What’s the difference between London’s Quietways and Cycle Superhighways? A brief explainer

There’s gratitude for you: Boris Johnson crosses Vauxhall Bridge on CS5 in 2015. Image: Getty.

For a while there, London was taking great strides in building some very good cycle infrastructure. Much of what was put in, and what is still going in, was begun by former London mayor, Boris Johnson, and his cycling commissioner, Andrew Gilligan – albeit only after years of planning and consultation and argy bargy with opponents of road space reallocation.

The current mayor, Sadiq Khan, began at a slower pace. But when I met his new deputy mayor for transport Heidi Alexander last week, she talked about “supercharging” the cycling programme. So – what’s being supercharged?

What the now former foreign secretary Boris Johnson – a cyclist himself – started was effectively a two tier network of routes. The headline projects are the superhighways – originally 12 direct, often kerb-segregated routes on main roads, for the faster commuters. These are numbered broadly on a clock face alignment, so CS6 runs south from the city centre, CS2 runs north east, and so on. These were mostly on the 5 per cent of London streets controlled directly by Transport for London (TfL), and so were easier to complete.

The original proposed cycle superhighways. Click to expand. Image: TfL.

Seven of these were built, and plans for three more are in the offing, albeit in some cases with severe delays, thanks to push back from boroughs. These are the three – CS4, CS9 and CS11 – that Alexander and her team have their “supercharging” eyes on.

Then there are the Quietways. These are largely un-segregated routes on lower traffic back streets. They’re often less direct, but are oftentimes on less polluted roads, and are intended for less confident (and some would read, female) riders.

Simple enough, right? If only there weren’t so many exceptions.

For one thing, the Quietways are on the 95 per cent of London’s roads run by its 32 boroughs, which take a variety of very differing view on cycling. The result is an at times notional mixed bag of routes: some are little more than signage and painted bike stencils on roads, but they’re interspersed with good interventions, dependent largely on which borough boundary you just crossed.

The 2016 proposals for Quietways. Note how the numbering scheme bears no relation to the cycle superhighway one. Click to expand. Image: TfL.

The good ones, like Q1, include “modal filtering” – blocking rat-running traffic but permitting cycles and pedestrians through. (Q1 also features an excellent new bike path alongside Millwall FC’s stadium.) The bad ones pit those “less confident” cyclists against one way traffic on narrow roads head on.

Then there are the ‘blue paint’ superhighways – sections of seriously busy roads painted blue and given over to cyclists. These were Boris’ early stab at main road cycle routes, painted as far back as 2010 to match the bike hire scheme’s original sponsor, Barclays Bank. However, many lacked even white lines to indicate dedicated cycle space, instead sharing existing bus lanes with heavy, and at times irate, bus traffic. Some were fatally poor, and deaths on CS2 helped make the case for improvements.

That route was one of the first to be re-built as a segregated route. But although many more have since been upgraded to include kerb protection and first-in-the-UK infrastructure like cycle-specific traffic lights, some blue paint cycle superhighways still remain.


Then there’s the anomaly of CS1 – a Quietway in all but name. Built largely on Hackney and Islington roads, the route follows residential streets, some of which also happen to be popular driving rat runs. Although these are heavily used by bikes, some sections are also heavily used by vans, cars, taxis and so forth, making it fairly unpleasant for cyclists in places. The one bit of planned kerb-protected cycle lane, where the route runs briefly on the busy Balls Pond Road, has not yet been built, despite winning support in a consultation back in 2015.

More Quietways and Superhighways are being planned, and built – but Khan and his team are a long way from meeting his pledge to triple the length of bike lanes Boris built. The last mayoral administration completed 41km of main road TfL physically-protected cycle tracks and a further 39km from borough schemes. That of Sadiq Khan has built just 14km of cycle tracks since becoming mayor: he’s got two years left before his first term runs out. It’s a tough ask but, to be fair, it took Boris until his final two years of eight to really get going on decent protected routes.

London’s boroughs are in some cases hindering progress, and Heidi Alexander, and walking & cycling commissioner Will Norman have a challenge on their hands. Take CS11 (West End to Swiss Cottage), planned and consulted on under the former mayor, but now stuck in a quagmire of opposition from Westminster City Council. The borough, one of the least bike-friendly in the city, recently launched a legal challenge against the route, at the same time as going back on plans to pedestrianise Oxford Street. CS9 in West London also faces opposition, from local politicians, businesses, residents – even a church.

So can Heidi Alexander really “supercharge” the city’s cycling programme? Her strategy, she told me, is to work collaboratively and “condense the development phases, so do things in parallel around the consultation and the design”. The proof will, as always, be in the pudding. For now, though, there’s a way to go.

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What does the fate of Detroit tell us about the future of Silicon Valley?

Detroit, 2008. Image: Getty.

There was a time when California’s Santa Clara Valley, bucolic home to orchards and vineyards, was known as “the valley of heart’s delight”. The same area was later dubbed “Silicon Valley,” shorthand for the high-tech combination of creativity, capital and California cool. However, a backlash is now well underway – even from the loyal gadget-reviewing press. Silicon Valley increasingly conjures something very different: exploitation, excess, and elitist detachment.

Today there are 23 active Superfund toxic waste cleanup sites in Santa Clara County, California. Its culture is equally unhealthy: Think of the Gamergate misogynist harassment campaigns, the entitled “tech bros” and rampant sexism and racism in Silicon Valley firms. These same companies demean the online public with privacy breaches and unauthorised sharing of users’ data. Thanks to the companies’ influences, it’s extremely expensive to live in the area. And transportation is so clogged that there are special buses bringing tech-sector workers to and from their jobs. Some critics even perceive threats to democracy itself.

In a word, Silicon Valley has become toxic.

Silicon Valley’s rise is well documented, but the backlash against its distinctive culture and unscrupulous corporations hints at an imminent twist in its fate. As historians of technology and industry, we find it helpful to step back from the breathless champions and critics of Silicon Valley and think about the long term. The rise and fall of another American economic powerhouse – Detroit – can help explain how regional reputations change over time.

The rise and fall of Detroit

The city of Detroit became a famous node of industrial capitalism thanks to the pioneers of the automotive age. Men such as Henry Ford, Horace and John Dodge, and William Durant cultivated Detroit’s image as a centre of technical novelty in the early 20th century.

The very name “Detroit” soon became a metonym for the industrial might of the American automotive industry and the source of American military power. General Motors president Charles E. Wilson’s remark that, “For years I thought what was good for our country was good for General Motors, and vice versa,” was an arrogant but accurate account of Detroit’s place at the heart of American prosperity and global leadership.

The public’s view changed after the 1950s. The auto industry’s leading firms slid into bloated bureaucratic rigidity and lost ground to foreign competitors. By the 1980s, Detroit was the image of blown-out, depopulated post-industrialism.

In retrospect – and perhaps as a cautionary tale for Silicon Valley – the moral decline of Detroit’s elite was evident long before its economic decline. Henry Ford became famous in the pre-war era for the cars and trucks that carried his name, but he was also an anti-Semite, proto-fascist and notorious enemy of organised labor. Detroit also was the source of defective and deadly products that Ralph Nader criticized in 1965 as “unsafe at any speed”. Residents of the region now bear the costs of its amoral industrial past, beset with high unemployment and poisonous drinking water.


A new chapter for Silicon Valley

If the story of Detroit can be simplified as industrial prowess and national prestige, followed by moral and economic decay, what does that say about Silicon Valley? The term “Silicon Valley” first appeared in print in the early 1970s and gained widespread use throughout the decade. It combined both place and activity. The Santa Clara Valley, a relatively small area south of the San Francisco Bay, home to San Jose and a few other small cities, was the base for a computing revolution based on silicon chips. Companies and workers flocked to the Bay Area, seeking a pleasant climate, beautiful surroundings and affordable land.

By the 1980s, venture capitalists and companies in the Valley had mastered the silicon arts and were getting filthy, stinking rich. This was when “Silicon Valley” became shorthand for an industrial cluster where universities, entrepreneurs and capital markets fuelled technology-based economic development. Journalists fawned over successful companies like Intel, Cisco and Google, and analysts filled shelves with books and reports about how other regions could become the “next Silicon Valley”.

Many concluded that its culture set it apart. Boosters and publications like Wired magazine celebrated the combination of the Bay Area hippie legacy with the libertarian individualism embodied by the late Grateful Dead lyricist John Perry Barlow. The libertarian myth masked some crucial elements of Silicon Valley’s success – especially public funds dispersed through the U.S. Defense Department and Stanford University.

The ConversationIn retrospect, perhaps that ever-expanding gap between Californian dreams and American realities led to the undoing of Silicon Valley. Its detachment from the lives and concerns of ordinary Americans can be seen today in the unhinged Twitter rants of automaker Elon Musk, the extreme politics of PayPal co-founder Peter Thiel, and the fatuous dreams of immortality of Google’s vitamin-popping director of engineering, Ray Kurzweil. Silicon Valley’s moral decline has never been clearer, and it now struggles to survive the toxic mess it has created.

Andrew L. Russell, Dean, College of Arts & Sciences; Professor of History, SUNY Polytechnic Institute and Lee Vinsel, Assistant Professor of Science and Technology Studies, Virginia Tech.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.