Los Angeles: A Tale of Two Bike Lanes

The scene of the battle: Figueroa Street runs for 30 miles north from the port of LA. Image: JM Rosenfeld via Flickr, re-used under creative commons.

It was the best of plans, it was the worst of plans. It was a plan hailed as a success, it was a plan that failed miserably. It was a plan that had won over those who’d been sceptical; it was a plan that once-supportive council members sent unceremoniously to the scrap heap. And, to top it all, both the biggest success and the biggest failure of Los Angeles’ plans for cycling infrastructure took place on the same street.

LA wasn’t always a driver’s town. In the 1920s, it had the longest urban rail network in the world, and innovative infrastructure was built for cyclists as well. Despite this, Angelenos fell in love with the car early on and moved for more highway projects, making it the road-based city it is today.

Lately, though, the city’s residents have become increasingly supportive of transportation projects that go beyond the car. In 2008, they voted for Measure R, which includes one of the most ambitious rail construction plans in the United States. Two years later, the city approved a bike plan that calls for 1,684 miles of bikeways.

All the same, implementing these plans has been slow going: voters who supported the creation of bike lanes in theory changed their mind when it came time to take away their precious car lanes or parking spaces. The Los Angeles Times estimates that, of the more than 1,600 miles of proposed bikeways, just 200 have been built.

One particularly acute case of this has occurred on one of the city’s most important roads, Figueroa Street. Though not as famous as other LA thoroughfares like Hollywood Boulevard, it’s a key artery for the city’s downtown, connecting the rolling hills of gentrifying Northeast Los Angeles with USC, the Coliseum, and the city’s distant port to the south.

The planned bike lane for Figueroa in Northeast Los Angeles has become a case study in exactly how much can go wrong with a seemingly good plan. In documents released in 2010, the area was listed as a priority. But after locals became hostile to the idea, councilman Gil Cedillo, who’d previously supported the plan, suddenly changed his mind; in July, the Los Angeles Times reported that Cedillo had halted all work on advancing the bike lane project. Citing concerns that adding bike lanes would restrict access to emergency vehicles, he added that cyclists are a “tiny but vocal segment of the population”.

Naturally, this didn’t go over well with the cycling community in Northeast LA. Josef Bray-Ali, owner of the well known Flying Pigeon bike shop and a vocal supporter of cycling infrastructure throughout the city, said of Cedillo, “We're going to have to get in his face non-stop, constantly…  I'm not going to back down.” Rick Risemberg, another advocate, accused Cedillo in a blog post of responding to pressure from those who don’t live in his district but do provide much of his financial backing.

As cycling advocates in Northeast LA regroup, perhaps they could learn from the tactics used to quell opposition to a scheme further south on Figueroa. In 2010, a plan for bike lanes along the two mile stretch between Downtown and the USC/Exposition Park complex, known as the MyFigueroa plan, began to take shape after a series of public meetings.

As with many other plans, the plan drew widespread, though diffuse, popular support. By contrast, its opponents were few, but dedicated – and, most importantly, rich. The website People for Bikes reported in April 2014 that the most visible face of opposition to the project was Darryl Holter, owner of eight car dealerships along the route, who vocally opined that the project would hurt his sales. But behind the scenes, other major local players, such as USC and the Natural History Museum, were dragging their feet, too. Though they publicly supported the plan, they also called for a traffic study that would jeopardise key funding for the project.

Fortunately for bike advocates, such opposition was overwhelmed by the strength of grassroots support. The Los Angeles County Bicycle Coalition mobilised supporters to put pressure on the city council. The plan won backing, too, from others in the local business community and all five local neighbourhood councils. In March, the campaign found another ally at the very top of the city’s government: mayor Eric Garcetti. By May, opinion had turned and construction was under way; even Holter backed down, and withdrew his case.

It’s unclear whether this strategy would work in Northeast LA. Though this area was included in Garcetti's “Great Streets” plan, the mayor has stayed silent on the issue. Maybe the shadowy interests accused of manipulating Cedillo are more powerful than those further south along Figueroa. Nevertheless, this example has important lessons for all cities looking to build bike infrastructure. Car dependent cities elsewhere should take note. 

This article was amended on 18 August to correct some inaccuracies concerning Mayor Garcettie's "Great Streets" plan.

 
 
 
 

Park Life: On the repeated incineration of Alexandra Palace

Alexandra Palace from the air. Image: John Bointon/Wikimedia Commons.

Head directly north in a straight line from the official centre point of London at Charing Cross, and the first park of any real size you’ll hit is Alexandra Park. You’ll know you’re headed in the right direction when you spot the whacking great palace sat on the hill in the middle of it.

But Alexandra Palace and Park aren’t the former home of some forgotten bit of the nobility: they were actually purpose built for more or less their current use, as a venue for North Londoners to get up to a wide variety of things that may or may not be considered fun.

Various Victorians, including Owen Jones (presumably not him), one of the architects responsible for the Crystal Palace in the south, thought an equivalent in the north might be worthwhile, and used the same cost-saving manoeuvre: while the Crystal Palace had been built from the construction materials of the Great Exhibition, it’s northern counterpart used parts from the 1862 International Exhibition in Kensington.

Proving some kind of point, I guess.

Initially known as “the palace of the People”, it took on a marginal air of aristocracy when the park opened in 1863, the same year that the future King Edward VII married Alexandra of Denmark. The building opened in 1873, and copied Crystal Palace again, by almost immediately burning to the ground.


But two years later they’d nailed the bits back together and finally the people of North London had something to do other than complaining how long it’s going to take them to get to this birthday party in Peckham.

One of the more notable features of the next century or so of the park’s existence was its racecourse, known as The Frying Pan, because it looked a bit like a frying pan on whatever the Victorian equivalent of satellite photography is (balloon rides or imagining things, I guess). Popular for much of its life, attendances dwindled in the 1970s. Who wants to look at horses when television’s in colour now?

It was the favourite course of famous sexist and horse describer John McCririck – he’s been linked to efforts to get it rebuilt, and has instructed his wife to scatter his ashes on the site. Hopefully local residents will be warned so they can shut their windows first. Though the outline of the course is visible from above – the cricket pitch sits in the middle of it – It otherwise only survives in the names of a couple of now trendified gastro-pubs, the Victoria Stakes and the Starting Posts.

Early non-horse based physical activities available included going up in a balloon (mainly to draw pictures of what the race course looked like, presumably) and then jumping off the balloon while wearing a parachute if you were, for example, waitress turned daredevil Dolly Shepherd, commemorated in a mural on the side of the palace. There was also a lido, which legend states was used to wash visiting circus Elephants. It is unclear whether this is connected to the dubious cleanliness that to its demise by the early part of the last century.

Winter sports have been an unlikely intermittent features of the park: you prod the some of the undergrowth on one side of the hill, you might be able to uncover the remains of what was once London’s most popular dry ski slope, ideal for if you didn’t want to have to lie to all your friends about how much fun your first skiing holiday had been. Though long since defunct, in 1990 it gained a spiritual successor in the palace’s ice rink, which among other things has been home to various ice hockey teams, most recently the ‘Haringey Huskies’, it says here.

Less glamorous from this angle. Image: Ed Jefferson.

But back in the 1980s the palace and park were briefly threatened with being entirely sport-based. After the palace decided to have a belated centenary celebration and burn down again, there was a proposal to redevelop the whole thing into a massive sports complex, including – good news, snow haters – a brand new dry ski slope. In the end nothing came of it – the existing building was retained and most of the sport associated with the park now is of the indoor variety: among many other things, the palace hosts darts and table tennis tournaments.

The park does see a bit of the action. Aside from the football and cricket pitches, a popular brand of energising drink sponsors an annual soapbox race, and there’s a miniature golf course that makes up for being golf by a) being miniature and b) allowing you to drink while playing (well, if you book the whole thing for an office party circa 2011).

Sadly the park’s best sport of all has been retired: watching puce-faced CityMetric writers attempt to run to the top of the hill the palace sits on, while placing bets on whether they will reach the top before keeling over and dying (2015-2018).