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* Wearing a Propeller Cap
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Metropolis


THE ABSURDITY OF A NEW YORK CYCLING TICKET


IN WHICH I CONTEMPLATE THE MERCURIAL CHAOS OF TRAFFIC JUSTICE.

By Luke Winkie
June 21, 202312:57 PM

Photo illustration by Slate. Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images.
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The Slate offices are located in downtown Brooklyn, one of the most baroque and
labyrinthine districts in New York City. I try to go into work about once a
week, and when I do, I usually check out one of these rentable bicycles—called
“Citi Bike,” which are, yes, sponsored by Citibank—that are networked throughout
the neighborhoods. My Thursday journey was going exactly as planned, which is to
say that I dogmatically stuck to the bike paths painted along the surface
streets until the company building, and its traffic-hell precinct, was firmly in
view. As usual, downtown Brooklyn was impermeable with cars, which provided next
to zero space for a cyclist’s traction. I like to bike without fear of sudden
decapitation, so I slipped my Citi Bike onto the (empty) sidewalks for two more
blocks, planning on docking it at the next rack. In fact, I was already off the
bike and wheeling over toward the finish line when a cop car slowed to an
ominous halt at the intersection. One word blared from its megaphone over and
over again: “BICYCLE, BICYCLE.”

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You can probably guess where I’m going with this. The officer informed me that
bicycles must always be in the streets—not the sidewalks—and asked me if I was
carrying a driver’s license. I limply protested, noting that I was literally
milliseconds away from locking up my bike, that the cumulative time I spent on
the pavement was comfortably under a minute, and that we were currently located
in what is perhaps the single most inhospitable environment for cyclists in the
tri-state area. Quite frankly, getting my two-wheeler off the road for a short
detour was a smart, safe, and conscientious choice—the city should be paying me,
not the other way around. The officer, of course, already had his mind made up.
He returned with my ID and a freshly printed ticket, and informed me that I had
15 days to plead not guilty. I had officially been busted on a rented bicycle in
the heart of New York City. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.

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It’s an open-and-shut case, by the letter of the law. I was, unambiguously,
riding a bicycle on a sidewalk, and according to the city’s Department of
Transportation, that is strictly illegal unless the vehicle’s wheels are less
than 26 inches in diameter, or if the cyclist is under 12 years old. (If only I
had been wearing a propeller cap.) The fine appears to be less than $100, so I
do not plan on making an Atticus Finch–like overture at the courtroom on behalf
of all Citi Bikers who get a little anxious in downtown Brooklyn. Instead, I
will simply pay the citation and contemplate the mercurial chaos of the justice
system, and how it feels like the government has granted motorists total carte
blanche to pull all sorts of questionable maneuvers in the streets while the
self-preservation instincts of cyclists are barely tolerated. You could say I’ve
become radicalized!

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RELATED FROM SLATE

Henry Grabar

What New York Could Do if It Took a Quarter of Its Roads Away From Cars

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You know what else I saw on my half-hour commute to the Slate offices? At least
30 cars idling in the bike lane for unspecified reasons—hazard lights on—forcing
me to maintain forward momentum by jackknifing into the busy thoroughfare. (All
of their dashboards were ticket-free.) I witnessed countless sketchy left-turns
after the light turned red, because the surface engineering of any urban
environment simply cannot keep up with the number of cars on the road. Just
yesterday I was sitting in a passenger seat watching some suicidal Volvo dart
between all four lanes of the BQE during last-day-of-a-three-day-weekend
gridlock. I guarantee you that the driver represents a more pressing public
safety concern than a bike on a sidewalk.

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I’M WORRIED MY NEIGHBOR’S FERAL CHILD IS GOING TO DRAG MINE DOWN TOO

To be honest, I can’t really blame any of these drivers, and I myself have been
guilty of a few of these infractions. There is no place to stop a car—much less
a U-Haul—in New York City without choking off a bike lane, and anyone who has
ever been to Los Angeles understands the degree to which casual traffic
violations can meld with the social contract. These are all symptoms of a much
larger problem for cities across America that were simply unprepared for a
post-pandemic cycling boom. Bike sales more than doubled in 2020 and have stayed
mostly steady since then. This spike has clashed against a century’s worth of
lobbying by automotive interests who fought tooth and nail to build the United
States into an uncompromising car-driving society. In the 1920s, those interest
groups went as far to introduce the term—and criminalize—“jaywalking.” Yes, once
upon a time, walking across a street was not frowned upon, which seems pretty
logical when you think about it. There have been some attempts to make the
country more amenable to cyclists—New York is currently trying to install a new
suite of protected bike lanes, as is Seattle—but these cities are pushing
against decades of ossified infrastructure policy. It’s a paradox that leads to
bizarre lapses in judgment; like, say, penalizing a cyclist for avoiding an
unnavigable road.

Still, I have to believe that someday soon the revolution will be at hand, and
we’ll collectively reach a higher consciousness—that cars in close quarters are
emotionally oppressive, unconscionably dangerous, and fully incompatible with
the future of humanity on the planet. On that day of reckoning we shall rectify
all past injustices. The bike lanes will be open and free of clutter, jaywalking
will be wreathed with civic pride, and most importantly, I will get a rebate and
an apology for my sidewalk ticket.


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 * Infrastructure
 * New York City
 * Transportation
 * Bikes

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