Route of the problem

It's not often that I find myself in agreement with the Winnipeg Sun, let alone its blowhard columnist Tom Brodbeck. He's exactly the sort of writer you'd expect to read in a right-wing tabloid with favourite subjects such as fear-mongering about violent crime in the city, lambasting lenient sentencing, and getting in a huff about minor government over-spending.

But recently he published a couple of columns about something I know and care about: the deplorable state of bicycle infrastructure in Winnipeg, and especially the poor quality of so-called 'bike routes'.
Brodbeck:

I've been cycling a lot lately, including to work some days, and I can't believe how pathetic our alleged cycling routes are.

I say alleged because for the most part they're not cycling routes at all. They're just streets. Bad streets, full of potholes, cracks and sinking catch basins that could swallow small children.

I've been complaining about this for a while, essentially since I started riding with a less forgiving road bike frame after my mountain bike was stolen. And while I would have expected someone like Brodbeck to favour a more earth-killing form of transportation, he is a welcome ally.

More Brodbeck:

I'm talking about streets used by cars the city designates as bike routes, with no rhyme or reason whatsoever.
[. . .]
The worst part is the city appears to have no commitment whatsoever to keep the routes clean and in half-decent shape, especially along the sides of the streets where cyclists tend to ride.

Would it kill the city to make it a priority to fill the potholes and fix the catch-basins along the sides of these routes? Maybe run a street cleaner along them once in a while to clean up the sand and gravel?

Here is an example of what I'm talking about. It's nearly August, but the two feet nearest the curb where cyclists are forced to ride are still full of winter sand, and potholes and craters abound. (Apologies for the photo quality, pictures at twilight taken in transit tend not to turn out well.

It doesn't help much that designated bike routes also take the rider in a rather roundabout way to their destination.

Interestingly, the Sun was free today, the first time in a while that I've held a copy of that rag in my hands. A 16-page Milt Stegall tribute section was probably the only thing of value I noticed.

A picture is worth a thousand words . . .

Is it just me or is this the lamest celebration ever?
If I had just won the World Cup, I don't think my first instinct would be to play ring-around-the-rosy with my teammates.

Tears Are Not Enough

MuchMoreRetro provides some great moments. This video is full of them.

Highlights include: Neil Young and his ridiculous look, Mike Reno of Loverboy at about 2:15, and Burton Cummings at 2:30 but please watch it from start to finish.

Corey Hart is also rocking the Nick Lachey look pretty hard.

[more info]

Commuter challenge

While I was living in Schoorl, Netherlands, I had a rather idyllic commute to work. I drove along a forested trail, past a World War II cemetery, a horse pasture, and a windmill, and along the edge of a large set of dunes. I've never thought that Winnipeg had much to offer in the way of comparable scenery, but I had my camera along today as I rode one of my regular routes, between my house and my parents' house (also essentially the same route that I ride to church).

Here's the blow-by-blow recap.

My ride in Schoorl had forested trails:
Winnipeg's got it too:

Schoorl had a serene body of water, it is true:
My Winnipeg ride? Double true!
Schoorl had a windmill:
Winnipeg? Maybe no windmills, but how about some "castles"?
Granted, my Winnipeg ride is 10km compared to the 2km jaunt in Schoorl, and I did take an alternate route to avoid some of the rump-jostling, bike-swallowing potholes on Wellington, but I think Winnipeg acquits itself rather well. And tonight was a perfect night for a ride, and a chance to further explore my hobby of self-propelled photography.

* * * * *

The Tour de France starts tomorrow. My Netherlands/cycling related nostalgia (see above) will kick into full gear. I remember coming home from work and catching the last hour or two of each stage. A multi-stage bicycle race has so many things going on: plenty of strategy, loads of drama, and jerseys yellow, green, polka dot (the man who wears this jersey also earns the rather grand title of "King of the Mountains"), and white.

I don't know nearly enough about the field to do any prognosticating, but I remember Michael Rasmussen was a beast in the mountains, and I also had a soft spot for Vinokourov.