Friday, December 14, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
My Siula Grande
I wrote this piece as part of my application for the internship program at This American Life
I realized we were in trouble when Sam fell off her bicycle. “F*ck this trip and f*ck bikes!” she screamed into the darkness. “I’m calling Matt and I’m going to wait here until he comes to pick me up.”
This was an unrealistic proposition for several reasons. We were somewhere in the middle of California’s Central Valley, a 22,000 square mile swath of mostly farmland that runs nearly the entire length of the state. We knew we were getting close to our destination, Mercey Hot Springs, but we had no idea how close. Our GPS tracker wasn’t working this far out into the country, and neither were our phones. So there was no calling anyone. There was no waiting to be picked up. There was only one thing to do: get back on our bikes and keep following the weak beams of our headlights Westward, further into the meandering hills that surrounded us on all sides. It was nearly midnight.
By this point, I had already been feeling like I had to vomit for an hour or so. I hadn’t said anything about it to anyone, I guess because I hoped the feeling would just go away if I ignored it. And truthfully, I was also embarrassed. After all, I was the one who had convinced Sam, Lacey, and Denise to tack those extra 30 miles onto our ride. I couldn’t admit to myself, let alone to my friends, that maybe I really wasn’t as strong as I thought I was.
But when Sam fell, I managed to steel my resolve and convince her to keep going. Funny how that works, when someone else feels weak and needs you to be strong, you’re somehow able to find that strength, even though you thought you were the weak one.
-----
The bicycle trip to Mercey Hot Springs was Lacey’s idea. She had found an article online about remote yet accessible bike camping destinations in the greater San Francisco Bay Area. The article suggested that campers take the Amtrak East to Merced, then a bus south to Dos Palos, and ride an easy 30 miles into the hills that delineate the Western edge of the Central Valley.
As we started planning our trip, I felt confident that we didn’t need to bother with the bus, and that we should instead just ride the entire 60 miles from the train station to the hot springs. It’s mostly flat out there in the Central Valley, so I was sure the miles would slip away beneath us, and that we’d arrive at our destination earlier than expected. “We can do it!” I assured the group.
It’s almost funny now. Almost.
-----
We met at the Amtrak Station in Berkeley at 7am, our bikes loaded up with camping gear. Around 10, we arrived in Merced, and stopped at the grocery store for food and the bike shop for maps. By noon, we were on the road, and the sun was high in the sky. The high temperature that day was about 100 degrees, and the air was dry. But hey, it was flat! This was gonna be easy! This was gonna be fun!
If you’ve ever spent any time in a flat, hot, relatively unpopulated place, you know how that type of environment can start to mess with your psyche. There’s just….nothing. The land stretches out in front of you, providing no clues for estimating distances, throwing your depth perception completely out of whack. It seems as though this might be all there is. Just the sun, the dry earth, and you. We rode past miles of farmland; most of California’s agricultural output comes from the Central Valley region. All around us were patches of vegetables, green from irrigation, sucking up Sierra spring water while we shriveled in the heat.
This is not the type of environment in which you want to get a flat tire on your bicycle. I got the first one, and as I sat on the side of the road, shadeless, trying to complete what is normally a manageable and routine task, I began to see stars. Without saying a word, Lacey took the pump from my hands and finished up while I lay on the ground and sipped water from my Camelbak.
Every time we got back on the road after fixing a flat, it felt as if we were moving in slow motion. The miles were, in fact, not slipping away as I’d imagined. As Lacey changed her second flat tire—the fourth for the group—I started to get restless. This was taking too long. It was 3 in the afternoon and we’d only ridden about 15 miles.
That’s how I ended up hitch-hiking for the first time. As it turns out, 4 women and 4 bicycles is a fairly easy load in the land of pickup trucks. Joe had a lump of chewing tobacco in his lower lip and looked much older than his supposed 29 years. He worked for the pesticide industry and told us why organic food is hurting Americans. And boy, did he get a kick out of us.
Joe dropped us off at the Giant Burger in Firebaugh, about 30 miles from our final destination. We took up two tables in the nearly empty restaurant, throwing our dust-covered gear at one and spreading our maps out at the other. After a quick meal of ice cream and french fries, we got back on the road.
Thankfully, it had started to cool off, and the next 20 miles were some of the most pleasant of the day. We saw the sun set over the hills to the west, and soon we were riding in pure darkness, aside from the narrow beams of our bike lights. Not only was it dark… it was quiet. So quiet, we could hear the electricity running through power lines above our heads.
Like great distances, silence and darkness can mess with your mind. Every sound, every shape becomes threatening. We heard cows in the distance and worried that they would charge us at any moment. We stopped 15 feet from a piece of rebar that was poking out of the ground, completely convinced it was a snake ready to strike. I felt like I was going mad, but I kept it to myself. “We can do it,” I silently chanted. But this time, I was trying to convince myself.
-----
I once watched this documentary called Touching the Void. It’s about two mountaineers, Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, who climb the north face of Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes, a feat no one else had ever successfully completed. It was the first time I’d seen people climb with crampons, which are like frames that slip over your boots, and have metal spikes on the bottom to help you grip the snow and ice. Of course, I had already known that people climbed mountains; I guess I had just never realized what that entailed. And here were these two guys, clinging to a vertical ice sheet, miles above sea level, in 40 mile an hour winds and freezing cold temperatures. I was awestruck.
They reached the summit of the mountain, but on the descent, Joe fell and broke his leg. The expedition had already taken longer than expected, and the pair had run out of fuel. They had no food, no drinking water, and no chance of rescue. Their only option was to continue descending. So Simon lowered Joe down the mountain, three hundred feet at a time. But when he unknowingly lowered Joe off an ice cliff, Joe was unable to give Simon the “tug-tug” signal that meant he could continue down the mountain. So Simon sat on the steep, snowy mountainside, while Joe hung off the rope three hundred feet below, helpless. After hours of waiting, the snow holding Simon in place on the slope was starting to give out. If that happened, they would both fall to their deaths. So Simon decided to cut the rope.
Joe fell deep into a crevasse, and Simon headed back to base camp, knowing that he had left his friend and climbing partner to die. But amazingly, Joe managed to get himself out of the crevasse and descend the rest of the mountain with a broken leg. After over three days with no food and water, Joe made it back to base camp, just hours before Simon was to return home.
-----
This story got me thinking a lot about what humans are capable of. Here in the United States, we live a pampered lifestyle. Many of us go from house to car to office and back again, barely interacting with the natural environment. But bicycling is a wholly different way to get around, and those who don’t do it regularly are often astounded at the physical torture that we put ourselves through, and the danger we put ourselves in. I still remember the way my mom recoiled when I told her was about to bike 50 miles on Highway 1 in California. "You can't do that!" she said. "It's too dangerous!"
I wouldn’t say that bicycling is easy, but I do think that almost anyone can do it. It’s less a matter of physical ability, and more about a willingness to put yourself in the situation where you have to do it. For example, I don’t have a car, so driving somewhere is not an option for me, and bicycling is usually more convenient, faster, and cheaper than taking public transportation. Once you have integrated 15 miles of bicycling into your daily routine—to go to work, pick up groceries, meet friends—50 miles up and down the coastline seems entirely do-able.
Which is why I initially felt so confident about our proposed 60 miles in the Central Valley. While it turned out to be much more difficult than I thought it would be, we still did it, simply because we had to. We had put ourselves in that situation, and there was no turning back. Realizing this, Sam got back on her bike and the four of us continued into the darkness, our pupils bursting wide, anxiously awaiting any glimpse of light that might signify human activity.
And then, it happened. A faint flicker in the distance. We stepped up our pace. The light became brighter, and more lights appeared. Then, voices: hoots and hollers echoing off the hillsides. Our fellow campers could see our bike lights bobbing in the darkness and were cheering us on. As we approached the entrance to the campsites, I looked at Lacey. She was laughing and crying at the same time. I started to cry too. It was truly one of the most triumphant moments of my life.
-----
That night, as I bathed in the hot springs and stared up at hundreds of stars, I felt proud of us. Though this bike trip was no monumental achievement in the grand scheme of things—it was no Siula Grande—it felt as though we had done something great. Maybe we were foolhardy, and maybe we were ill-prepared. But I think it is better to do something difficult...something that makes you feel like vomiting, pushes your body to the limit, and makes you laugh and cry all at once...than to never try at all.
This was an unrealistic proposition for several reasons. We were somewhere in the middle of California’s Central Valley, a 22,000 square mile swath of mostly farmland that runs nearly the entire length of the state. We knew we were getting close to our destination, Mercey Hot Springs, but we had no idea how close. Our GPS tracker wasn’t working this far out into the country, and neither were our phones. So there was no calling anyone. There was no waiting to be picked up. There was only one thing to do: get back on our bikes and keep following the weak beams of our headlights Westward, further into the meandering hills that surrounded us on all sides. It was nearly midnight.
By this point, I had already been feeling like I had to vomit for an hour or so. I hadn’t said anything about it to anyone, I guess because I hoped the feeling would just go away if I ignored it. And truthfully, I was also embarrassed. After all, I was the one who had convinced Sam, Lacey, and Denise to tack those extra 30 miles onto our ride. I couldn’t admit to myself, let alone to my friends, that maybe I really wasn’t as strong as I thought I was.
But when Sam fell, I managed to steel my resolve and convince her to keep going. Funny how that works, when someone else feels weak and needs you to be strong, you’re somehow able to find that strength, even though you thought you were the weak one.
-----
The bicycle trip to Mercey Hot Springs was Lacey’s idea. She had found an article online about remote yet accessible bike camping destinations in the greater San Francisco Bay Area. The article suggested that campers take the Amtrak East to Merced, then a bus south to Dos Palos, and ride an easy 30 miles into the hills that delineate the Western edge of the Central Valley.
As we started planning our trip, I felt confident that we didn’t need to bother with the bus, and that we should instead just ride the entire 60 miles from the train station to the hot springs. It’s mostly flat out there in the Central Valley, so I was sure the miles would slip away beneath us, and that we’d arrive at our destination earlier than expected. “We can do it!” I assured the group.
It’s almost funny now. Almost.
-----
We met at the Amtrak Station in Berkeley at 7am, our bikes loaded up with camping gear. Around 10, we arrived in Merced, and stopped at the grocery store for food and the bike shop for maps. By noon, we were on the road, and the sun was high in the sky. The high temperature that day was about 100 degrees, and the air was dry. But hey, it was flat! This was gonna be easy! This was gonna be fun!
If you’ve ever spent any time in a flat, hot, relatively unpopulated place, you know how that type of environment can start to mess with your psyche. There’s just….nothing. The land stretches out in front of you, providing no clues for estimating distances, throwing your depth perception completely out of whack. It seems as though this might be all there is. Just the sun, the dry earth, and you. We rode past miles of farmland; most of California’s agricultural output comes from the Central Valley region. All around us were patches of vegetables, green from irrigation, sucking up Sierra spring water while we shriveled in the heat.
This is not the type of environment in which you want to get a flat tire on your bicycle. I got the first one, and as I sat on the side of the road, shadeless, trying to complete what is normally a manageable and routine task, I began to see stars. Without saying a word, Lacey took the pump from my hands and finished up while I lay on the ground and sipped water from my Camelbak.
Every time we got back on the road after fixing a flat, it felt as if we were moving in slow motion. The miles were, in fact, not slipping away as I’d imagined. As Lacey changed her second flat tire—the fourth for the group—I started to get restless. This was taking too long. It was 3 in the afternoon and we’d only ridden about 15 miles.
Joe dropped us off at the Giant Burger in Firebaugh, about 30 miles from our final destination. We took up two tables in the nearly empty restaurant, throwing our dust-covered gear at one and spreading our maps out at the other. After a quick meal of ice cream and french fries, we got back on the road.
Thankfully, it had started to cool off, and the next 20 miles were some of the most pleasant of the day. We saw the sun set over the hills to the west, and soon we were riding in pure darkness, aside from the narrow beams of our bike lights. Not only was it dark… it was quiet. So quiet, we could hear the electricity running through power lines above our heads.
Like great distances, silence and darkness can mess with your mind. Every sound, every shape becomes threatening. We heard cows in the distance and worried that they would charge us at any moment. We stopped 15 feet from a piece of rebar that was poking out of the ground, completely convinced it was a snake ready to strike. I felt like I was going mad, but I kept it to myself. “We can do it,” I silently chanted. But this time, I was trying to convince myself.
-----
I once watched this documentary called Touching the Void. It’s about two mountaineers, Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, who climb the north face of Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes, a feat no one else had ever successfully completed. It was the first time I’d seen people climb with crampons, which are like frames that slip over your boots, and have metal spikes on the bottom to help you grip the snow and ice. Of course, I had already known that people climbed mountains; I guess I had just never realized what that entailed. And here were these two guys, clinging to a vertical ice sheet, miles above sea level, in 40 mile an hour winds and freezing cold temperatures. I was awestruck.
They reached the summit of the mountain, but on the descent, Joe fell and broke his leg. The expedition had already taken longer than expected, and the pair had run out of fuel. They had no food, no drinking water, and no chance of rescue. Their only option was to continue descending. So Simon lowered Joe down the mountain, three hundred feet at a time. But when he unknowingly lowered Joe off an ice cliff, Joe was unable to give Simon the “tug-tug” signal that meant he could continue down the mountain. So Simon sat on the steep, snowy mountainside, while Joe hung off the rope three hundred feet below, helpless. After hours of waiting, the snow holding Simon in place on the slope was starting to give out. If that happened, they would both fall to their deaths. So Simon decided to cut the rope.
Joe fell deep into a crevasse, and Simon headed back to base camp, knowing that he had left his friend and climbing partner to die. But amazingly, Joe managed to get himself out of the crevasse and descend the rest of the mountain with a broken leg. After over three days with no food and water, Joe made it back to base camp, just hours before Simon was to return home.
-----
This story got me thinking a lot about what humans are capable of. Here in the United States, we live a pampered lifestyle. Many of us go from house to car to office and back again, barely interacting with the natural environment. But bicycling is a wholly different way to get around, and those who don’t do it regularly are often astounded at the physical torture that we put ourselves through, and the danger we put ourselves in. I still remember the way my mom recoiled when I told her was about to bike 50 miles on Highway 1 in California. "You can't do that!" she said. "It's too dangerous!"
I wouldn’t say that bicycling is easy, but I do think that almost anyone can do it. It’s less a matter of physical ability, and more about a willingness to put yourself in the situation where you have to do it. For example, I don’t have a car, so driving somewhere is not an option for me, and bicycling is usually more convenient, faster, and cheaper than taking public transportation. Once you have integrated 15 miles of bicycling into your daily routine—to go to work, pick up groceries, meet friends—50 miles up and down the coastline seems entirely do-able.
Which is why I initially felt so confident about our proposed 60 miles in the Central Valley. While it turned out to be much more difficult than I thought it would be, we still did it, simply because we had to. We had put ourselves in that situation, and there was no turning back. Realizing this, Sam got back on her bike and the four of us continued into the darkness, our pupils bursting wide, anxiously awaiting any glimpse of light that might signify human activity.
And then, it happened. A faint flicker in the distance. We stepped up our pace. The light became brighter, and more lights appeared. Then, voices: hoots and hollers echoing off the hillsides. Our fellow campers could see our bike lights bobbing in the darkness and were cheering us on. As we approached the entrance to the campsites, I looked at Lacey. She was laughing and crying at the same time. I started to cry too. It was truly one of the most triumphant moments of my life.
-----
She Rides
"She Rides" an audio documentary about Fix Without Dix, or FWOD, an all women's and trans bike club in Oakland, CA. This was my first real attempt at an audio documentary, and it was produced in the Spring of 2011, while I was in graduate school at San Francisco State University.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
How Critical Mass Became an SF Cycling Ritual
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
The Giving State - Black Girls Code
When I learned about Black Girls Code, I knew I had to pay them a visit. BGC is a non-profit organization in San Francisco that teaches girls as young as seven about programming, robotics, math, science, and engineering. This is another in The California Report's ongoing series about volunteers in California, called The Giving State. (Photo courtesy of Black Girls Code.)
Friday, September 7, 2012
Bike Party Shares the Road With Kids
As a cyclist, I've always been impressed by families who ride together. I see a lot of parents commuting with their kids, using various attachments and trailers. It all looks a little complicated to me, but I really admire their commitment to green transportation. So, I decided to check out the East Bay Bike Party's family friendly spinoff ride, called Geared for Kids. I filed this story for The California Report at KQED.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Albany Group Fights City's Plan to Build Whole Foods on Farm Tract
Story for KQED News. Original post here.
A coalition of community groups in Albany is challenging the East Bay city's recent approval to put a Whole Foods store on part of a farm tract owned by UC-Berkeley.
The group has said it will turn in about 1,200 signatures. They say that's enough to force the City Council to reconsider the Whole Foods decision, or put the issue on the ballot.
Activist Tarina Larsen from Keep Albany Local says some residents are concerned about the development's impact on local businesses. "I feel that it would be very irresponsible of our city government to pit corporations against our local mom & pop businesses," Larsen explained. "Because that's a battle that our local businesses will lose."
The plot of land in question is part of UC's Gill Tract, which urban farm protesters tried to take over earlier this year.
A coalition of community groups in Albany is challenging the East Bay city's recent approval to put a Whole Foods store on part of a farm tract owned by UC-Berkeley.
The group has said it will turn in about 1,200 signatures. They say that's enough to force the City Council to reconsider the Whole Foods decision, or put the issue on the ballot.
Activist Tarina Larsen from Keep Albany Local says some residents are concerned about the development's impact on local businesses. "I feel that it would be very irresponsible of our city government to pit corporations against our local mom & pop businesses," Larsen explained. "Because that's a battle that our local businesses will lose."
The plot of land in question is part of UC's Gill Tract, which urban farm protesters tried to take over earlier this year.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
BART Braces for Bicycles on Board at Busy Times
I wrote this blog post for KQED's Bay Area news blog News Fix. You can see the original post here.
------
I’ll admit it: I’m a 30 year old woman with a security blanket. That security blanket has two wheels, a set of handlebars, and weighs about 20 pounds. It’s my bicycle, and I hardly ever go anywhere without it.
Friends and colleagues often offer me rides to places I need to go, and are utterly confounded when I turn them down. My bicycle offers me a level of flexibility and independence that the passenger seat of a car could just never provide.
So when I heard that BART was experimenting with lifting its restrictions on bicycles, I was elated. And really skeptical.
Currently BART bans bikes during rush hours in commute directions. That's for a reason. If you ride BART in the mornings and evenings on weekdays, you know that most of the trains are crowded. On some trains, finding a place to stand is challenge enough, let alone a place for me and my bicycle.
“During commute, the trains are already at crush load,” Antonette Bryant told me. Bryant is president of the Amalgamated Transit Union Local 1555 and a station agent. She says that while most cyclists are courteous and respectful of other passengers, she worries about those who are not.
“If you come to a car that’s crowded and you’re on a bike, you’re not supposed to get on that car. I’ve witnessed, as an agent and a rider, people forcing their way on the trains, with bicycles.”
Steve Beraldo, of BART’s Customer Access Department, hopes that cyclists know what they are doing. Every Friday in August, passengers will be allowed to bring bicycles on board trains at all times. I asked Steve how this is going to work, when commute-hour trains are already packed with passengers.
“We’re really gonna emphasize that this is an experiment. We really need all the bicyclists to use common sense, use good judgment, and not board crowded trains.”
This month’s experiment is just one part of a comprehensive plan to facilitate bicycle access to BART, made possible through a grant from CalTrans.
Victoria Eisen, co-founder of Eisen Letunic, the Berkeley-based transportation, environmental, & urban planning firm that authored the bicycle plan told me about half of the people who ride bikes to BART bring them on board.
"And of the people who bring them on board, I think about half of those bring them on board because they don’t have a place to leave them at the station, where they feel safe that their bike will be there when they get back home,” she said.
This is a legitimate concern for many cyclists. The nearest station to my home is North Berkeley, where there are no lockers or in-station parking areas. To me, it’s just not worth the risk; I’ve had a bicycle stolen in the past, and it’s not a fun experience.
Eisen said that one of the important goals of the new bicycle plan is to increase bicycle parking—both in terms of availability and security—at stations throughout the BART system.
But for some cyclists, bike parking isn’t the issue. “When I’m coming to San Francisco or when I’m coming to the East Bay, I often have multiple stops and I need my bike on the other end,” Adina Levin, of the Silicon Valley Bicycle Coalition, told me. “Bringing your bike on board gives you 16 times as much access as walking, you can get 16 times as far, so it’s a really powerful tool.”
If this commute-hour experiment is successful and BART does end up lifting the ban, I’ll definitely be taking my security blanket on board. But don’t worry, we won’t block the doors.
BART’s rules regarding bicycles on board have become increasingly lenient over the past 40 years. Here’s a timeline of the history:
1972: BART opens, no bikes are allowed on board
1974: Bikes are allowed in the rear half of the last car, during non-commute hours, with purchase of a $3 permit. No more than 5 bicycles are allowed on the train at once.
1988: Bikes are allowed in both the front and rear of the last car. Bikes allowed during commute hours only in “reverse-commute” directions: from Embarcadero to East Bay destinations in the morning, from the East Bay to Embarcadero in the evenings.
1997: Permit no longer required to bring bike on board. Bicycles allowed in the rear half of any car except the first.
1998: Time restrictions tailored to focus on specific trains with heavy commute loads. Blackout periods reduced from approximately 5 ½ hours per day to 3 ½ hours per day.
1999: Cyclists no longer required to enter through the rear doors of cars.
2009: BART designates “Bike Spaces” on many of its new cars.
------
I’ll admit it: I’m a 30 year old woman with a security blanket. That security blanket has two wheels, a set of handlebars, and weighs about 20 pounds. It’s my bicycle, and I hardly ever go anywhere without it.
Friends and colleagues often offer me rides to places I need to go, and are utterly confounded when I turn them down. My bicycle offers me a level of flexibility and independence that the passenger seat of a car could just never provide.
So when I heard that BART was experimenting with lifting its restrictions on bicycles, I was elated. And really skeptical.
Currently BART bans bikes during rush hours in commute directions. That's for a reason. If you ride BART in the mornings and evenings on weekdays, you know that most of the trains are crowded. On some trains, finding a place to stand is challenge enough, let alone a place for me and my bicycle.
“During commute, the trains are already at crush load,” Antonette Bryant told me. Bryant is president of the Amalgamated Transit Union Local 1555 and a station agent. She says that while most cyclists are courteous and respectful of other passengers, she worries about those who are not.
“If you come to a car that’s crowded and you’re on a bike, you’re not supposed to get on that car. I’ve witnessed, as an agent and a rider, people forcing their way on the trains, with bicycles.”
Steve Beraldo, of BART’s Customer Access Department, hopes that cyclists know what they are doing. Every Friday in August, passengers will be allowed to bring bicycles on board trains at all times. I asked Steve how this is going to work, when commute-hour trains are already packed with passengers.
“We’re really gonna emphasize that this is an experiment. We really need all the bicyclists to use common sense, use good judgment, and not board crowded trains.”
This month’s experiment is just one part of a comprehensive plan to facilitate bicycle access to BART, made possible through a grant from CalTrans.
Victoria Eisen, co-founder of Eisen Letunic, the Berkeley-based transportation, environmental, & urban planning firm that authored the bicycle plan told me about half of the people who ride bikes to BART bring them on board.
"And of the people who bring them on board, I think about half of those bring them on board because they don’t have a place to leave them at the station, where they feel safe that their bike will be there when they get back home,” she said.
This is a legitimate concern for many cyclists. The nearest station to my home is North Berkeley, where there are no lockers or in-station parking areas. To me, it’s just not worth the risk; I’ve had a bicycle stolen in the past, and it’s not a fun experience.
Eisen said that one of the important goals of the new bicycle plan is to increase bicycle parking—both in terms of availability and security—at stations throughout the BART system.
But for some cyclists, bike parking isn’t the issue. “When I’m coming to San Francisco or when I’m coming to the East Bay, I often have multiple stops and I need my bike on the other end,” Adina Levin, of the Silicon Valley Bicycle Coalition, told me. “Bringing your bike on board gives you 16 times as much access as walking, you can get 16 times as far, so it’s a really powerful tool.”
If this commute-hour experiment is successful and BART does end up lifting the ban, I’ll definitely be taking my security blanket on board. But don’t worry, we won’t block the doors.
BART’s rules regarding bicycles on board have become increasingly lenient over the past 40 years. Here’s a timeline of the history:
1972: BART opens, no bikes are allowed on board
1974: Bikes are allowed in the rear half of the last car, during non-commute hours, with purchase of a $3 permit. No more than 5 bicycles are allowed on the train at once.
1988: Bikes are allowed in both the front and rear of the last car. Bikes allowed during commute hours only in “reverse-commute” directions: from Embarcadero to East Bay destinations in the morning, from the East Bay to Embarcadero in the evenings.
1997: Permit no longer required to bring bike on board. Bicycles allowed in the rear half of any car except the first.
1998: Time restrictions tailored to focus on specific trains with heavy commute loads. Blackout periods reduced from approximately 5 ½ hours per day to 3 ½ hours per day.
1999: Cyclists no longer required to enter through the rear doors of cars.
2009: BART designates “Bike Spaces” on many of its new cars.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Palo Alto Celebrates New Nature Center
Friday, June 22, 2012
A Team Sport for the Visually Impaired
There's a basketball court at a park near my house, and sometimes when I ride my bike past, there are people out there playing basketball in their wheelchairs. This got me interested in doing a piece on team sports for folks with disabilities. I found out that the games were a program of the Bay Area Outreach and Recreation Program, or BORP, and started exploring the other programs they run. This is how I discovered goalball, which is a team sport for people with visual impairments. When I checked out a scrimmage, I was really impressed with their athleticism, and even got to talk to a Paralympian while I was there. This piece originally aired on The California Report on KQED.
Friday, June 1, 2012
California Songs - Raashan Ahmad's "Oakland"
I interviewed my old friend Raashan Ahmad for The California Report's series "California Songs." The song "Oakland" is off his 2009 album, Soul Power.
Monday, April 9, 2012
The Giving State - Creative Growth
This piece was produced for The California Report at KQED in San Francisco. It's part of The Giving State, a series on volunteers in California. Laura Jaeger volunteers at Creative Growth, an art studio for developmentally handicapped adults in Oakland.
Monday, April 2, 2012
The Giving State - Spokeland
Spokeland is a volunteer-run bicycle co-op in Oakland. I've visited many times, and have learned how to overhaul my bottom bracket, repack my hubs, true my wheels, adjust my derailleurs, and do a bunch of other stuff. My favorite time to come work on my bike is during women's & trans only shop time, which is when I interviewed Senta Burke about why she volunteers at Spokeland. This piece was produced for The California Report's series about volunteers in California, called "The Giving State."
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