The Bike/Ped Divison over at the City of Austin sent over this closure announcement regarding the 3rd Street Hike and Bike bridge over Shoal Creek:
To Shoal Creek Trail users:
There will be a full trail closure sometime this week (the week of July 20th) on the 3rd Street Bridge over Shoal Creek for the installation of a 24” waterline next to the bridge. We work with the contractors to make sure that the duration of these critical trail closures are a brief as possible and only enacted when absolutely necessary. Signs will be in place around the trail showing the closure location and alternate routes.
Let us know if you have any questions.
Thanks,
Nathan
Engineer Associate
City of Austin, Public Works
Neighborhood Connectivity Division, Bicycle Program
(512) 974.7016
on Jul 26th, 2009 at 6:00 pm
Do not see a ‘generic’ blog area, so I choose this connect for commentary. I’m a rider, albeit a less-than-stick-on-a-carbonfiber-stick rider. I don’t look that good in my shorts. My path is Shoal Creek, north to 183, taking (only recently) the White Rock turnoff, then back to SC to Anderson to Steck, turning at 183, all the way to 38th and looping back to Hancock to home. About 12 or so miles each day. Fun, invigorating, sweaty, and about my speed. Enough hills and long pulls to make the ride seem worth my time and calories. Along my excursions I have discovered some fascinating personalities, and that’s the purpose of my post.
Won’t speak for anyone but seems only inevitable that riders all have had them, I’m sure; so I’d love to know your experiences. Like last week, I’m peddling north on SC nearing White Rock intersection (a bit before I began taking the turnoff), I spot at the stop sign to my right a silver Honda Accord, the ubiquitous model of quasi Yuppies. I am at least 50 yards from the intersection, closing fast, but makes no difference since the Accord pulls out to turn left up SC. He stops in the intersection (no other traffic either direction) and waits for me. Odd, I think, what the hell is he doing? (And it was a male.) I go behind him through the intersection (no other traffic, I remind, no other traffic, in which case I defer to the first to arrive; I go BEHIND him!), and as I enter the intersection, I am greeted with, “Stop! Asshole!”
I’m torn. Turn and chase the troglogyde to the light at Northland/2222 or continue my ride. I choose the latter. But it grinds my gears for at least a mile. No impediment to his progress, so why the epithet? Deserving? It was not long after the local news coverage of “cyclists violating stop signs” that this occurred, so I had to write it off to a herd mentality borne of media influence.
A simliar incident predated the former at 45th and SC when a utility pickup (those with the tool boxes built into the sides) honked as I went through the intersection. I had no idea I was the target of his burp until he (again, a male driver) attempted the almost-but-not-quite side swipe two blocks from the intersection. The turn lanes at 45th are clearly marked “Right Turn Only Except for Bicycles,” but apparently this I’m-in-a-hurry-and-you’re-in-my-way cretin cannot read.
I promise to all and one that when I ride, I obey Newton’s first law of physics that a body in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. I cannot win against a car or truck, and I have no desire to win, so I defer. But that incident at 45th and SC erased my logical reference to Newton’s irradicable law, and I longed for a bazooka to rid our streets of yet another troglodyte. If I impeded his progress, I know from research (sitting at intersections with a watch, yeah, lame, but I had to know) I did not hold him up more than a fraction of a second. He’s in the air-conditioned comfort of his cab, I on the summer-heat, sweat-drenched perch of my velopede, and he cannot wait even a second? That’s like the drunk in the Saxon Pub who yells, “Play! Goddamn it, play!” because he (again, male) can’t wait for Bob Schneider to shift his capo for the next song.
I won’t stop riding, of course. And I know education will not solve the auto-density that cyclists deal with daily. Probably worse in other places, say Wichita Falls (my birthplace, and though home of the Hottern Hell Hundred, still the redneck anti-bike capital of TX), and surprising in “advanced, green-thinking, fitness” Austin, but we are “surrounded by idiots.”
Still want that in-frame bazooka, though.