe, ride on the left to pretend I'm still at home (if I need to pretend), all safe in the knowledge that these virtual roads, have no virtual cars. The worst that can happen, is crashing into the stencils of trees marking the extent of the model, and realizing I'm inside some kind of Truman Show. As well as riding VR mode, I have been watching footage shot from the front of a car driving over the Alps, that reels toward me at a rate proportionate to the effort I put in. The resistance in the roller is calculated by the nano-second, to fool me into thinking a person of my weight, is actually riding over whatever I'm seeing on my screen, be that filmed or derived from a VR model.

I'm also one of 46,000 registered tacx users, all paying an annual license fee (that's almost as hefty as a real-world license to race), to have real time races in these virtual worlds. If you're reeling, I'm reeling more. I'm the bunny who has unwittingly stepped into this bizarre virtual world of hard-core race training, without the prospect of injury.

The timing couldn't be more ironic. The day before my tacx system arrived, I had undertaken a straw poll of people following @BehoovingMoving on twitter. I asked people to say in one tweet, what cycling means to them personally. More than half said cycling stimulates their senses, by putting them back in touch with their environment. Cycling, to my twitter followers, is an antidote to all the time they spend at their computers, following @BehoovingMoving on twitter for instance, or reading my attempts to make sense of the wide world of cycling, and now, a virtual world of cycling as well.

But I'm seeing more than just stimulation for my heart and my hamstrings, coming from this. A decade ago, architects were talking of practicing their art in virtual worlds, or at least using cyber space to test some ideas. Do let me know if you are adept at building VR terrains. It would be nice to build a cycle-space city, then use the tacx system to ride it.

At war with the motorist

As well as being a great name for a blog, "at war with the motorist" is a common state of play for we who have opted for the healthy, green, cheap mode of transport. We want to be all "peace and love bro", truly we do, but if you risk our lives, or our children's lives, with one of these contraptions you wield around town, it's only fair we fight back: kick your car, yell abuse, pin you down and pluck hairs from your nostrils, etc., etc., etc.. Remember this scene from "The World According to Garp"?

In December, my dear Primrose and I will be ridding our lives of our rust-bucket (our car) once and for all—we're just waiting for our kids' prepaid swimming lessons, out in the burbs, to wrap up. And I have realized, we will no longer have our metaphorical glass house. And this means, we can start throwing stones!

I am appealing to my gentlemanly readers, for moderate words of advice at this time. I fear a manic phase may be brewing, of excessive exuberance, for I have had visions of: letting down all my neighbours' car tires at night; of telling Jihadists I am bin Laden, back from the dead, and that from now on we'll be blowing up roads; of moving wheelie-bins out into the middle of the road; of leaving anything on the road that I can find; of generally becoming a pest.

Does this energy I have for such mischief need bridling? Or am I onto something profound? Have you not sensed also, that we have been raised from the womb to view smooth traffic flows as somehow sacred, to the point where we turn a blind eye to obstacles blocking footpaths or bike paths (builders' hoardings, rubbish skips, police cars, etc.), but react as though heaven is falling when confronted by something blocking a car lane? A campaign of civil disobedience, hindering the smooth flow of vehicular traffic, and generally inconveniencing our poor car-dependent relations, might at least get people questioning this dogma we seem to have received from our parents, that roads and cars are, in any sense, good. Or as I have been to be prone, am I being extremist?

Bikes in schools of architecture

I've been around schools of architecture since 1987, and there have always, always, been people riding inside them. I remember when I was in 5th year, how I would ride from my bedside to my drawing board in the design studio, without putting a foot on the floor. Parking their bikes in the studio remains a natural right of architecture students, as natural as cutting balsa on any surface, stealing miniature trees from models left unattended, or finely dotting walls green when spray painting contour models the colour of lawn. So here is my question: with so many architecture students riding inside, why aren't the buildings they design, when they "grow up," more inviting of bikes in the hallways? Skip to 2.17 in this vid for the best bike bit, or watch the whole thing if you like students' mess.
  
Prohibitions in America, that for example exclude bikes from most pathways in New York's Central Park, stem from the erroneous assumption that a bicycle can be nothing other than some kind of a vehicle. Landscaping plans preventing cyclists from making good time, by forcing them to mingle with walkers, stem from an assumption, rife among architects and town planners, that riding a bike is like walking, only not so hard on ones shoes. Bike paths that radiate out from train stations, but which do not link one town to the next, flow from the assumption that cycling cannot replace transit, but is at best a way of augmenting it.

With a bicycle, I can be a vehicle, I can be a pedestrian, and I can be a train. I can assert myself among cars, making them yield; I can ride among pedestrians without causing them angst; I can ride alongside a train and, assuming the train makes frequent stops, I can reach the next town almost as quickly. 
  
You might say I'm just bragging about being an unusually strong cyclist, but I can tell you I've ridden behind Danish mums who I'm sure would beat me in a time-trial. And while I'm skilled enough to ride among walkers, you would not want me on your bike polo team. Don't give me a job as bike messenger either: I'm hardly the world's most adept vehicular cyclist. I'm as strong and skilled as most people would be, if they were raised in a built environment that reaped the full potential of cycling, as a kind of vehicular transport, a kind of walking, and a kind of moving from town to town.
 
Designers have to stop putting bikes into a box, with their limited and limiting expectation as to how most cyclists are going to ride.  Some will always ride fast, some always with aggression, and some will always ride slow. Most though, will morph between states at will. Designers need to go back and watch the Amazing Chan and the Chan Clan, and take special note of their shapeshifting van. 

I would love some advice from an economist here. When I looked at these pie charts, I expected expenditure on roads would account for a huge slice of government spending. An alien looking down from above, or an archaeologist sifting through our remains, would see no greater testament to government spending, than roads.


But the actual dollar cost of all this road building, is reported on a so-called accrual basis. What's that mean? As far as I can gather, it means reporting net losses, instead of gross costs. The cost of roads, we are to believe, is offset by increased revenue from fuel tax, when new roads increase peoples' driving. So on paper, roads cost very little, despite their enormity, and cost to the planet, and people's health. On paper, a bike path would cost as much per kilometer as a new stretch of freeway, because cyclists aren't paying fuel tax. On paper, spending on cyclists looks like spending on welfare, that we're meant to believe is a bottomless hole, with no returns. Likewise, education, something we spend on and get nothing back from. Roads though: they're built for profit. A really smart government, according to this cockeyed logic we live by, would spread cities out even more, anything to necessitate more roads, and greater reliance on cars, and therefore more money from fuel tax. 



Looking at this summary, all the green/sustainable infrastructure projects are surprisingly expensive, while the federally funded roads look surprisingly cheap. I mean, mountains are moved to build roads. Light rail is tiny. Hopefully a carbon tax will do something to redress these absurdities.

Commuting via the underworld

A reader, who I shall call Mr Do-Bee, today showed me the route he takes, on his mountain bike, each day to work. He came to this city from Montreal, a decade ago, and has taught himself every off-road route in three council areas. He can go from anywhere, to anywhere else, and never touch bitumen, unless it's simply to cross a road.

I'm not sure how my neck and kneecap will be tomorrow morning. I've fallen off three times, just trying to keep up with ol' Mr Do-Bee, who is the fastest descender I've ever accompanied on a mountain bike ride. Actually, without me to wait for at the bottom, he would have no use at all for his brakes. He commutes with a laptop and clean clothes in his bag, in a manner best kept secret from his life insurer, laptop insurer, and probably his wife and his children. We've been through creeks, down washed out gullies, through culverts that cut beneath freeways, and somehow popped out on a hill overlooking another city. In the mind of Mr Do-Bee, The Great North Walk, The Glenrock mountain bike trails, and obscure tracks behind fence lines otherwise only used by folk walking dogs, are part of a labyrinthine network of secret passageways, allowing him to treat the world we're living in, here in the light, as though he's of an underworld, and has the power to disappear and pop up anywhere else. As a mostly on-road rider, I feel like a spoilt prince who has only ever been shown the carpeted rooms of his palace, until some mad French-Canadian came and showed me how this city works behind the fake walls. His mind contains what I would call a highly developed, and radical, cycle-space map of this city.

easy-clean

Bicycle designers have set their minds on speed, off-road handling, folding, utility, style, integration (of lights, locking) and perhaps a few other things that don't come to mind at the moment. What about cleaning? Whatever weight penalty I had to pay, to be rid of half the rear triangle, and half the fork, of a bike I did not want to go fast on, would be doubly rewarded by the ease of cleaning afforded, oh, and let's not forget, the ease of changing a tire without removing the wheel.
   
I know all you major bike makers are avid readers, so here is your mission: look at these non-production designer bikes—Christophe Robillard's Victor Bike and Inoda Sveje's Bike 2.0— and spare a thought for "the help", you know, those little folk to whom we pass our bikes to be cleaned after each ride, so they stay looking like the bikes in your ads.
If you know of any more easy-clean bikes, drop me a note. I might make a list. Belt-drive. Rod drive. Lefty forks. Righty frames. Full high clearance mud guards. Oh, and nothing stays cleaner than raw titanium.  
Me ol' bike blogging buddy Mikael has really been putting in the yards this weekend, trawling the archives for dirt on General Motors, but remarkably uncovering a GM produced video, teaching drivers to look out for cyclists. That's not quite so remarkable as the cast: Ron Jeremy (2.00) Marilyn Chambers (3.26) John Holmes (6.33). I'll admit, I couldn't watch it right the way to the end, to let you know if in fact the entire adult film industry had a hand its making. The pacing would certainly suggest the involvement of porn producers. (Anyhow, it's the weekend. Relax.)
Readers who have been with this bike blog from the start (hi Roberto, hi Gus) will know it began with a question: how many prestigious bikes could I own, for the price of one fancy car? Our Subaru Forester was rusting, and I didn't want to replace it. Marriage being a compromise, though, we have kept the rusting thing going... but not for much longer.

Yes, it's ta-ta, you rusty old car. Primrose, out of her frugality (Scottish blood, see!) has finally agreed we can sell it. Here's what became of the last car we owned (photos below). It went from playing our music and protecting us from the wind, to being a triple somersaulting acrobat at 110km per hour, all in an instant. Blame the flash flood, but it could have been anything. Nothing is meant to travel at the kinds of speeds road signs tell people to drive at. Alright, so nobody died, and I got to try morphine, but I had already been through all this before, when I was 15 and the car I was a passenger in on that occasion, had also done one of these tumble rolls at highway speed. After the second crash, I really did think I had used up my luck.
 
We went for 6 months with no car after that crash (pictured above), and I only yielded to Primrose's whining to get one, because Renault and Subaru released cars with 5-Star ratings from ANCAP. Both had the usual rust rating though: no stars at all. Cars, you should know, are largely made from iron, a substance that the earth and the air are constantly conspiring to put back in the ground. 

But I don't care about that anymore. When our kids' prepaid swimming lessons wrap up in December, that's it, we'll be living car free. I understand how this little family of mine will henceforth be sacrificing access to most of the sprawling city we live in, but since all the over-educated types like ourselves are mostly crushed into my part of town anyway, I can't say our confinement really concerns me. Plus, any friends I have in the suburbs, seem to like coming to town, with my house giving purpose to their struggle to find some place to park.

What I know we'll be spared from forever, are conversations like these, with our mechanic: "You need a new torque converter. But this new one I'll fit, for three thousand dollars, will last you the next twenty years!" Then, six months later, we get the news that we need a new diff, "...but don't worry, this new one I'll fit...". 

We are to believe that our parents moved to the suburbs because they preferred what was on offer out there.
"The fact that they later breathed polluted air, existed miles from work in tract houses which forced them to spend a massive amount of their disposable income in support of the automobile and petrochemical monopolies, and used a large proportion of their tax dollars to pay for infrastructure in the form of freeways rather than public transport, all had to be the result of their own bad judgement."
                                     —Alexander Cuthbert, Understanding Cities, p. 159.      

It wasn't bad judgement. It was their lack of education and access to knowledge, and the fact they were actively duped.
   
It is a little known fact that October 25th will be the 395th anniversary of the first European landing on Australian soil, by the Dutch Sailor, Dirk Hartog. So I am preparing a launch, on that date, of a 5 year political campaign to place Australia under Dutch rule, on 25 October 2016, the 400th anniversary of the landing that might have spared this country from the mess it is in. Had Hartog stayed, this country would now have a Calvinist heritage, and therefore laws and customs protecting the meek from the bullies.
   
In anticipation of the transfer of power, I suggest we all live, as of now, under Dutch law. Ride your bike with no helmet. Assume cyclists have the rights of pedestrians, not the responsibilities of drivers of cars. Hell, dose yourself up on pot, if that's your particular poison, and if you're a madam, feel free to build a glass shop front on the front of your brothel. I also propose we all observe the Dutch custom of permanently chaining an old beater bike near any train station we're ever likely to visit: I'm heading down to Sydney right now, to chain something near Central Station, in anticipation of my next day of homage to Clover Moore.

The only question mark over this, is whether or not the Dutch will be happy to take us on. I mean, they take rather more refugees than we have a reputation for accepting to our shores. Conversely, we could object to Europeans' perceptions of themselves as makers of art, when all we see are bad songs on Eurovision. But come on my fellow Australians, and come on you kinky Dutch buggas: let's give love a chance! You've got the laws. We've got the land. Let's make this happen.

My latest purchase

A year ago I met a former pro rider, now a famous professor—who I won't name—who told me he has stopped racing in the "real world" and now races via a virtual platform. What the #$@&? He has his indoor trainer connected to his computer? To race people on-line? who are probably telling fibs regarding their weight? It has taken me this long, to go from thinking he must be stark raving mad, to laying down my very own hard-earned, for some of the same. I mean, it's not as though I don't already live in a hyper real world! I ride with no helmet pretending I'm still there in Holland or Denmark. I ride a mountain bike, thinking I'm Daniel Boon. I've always blurred fantasy and reality, and wrote here that cyclists should be granted this prerogative. After all, the rise of car culture did owe quite a bit to various fantasies.  But trust the Dutch anyway, to come up with a virtual device for riding up and down mountains! Couriers willing, I should have my Tacx Fortius VR trainer on Monday. After that, don't talk to me—unless referring to me as Dr. Schleck.


My last ever "Ride-to-Work" day

Growing contacts in the bike lobby fraternity, this year saw me volunteering to lead a bike bus to work, on this, the once a year, official, "ride to work" day. Oh the indignity! Rather than waking naturally, I had to do what non-aristocrats do: I set an alarm. That was so I could be at the meeting point at 7am. Why? Because the slow pokes I would be leading cannot muster half the speed of a Dutch grandma, despite Dutch grannies using bikes many times slower than the new aluminium hybrids my colleagues all went out and bought, for this special day. I can see them at the bike shop last Saturday, getting kitted out as though they were about to tackle mount Everest.

If the indignity of being seen with once per year riders wasn't enough, one of them chastised me for not wearing a helmet. I should have said "sir, you are riding a small-wheel bike with sprung parallelograms instead of forks!" (You know the contraption to which I refer). But no, since I was invited, I took the time to explain rotational injuries, nonsense testing methods, and the effect of deterrents on the bike modal share, that, if it could be raised, would make roads safer for all.

Not one to ever be beaten, or wrong, he rode ahead and shot off emails demanding my scalp. Since then, cries of "please explain!" and "what was this hemet shirking fiend's name!" have reverberated from the computer screens of nervy nerds, with strange sounding positions, until finally landing in my in-box... correction: trash can. I don't say others shouldn't wear helmets. However, it would help if people adding fuel to this fire knew that there is a legitimate movement of Australian conscientious objectors to helmet laws. Instead, they run with the line that I have set a bad example to all those adults who were looking to their bike bus leader as a role-model. Behind their angst, I'm sure, is that antelope fear of lawyers plaguing all Australian institutions these days. What if one of my proteges now rides with a nude nut, and is killed getting to work? Who would be liable? My employer, of course, as they are liable for deaths sustained by anyone who crashes when driving to work. You can see the double standard, I'm sure. 

The particular gentleman behind this hysteria, wasn't with my bike bus when I led it along footpaths, rather than bike paths in door zones, and he had ridden off before getting to see me waving down cars at a notorious blackspot, so that my mignons might all cross unscathed. I ride to work every day of my life, and plan to keep doing so. To save my neck, and ensure drivers pass me with caution (and for the sake of good hair) I have decided to do that, without a helmet. In the heat of Summer, a Panama hat reduces my risk of skin cancer, as a helmet will not. The absence of bicycle infrastructure in my city, means I have no choice but to flout a few laws, to ensure I keep getting to work, alive, into old age. I pass police every day, who once a month might call from their car window, "Where's ya helmet?" but they never pursue it. If ever one does, I'll politely accept the fine, and tell myself that at least riding is still cheaper than driving.

Around 20 people followed my lead this morning, and many thanked me afterward, for drawing the safest possible route to their attention. I'm always happy to share what I think is the safest way, for me, to ride to work, in this city where strict law adherence is deadly. But no more helping with "ride to work day". Next year, I'll head off at 8.30 as usual. And hopefully this year's unsatisfied customer, will read this blog post, and volunteer to take my place as a leader.
If you see more than the usual number cyclists passing guilty glances at law officials this week, it may not be for the usual reasons: riding sans helmets; riding on footpaths; running red lights; stealing old ladies' handbags. Many of us are on edge at this point, after a man was arrested (in America, where else?) for having sex with his bike. This was in the privacy of his hostel room as well! Here's the full story on BBC News.

If we're nervous lads, spare a thought for Norman Foster, whose buildings, if they don't look like male or female genitalia, look an awful lot like his own bike, that he has been known to embrace rather more fondly than American law enforcement agencies might be willing to overlook. But I ask you, what 30K Moulton space frame bicycle, has not been molested? Isn't that why bikes such as these are produced? I know what I would be doing, if ever I got a bike like this home. Matters were quite bad enough when I first got my Lynskey.

girl meets boy

But I remind American law enforcement agencies of the 1499 Renaissance treatise, The Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, in which the protagonist has penetrative sex with buildings 3 times, after being rejected by a woman he lusts for. And this, ladies, is why we men toil to produce such beautiful things as you see on the skyline, and in some boutique bicycle shops. One needn't be as world wise as I, to recognize such obvious truths about fine engineering, directed by the designerly eye of an aesthete.

The case for building bike paths to nowhere

Build it, and they will come—or, more precisely, build infrastructure and development follows. We know that truth to be axiomatic, when thinking about roads. Widen a road, and viola: subdivisions spring up along it, and the road needs widening yet again. Run a freeway somewhere out the back of Fort Worth, and watch the farmlands fill up with houses.

So why are bicycling advocates so obsessed with linking up neighbourhoods that already exist? I mean, why bother! The people living there seem happy enough with how things already are, with the car dependence, and drive-through cake shops, and all of that car stuff. I don't see mass rallies, anywhere in the world, for more bike paths. It's only people like me, or you reading this bike blog, who really care about bike paths.

It would be better, I think, to build bike paths to nowhere. Then developers can look at the barren land flanking those bike paths to nowhere, and say, "You know, we could build places for cyclists out here." And that's how those places, I hope, would remain, accessible only by bike path. And who would want to live there? Well, queers like myself, who prefer cycling. And what of the people in established parts of town, who we have done nothing to save, by lobbying for them to have bike paths? Let them eat cake. 

Another piece of fine lateral thinking from Dr. Behooving. (Oh, and before I'm hounded about bikes having less reach than cars, the no-where type places to which I refer, are brownfields within city boundaries).
Rather than painting useless sharrows on roads designed mainly for cars, or spending all of our time as activists fighting for segregated routes that non-European drivers cannot be trusted to yield to at intersections, I believe cycling would profit, right now, if more attention were given to completing networks of bike paths along rail corridors (both past and existing), waterways and parklands. While these don’t take people to places that people currently need to be going, they often link up the brownfields that are earmarked for urban renewal. There is an opportunity, this means, to bring cities to bike tracks. Doing it the other way around—bringing bike tracks to cities—would seem more logical, naturally, but at the current rate, it will take decades.

Right now though, demand for affordable housing on urban industrial wastelands, means we can bring a city of sorts, to where we have bike routes, or can easily build them. Where can we build bike routes? Anywhere, it seems, that voters who drive don’t object: waterways; rail routes; and across parks.

So let’s get busy winning, not merely fighting. Let’s forget about stupid sharrows and pipe dreams about generating a critical mass, and for the moment not be quite so absorbed either, in getting segregated bike lanes working in established places where people naturally want to go on their bikes. For the next 5 or 10 years, let's focus most of our efforts on what I’m calling the brownfield-to-bikefield phenomenon. Let’s build what at first might look like recreational bike routes, but which will quickly look more like bike transit routes, once we start clustering new buildings around them.

Above left is an image taken from a rezoning study undertaken in Minneapolis, when they realized one of their railtrails warranted increased densities one block either side. "Midtown Greenway" now means a precinct, orientated around bicycle transport. This ongoing project has not met with the kinds of protests seen, for example, along Brooklyn's Prospect Park West (above right), where most voters just can't accept that a road is for anything other than cars.

Steve Jobs and the Velomobile

The man of the moment, Steve Jobs. A Jeffersonian style foyer of some kind, maybe designed by Charles Bulfinch. A Velomibile (at 1.10). What an irresistible clip!
  

Olympic legacies to urban cycling

The Olympics roadshow left Sydney in 2000, and cyclists living around Homebush Bay found an enormous bikefield, linking their neighbourhoods, to neighbourhoods flanking all sides of the former Olympic precinct. The legacy of the 2012 Olympics for people in N.E. London, has the potential to be better again.
 
By Papal decree (well, Boris Johnson does look like the Pope), most of London's Olympic precinct cannot be accessed by cars, and will be largely protected from them in perpetuity, even when tracts are sold off, after the olympics, for residential development. Thank you Pope Boris. Some of my readers thought I was barmy when I flagged the idea of separatist zones.
  
Most of the bike routes on the site will line the handful of barge canals, exhumed when clearing the site. Bridges crossing those canals are being made high enough for the bike paths to pass under. These paths, and paths following bridges, and paths traversing the site, converge and split like streaks of hot wax in a lava lamp, that is, in a way best appreciated at bicycling speed. Now if I lived in London, I would be looking for shops, schools and housing, in that vicinity. Ideally, I would find a job out there too—does England still have those?

I am very keen to hear Londoners' opinions about this. Already Joe Dunkley (who I follow on Twitter) has alerted me to a swathe of nagging descent, here, here and here. However, I'm not so much concerned with poor implementation, but with the actual plan. I'm an architect. I'm used to great plans not being executed as originally drawn. 

Down time

Even the most prolific and verbose of bike bloggers need an occasional break. Think of me, as I feast on 3 buffets a day here an the AIA country chapter annual conference, and recover from some most unfair lines of questing at the last conference I spoke at, that one to mere planners. This time I'm in the nurturing and creative company of my own kind: architects, darlings. You really should patronize them more often

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