If you read the editorial pages of small-town America’s local papers or scan the websites of rural chambers of commerce — an exercise that will appeal to only a tiny minority of masochists, I’d imagine — you’ll encounter a lot of conspicuous lamentation about the decline of Main Street. The villain is usually the latest big-box store to pave over a wetland just outside the town limits. Or else it’s the Internet, that deadly Web spun by corporate spiders for the sole purpose of entrapping innocent citizens in its sticky meshes. If these evil forces didn’t exist, Main Street would be free to flower once again. Or so the boosters’ argument goes.

A mischievous critic might be tempted to ask why the feckless locals abandoned their friendly, accommdating Main Street merchants to rush off to the big-box stores and online retailers in the first place. Lower prices played their part, of course, as did convenience. How many working couples really looked forward to spending half their weekend trudging from shop to shop in search of the necessities of life — and paying through the nose for the privilege, into the bargain? But this certainly wasn’t the whole story. Anyway, it’s much too big a question for me to tackle here, now or ever.

Instead, I’m going to look at a single case study: Myberry, the little college town where I do much of my shopping. Or where I would do most of my shopping, if (1) the shops sold what I need to buy (it may seem strange, but I can go for years without feeling the urge to buy a bong, a scented candle, or a hand-dipped chocolate truffle), (2) I could afford the prices for the few everyday necessities that are still offered for sale on Main Street, and (3) I could find a place to park. Mind you, there are plenty of parking spaces to be had. But they’re for cars, not bikes. And I do a lot of my shopping on a bike. (Yes, even in winter.)

Here’s one example of the way the local business community welcomes cyclist-shoppers:

This interesting piece of surrealist art occupied a prominent place on Main Street for days — in front of a bike shop, no less. It reminded me of the “Here Be Dragons” tag that medieval mapmakers occasionally placed at the edge of their mappae mundi, as a warning to any traveler foolish enough to contemplate exchanging the security of the known world for the dangers of trackless, uncharted lands. Or maybe the bike shop owner intended it as a tribute to Salvador Dali. In either case, the display smacked more of warning than welcome.

It doesn’t have to be that way. When I was still a girl, and my parents were weighing the pros and cons of opening a roadside restaurant, my grandfather offered this sage advice: “If you give them a place to park, they’ll come.” He wasn’t thinking about bikes, of course. But his advice should nonetheless be heeded by any business hoping to attract cyclists as customers. Give us a place to park — and something more than scented candles and bongs to buy — and you’ll see us shopping on Main Street once again.

I’m waiting for Myberry to recognize this, though I’m not holding my breath. In the meantime, it should be said that not all of small-town America is clueless. Even some big cites are coming round. Communities from Portland, Oregon, to Schuylerville, New York, are shining examples of what can be done to encourage two-wheeled travel — and save Main Street from itself, as well.

Will Myberry and others like it heed the clarion call? Who knows? But until they do, don’t expect me to feel much sympathy when the next round of hand-wringing over the “decline of Main Street” begins. The gods help those who help themselves, after all. Give us a place to park and we’ll come. Or not. The choice, ladies and gentlemen of the chambers of commerce, is yours.

Further Reading

• Bikes and Infrastructure, an archive of photo stories at TNO
   
• “Asphalt, Asphalt, Every Where, Nor Any Place to Park…”
• “No Room at the Curb: A Thought Experiment“
   
• “Making Cycling Safer and Easier? It Can Be Done: The Case of Portland, Oregon”
• “Cyclists Welcome! Ride-and-Park in Schuylerville, New York”

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Imagine a town without parking lots or designated parking spaces. Any motorist hoping to do business in town would then have to park by stealth, on private property. Often his car would be obstructing a sidewalk or alleyway, and he could never be sure that it wouldn’t suffer damage in his absence — or that he’d find it where he’d left it when he returned. The property owner could have had it towed away. Or the police might have confiscated it. The motorist’s car was almost certain to be parked “illegally,” after all. Which means that his complaints, if indeed he had the temerity to voice them, would at best be met with a shrug of an official shoulder. Outlaws are foolish to expect protection.

Unthinkable? Think again. This is the common experience of anyone who uses a bicycle to commute or do business in the States. With a few happy exceptions, cyclists are condemned to park their bikes on private property, in unsanctioned locations, hoping against hope that their two-wheeled transport will still be there when they return. Even on those rare occasions when a bicycle rack is (grudgingly) provided, it’s likely to be a “wheel-bender,” incapable of accepting any bike with fenders or racks, and — more often than not — tucked away on some squalid scrap of waste ground, littered with dog turds and ideally situated to allow would-be thieves and vandals to work in peace, undisturbed by passers-by.

No motorist would accept this state of affairs, of course. But (almost) all Stateside cyclists have no choice. Is it any wonder, then, that few of us see the bicycle as viable transportation, even for short distances, in smiling summer weather? Americans, by and large, regard bicycles as toys, and by and large that’s how Americans want them to stay.

Too bad. Our compulsory automobility is slowly robbing us of our ability to get around under our own power. Modern man, writer Daniel Behrman once observed, “can pass on a hill at eighty miles per hour, but he can’t climb a flight of stairs.” This isn’t hyperbole. It’s a fair summary of the state of the American nation. (Automobile means “self-moving,” though the “self” in this case is the machine, not the man or woman at the wheel. Nice irony, that, even if it was unintended.)

But I see I’ve strayed from my original point, which was simply that it’s not easy to find a good place to park a bike in most American towns and cities. So, Stateside cyclists… How about it? Are you feeling lucky today? I wish I were.

Further Reading

• “Bikes and Infrastructure,” a collection of photographic essays from TNO
• “Asphalt, Asphalt, Every Where, Nor Any Place to Park…”
• “Making Cycling Safer and Easier? It Can Be Done: The Case of Portland, Oregon”
• “Cyclists Welcome! Ride-and-Park in Schuylerville, New York”

Questions? Comments? Just click here!

The owner of this well-appointed all-weather bike is lucky. His employer allows him to park his machine in a foyer within sight of his desk. If more employers were so accommodating, more folks would commute by bike. Kudos!

We love our bikes, right? And we never tire of looking at them. At least I don’t, and if I’m to judge from what others tell me, I’m not alone. So each Monday I’ll publish a bike-related picture. Most of the time it will be a photo, but don’t be surprised if a few drawings and paintings get added to the mix from time to time. I might even include a sculpture or two. (OK. A photo of a sculpture.) Anything, in short, that evokes the world on two wheels. And don’t be shy. If you have a picture you’d like to share, just email it to me. I’ll do the rest.

Questions? Comments? Just click here!