Biking across Philly: Independence from the trodden path.
Across from
Philadelphia’s Rittenhouse Square one morning in April, I waited for my
breakfast at the cafe Parc. Street maps and highlighters covered the
table, and my bike helmet sat on the bench next to me.
My
go-to meal before a big ride is oatmeal. But when my order arrived,
covered with a brittle, scorched-sugar topping and looking as though it
had made a detour through the dessert cart, I wondered what other
surprises this day would bring.
I
folded my maps, vowed to read the menu more carefully next time, fueled
up on my sweet oatmeal brulee and set off for a day of pedaling.
The week before I arrived in Philly,
the city had launched its new bike-share, called Indego (named for
sponsor Independence Blue Cross). The benefit of waiting for dozens of
other cities to set up programs first was that Philadelphia could learn
vicarious lessons (such as offering a pay-with-cash option, making the
bikes accessible to more people) and, presumably, take time to improve
bike lanes and fix potholes.
Arriving
as a bike-share novice, I thought this would be a groovy way to check
out a few new city parks and public spaces along the Delaware River to
the east, the Schuylkill River to the west and the 30-block Center City
in between. I walked toward the row of electric-blue, two-basket bikes
on the opposite side of Rittenhouse. Online, I’d signed up for a $15
one-month membership, which bought me free rides for up to an hour. So
all I had to do was swipe my credit card and tap a few buttons on the
touch screen for the docking system to unlock a bike. I adjusted the
seat, checked my watch and headed east toward the Delaware.
Indego is Philadelphia’s new bike-share service, and patrons can rent by the trip or by the month. (Toni L. Sandys/The Washington Post)
Flanked by the Walt Whitman and Benjamin Franklin bridges, the section of the Delaware River waterfront accessible to tourists is largely industrial. William Penn, who sailed up this river in 1682, might rub his eyes in disbelief if he saw the transformation underway today.
Spruce Street Harbor Park is one of the most popular new spots — a summer pop-up with a roller skating rink, hammock garden, floating barges, shuffleboard and boardwalk concessions that converts into an equally charming ice skating park in the winter.
The Spruce Street Harbor Park and its hammock garden is one of the city's most popular new spots along the riverfront after an extensive redevelopment. (Toni L. Sandys/The Washington Post)
The master plan is to convert a six-mile stretch of this
gritty waterfront into an extension of the bustling city, with parks
every half-mile, a bike trail and a $250 million redevelopment of Penn’s
Landing. Already, the city has opened Washington Avenue Pier (formerly
Pier 53, home of the city’s immigration station and the country’s first
navy yard) and Race Street Pier, a two-tiered park with free morning
yoga, designed by the firm behind New York’s High Line.
I biked up the river, hugging the water, past Moshulu, a tall ship that now houses a restaurant, and Independence Seaport Museum. At Race Street Pier, I dismounted and walked out over the water under the Ben Franklin Bridge, taking in the views. From there, I biked toward Market Street, returning my bike just before the hour expired.
A sunny day in June brings crowds, including bicyclists, to the Franklin Fountain on Market Street in Philadelphia. (Toni L. Sandys/The Washington Post)
After sampling house-made ice
cream with teeny spoons at the Franklin Fountain (ginger and vegan
coconut, both worth writing home about), I walked west, stopping in the
cobblestone courtyard where Ben Franklin’s house and print shop once
sat. I couldn’t help popping in to see the Liberty Bell, which seemed a
miniature version of the one in my childhood memory.
Before I picked up my next bike, across from City Hall, I made a detour for a $1 slice at Rosa’s Pizza, where you can pay an extra buck to subsidize a slice for someone who is homeless. When you pay it forward, you can leave an adhesive note, and the walls are now covered with messages like “Peace, pot & pizza” and “Have a pizza my heart.”
In preparation for my trip, I had consulted with a few local cyclists who offered riding tips. The grid layout makes getting around Philadelphia fairly easy, but the city’s still not as bike-friendly as I hope it’ll be down the road. Among the best bike lanes are those on Spring Garden Street, 13th and 22nd headed north, 10th south, Spruce Street west and Pine Street east. Cyclists also advised staying away from the streets with trolley tracks, such as 11th and 12th (too easy to catch your tire and take a spill) as well as busy Broad Street (where 14th should be, but naming the numeral will certainly reveal you as a tourist).
I headed north and cut across Spring Garden toward the Philadelphia Art Museum and the Schuylkill. En route, I pedaled through Matthias Baldwin and Sister Cities parks, around Logan Square and up tree-lined Benjamin Franklin Parkway, with heavenly wide, painted bike lanes. After passing the Barnes Foundation, I paused to consider “The Thinker” in front of the Rodin Museum and finally pedaled by the Rocky Balboa statue to return my bike near the steps of the art museum.
Compared with my lightweight, nimble bike at home, this Trek three-speed was like a tank — stable, safe and lumbering. It took a little more oomph to start it, brake to stop it and heft to lift it onto a curb. But my biggest handicap that day, zipping around without a smartphone, was using only a not-so-great printed map of the bike stations — and my limited knowledge of Philly streets — to get around. (Indego hadn’t yet printed bigger brochures or added maps to the stations; both were said to be coming.)
So I found myself in that delightful space of micro-disorientation, in which I teeter on a line between certainty of my whereabouts and utterly lost. Of course, one of the joys of being on a bike is exploring that which might be impractical on foot — meandering down an enchanting block or through a beckoning park. Time and again, I cycled just far enough off my planned route that I wasn’t confident about finding my way back — or finding the blue glow of an Indego station. Time and again, usually with just minutes to spare before my hour was up, I did.
With a new bike and a new hour to ride, I headed behind the museum and through Fairmount Park on the Schuylkill River Trail; in this direction, one can bike another 23 miles north to Valley Forge. But after I passed the boathouses, I turned around and headed a few miles south — and, agreeably, downhill — past skateboarders in Paine’s Park and along the new, four-block Schuylkill Banks Boardwalk. I exited at the South Street Bridge, hurried over my final potholes to find the Indego station near 17th and Delancey (near where I parked my car for the day) and returned my bike at the 57-minute mark.
Cyclists cross Benjamin Franklin Parkway near the Franklin Insitute. (Toni L. Sandys/The Washington Post)
Before
I retrieved my car, I returned to Parc. I’m not sure which I was
happier to see: the restroom or the bar. I visited the former and then
cozied up to the latter, setting my helmet on the stool and stretching
my calves. I downed three waters and then ordered a drink for the road —
a stiff, refreshing, well-earned iced coffee. Then I strolled to the
parking lot, trying vainly to play down a stride that conveyed, without
question, how I’d spent my day.
---{-=@
Hickok
I biked up the river, hugging the water, past Moshulu, a tall ship that now houses a restaurant, and Independence Seaport Museum. At Race Street Pier, I dismounted and walked out over the water under the Ben Franklin Bridge, taking in the views. From there, I biked toward Market Street, returning my bike just before the hour expired.
A sunny day in June brings crowds, including bicyclists, to the Franklin Fountain on Market Street in Philadelphia. (Toni L. Sandys/The Washington Post)
Before I picked up my next bike, across from City Hall, I made a detour for a $1 slice at Rosa’s Pizza, where you can pay an extra buck to subsidize a slice for someone who is homeless. When you pay it forward, you can leave an adhesive note, and the walls are now covered with messages like “Peace, pot & pizza” and “Have a pizza my heart.”
In preparation for my trip, I had consulted with a few local cyclists who offered riding tips. The grid layout makes getting around Philadelphia fairly easy, but the city’s still not as bike-friendly as I hope it’ll be down the road. Among the best bike lanes are those on Spring Garden Street, 13th and 22nd headed north, 10th south, Spruce Street west and Pine Street east. Cyclists also advised staying away from the streets with trolley tracks, such as 11th and 12th (too easy to catch your tire and take a spill) as well as busy Broad Street (where 14th should be, but naming the numeral will certainly reveal you as a tourist).
I headed north and cut across Spring Garden toward the Philadelphia Art Museum and the Schuylkill. En route, I pedaled through Matthias Baldwin and Sister Cities parks, around Logan Square and up tree-lined Benjamin Franklin Parkway, with heavenly wide, painted bike lanes. After passing the Barnes Foundation, I paused to consider “The Thinker” in front of the Rodin Museum and finally pedaled by the Rocky Balboa statue to return my bike near the steps of the art museum.
Compared with my lightweight, nimble bike at home, this Trek three-speed was like a tank — stable, safe and lumbering. It took a little more oomph to start it, brake to stop it and heft to lift it onto a curb. But my biggest handicap that day, zipping around without a smartphone, was using only a not-so-great printed map of the bike stations — and my limited knowledge of Philly streets — to get around. (Indego hadn’t yet printed bigger brochures or added maps to the stations; both were said to be coming.)
So I found myself in that delightful space of micro-disorientation, in which I teeter on a line between certainty of my whereabouts and utterly lost. Of course, one of the joys of being on a bike is exploring that which might be impractical on foot — meandering down an enchanting block or through a beckoning park. Time and again, I cycled just far enough off my planned route that I wasn’t confident about finding my way back — or finding the blue glow of an Indego station. Time and again, usually with just minutes to spare before my hour was up, I did.
With a new bike and a new hour to ride, I headed behind the museum and through Fairmount Park on the Schuylkill River Trail; in this direction, one can bike another 23 miles north to Valley Forge. But after I passed the boathouses, I turned around and headed a few miles south — and, agreeably, downhill — past skateboarders in Paine’s Park and along the new, four-block Schuylkill Banks Boardwalk. I exited at the South Street Bridge, hurried over my final potholes to find the Indego station near 17th and Delancey (near where I parked my car for the day) and returned my bike at the 57-minute mark.
Cyclists cross Benjamin Franklin Parkway near the Franklin Insitute. (Toni L. Sandys/The Washington Post)
---{-=@
Hickok
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