Completing the Streets: A Simple Discourse

As gasoline prices continue to soar, Americans are beginning to feel the pinch enough to desire an understanding of the intricate nuances of multi-modal transportation options. One of the key concepts emerging at all levels across the nation is called Complete Streets.

Two simple words that on their own merit are innocuous:

Complete, having all necessary parts, elements, or steps.

Streets, thoroughfares, especially in a city, town, or village that are wider than an alley or lane and that usually include sidewalks.

However, paired together and people, especially folks who do not have engineering or planning backgrounds, begin to sweat. The heart rate soars, the throat becomes scratchy, the breath comes in short gasps. I know that first-hand. As a bicyclist who wants the rights of the road extended to me (and my breathren) I am in favor of policies that incorporate safe passage. But, the idea was daunting. After all, if it is a concept germinating in minds of educated people with far more time to consider it constituents parts, it has to be more complex than this dumb old country boy bicyclist can comprehend, right?

Not exactly . . .

The paradox stems from the fear being both easy and hard to see. It's easy to envision because any time talk starts about infrastruture changes in the road building and maintenance theatre, John Q. and Joan X. Public sees gargantuan dollar amounts and massive interruptions on the horizon, although usually in the opposite order. "Why are we doing this project?" questions first arise after the couple, and many more like them, begin falling prey to the traffic delays that seem to occur primarily when they are behind the wheel in the project area. If John and Joan are of the fiscal mindset, they will soon discover the project is costing tax dollars they fork over. If they cannot see where the project benefits them, and immediately I might add, they begin to voice objections.

Conversely, the fear is diffcult to understand because the idea is so simple, sometimes not as costly as one might think, and extremely beneficial in both the short- and long-term. The only groups who seemingly do not benefit from a Complete Streets initiative are the auto and fossil fuel industries and the associated child enterprises. I say seemingly because only the most myopic proponents of these transportation resource gluttons do not consider how all transportation components can operate more efficiently if all are allowed, and encouraged, to operate together.

In short, there will be better resource climates for all when all are allowed to operate in the same comparative climate. It is often, though, a tough battle to fend off the more powerful commercial sectors whose real catalyst is GREED.

The National Complete Streets Coalition is the place to find a greater understanding of the concept. But it is basically summed up as the official mandate to plan and engineer streets to include all facets of multi-modal transportation options within the body governed by the proposed area. That is, the federal government can have a policy, but the states don't have to follow it on their 'private' roads. Likewise, a state can enact a policy, but a city doesn't need to adhere to it on roads they govern.

One of the most misunderstand precepts is that the policy will be the same at all levels. That is a false idea, but highly favored as propaganda by the Bastardians of Avaritia set. Even within cities of a like size, whether or not they are in the same state, the policy should be what all people in that area need to see as viable transportation options.

1. Complete Streets all begins with a vision . . . and a vision should be the property of the people, not the select few.
   

2. Complete Streets specifies that a road covered by the policy includes all users. That means pedestrians, bicyclists and transit passengers of all ages and abilities, as well as trucks, buses and automobiles.
   

   (Sadly for operators of single-digit horsepower riding mowers who insist on taking their prized vehicle down to the local Bubba's Beers and Butts for noxious refills, it does not include you.)
   

3. Complete Streets covers all road projects, including new and retrofit projects, provisioning for design, planning, maintenance, and operations, for the entire right of way.
   

4. Complete Streets does not say that a body must do these things today, in an otherwise tight public funds fiscal landscape (Again, be mindful that the B of A lobbyists will be shouting this falsehood from rooftops . . . and probably FOX News). It just says that when things are done, they must be done with all users in mind.
   

So the next time you hear the term Complete Streets being considered in your community, county, state, or even the nation, perk up your ears and get involved with the process. And even if you do not believe the action or idea benefits you today, think ahead to the future: It might benefit your children and grandchildren.

PegLeg and Me

A few years ago, after fighting for several months with the idea of commuting by public transit, I relented and took the plunge.

To be sure, I had a valid reason for clinging to the thought that my single-occupancy vehicle commute was necessary. At the time I was an unabashed workaholic, happy to be chained to the idea that I was, indeed, doing something as important as rocket science. So if, for example, I wanted to extend my cherished daily slaving time in the urban jungle ruins, a viable, easy-to-use option of getting home was required.

Still, it wasn't until after a co-worker began using the bus that I saw the cost-saving benefit and common-sense rationale. So one day, with great fear and trepidation, I purchased a multi-ride pass and set off on the magnificent journey of public transit.

There were two options: The first was an express route that had two primary stops, a beginning and an end. The second was a regular route that traversed a major thoroughfare and made about 679 stops (give or take a few dozen) along the 15-mile span of my entry points.

The clientele on the express route were primarily white-collar cube dwellers and was less crowded. From the perspective of wondering if I'd get mugged on the way home, it was a safer option. It also cost a bit more at the time so the advantage of safety was, to a degree, minified.

Conversely, the folks encountered on the regular route were, to be sure, of the more earthy urbanite breed; a few looked downright scary. But, being of a frugal nature at times (i.e., darn near broke), I chose this option. After all, I was a fearless, physically imposing (120 pounds sopping wet) cube warrior. What . . . could go wrong.

The first day's inbound ride was uneventful, and I was feeling really swell about the experience . . . couldn't wait for the evening ride home. Arriving that afternoon at the crowded outdoor terminal plaza, still not sure of the real timing of the jitney, or even the exact number of my route, I finally found my station and anxiously awaited boarding. True to expectations, the fellow riders were everything I was not: shoddily dressed, filthy, smelly, having bad hair days, the whole nine yards. But, I was not going to be intimidated. I would rub elbows with them all, even if it meant desiring to burn my clothes immediately after arriving home.

In the distance I saw the charabanc round a corner, sputtering and spewing its diesel emissions like a badge of honor. Being the nice guy I am, I let the women, children, and most of the male cretins board first. Heading to the back of the coach, I shoehorned into the last available aisle-facing seat. There was room for one more rider, and into the seat next to me, and practically staring at my profile, a grungemaster settled in with a sigh and grin.

The bus slowly eased away from the sidewalk, and my stomach began to quieten; my olfactory nerves were calming as well.

Suddenly, but in a practiced and deliberate action, the fellow who took the last seat, reached down and . . . to my horror, twisted his leg off, and planted it, quite loudly, next to him.

I did not utter a sound, and my eyes stayed focused straight ahead . . . even as the denim fabric, now devoid of substance to cover, flapped in the breeze for the next several miles. The remainder of the ride was the most still I have ever sat on a bouncing bucket of bolts to this day, over a half decade later. Like the Bible says I should do, I did not look to the right, and I did not look to the left.

And after that day, I also never saw PegLeg again . . . primarily because the express route became more justifiable.