A pedestrian bridge is the cake my Primrose baked to take to a party, leaving me to just lick the beater. It’s a mirage. A decaf espresso. A coin glued to the pavement. You know, a pedestrian bridge is a married flirt, tempting cyclists to her entrance, then scolding us for ever thinking we might be permitted to ride. Nay, a pedestrian bridge is a long haired beauty with a thing against dudes, sent to earth to make us feel fiendish for inborn urges, for what could be so unnatural, so offensive, so fiendish, about wanting to ride a bike on a bridge?
I had a good mind to ride over Frank Gehry’s Bridge in Millennium Park, Chicago, even if it meant going down there at 4 in the morning. It arcs and twists as though the designer’s hand crossed the page at the speed I would cross his bridge on a bike. Had the line of the bridge left his hand at walking pace, it would be jagged, not fluid. So let’s see this bridge put to the use god/Gehry intended, and remove the dopey no cycling sign.
When this experiment proves a success in New York, I am confident we will see America relaxing her "you know"…um, laws about mixing bikes and pedestrians.