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Tim Arnold
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http://travel2.nytimes.com/2004/06/04/travel/escapes/04GREE.html
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June 4, 2004 Building an `Emerald Necklace,' Link by Link
By DENNY LEE
THE bike trail is roughly eight feet wide. It is paved in
black asphalt and hemmed in by a wooden split-rail fence.
And when the sun comes out, as it did the other weekend, the
Baltimore & Annapolis Trail in Maryland springs to life with
cyclists, in-line skaters and wild rabbits. But no one on
the trail, not even the spandex-wearing weekend warriors,
could pinpoint where the path begins or ends.
"It starts in Annapolis," said Debbie Doering, 42, a cyclist
from that town, who was riding a purple Bianchi road bike. A
few miles up the path, Ron Coombs was unpacking a mountain
bike from his station wagon. "It goes up to the B.W.I.," he
said, referring to Baltimore-Washington International
Airport. In other words, according to these bikers, the
greenway would be about 13 miles long.
They were off by only 2,600 miles or so.
The B.& A. Trail, it turns out, is merely a tiny dash along
a much longer ribbon of asphalt and dirt roads known as the
East Coast Greenway. The greenway, a cyclist's version of
the Appalachian Trail, begins near the Canadian border in
Calais, Me., and ends at a beach in Key West, Fla. In
between, it snakes through 15 states and the District of
Columbia, hundreds of towns and countless neighborhoods,
forming a seamless route — free of traffic lights and exhaust-
spewing cars — for people who want to travel the East Coast
on their own power.
At least it does on paper.
So far, only 20 percent of the East Coast Greenway has been
built and designated; in some places, the greenway is as
navigable as the North Korean border. But enough of the
trail has been plotted and temporary routes labeled that the
greenway's pathfinders held a coming-out party in Washington
last June to declare the trail officially open.
Though nobody has yet ridden the trail end to end. (A fit
person, going at a solid pace of 70 miles a day, would need
37 days to complete it — and that's without a day of rest.)
Even its staunchest advocates predict that only a handful of
people will ever pedal the entire route. "Sure, but very few
people have done the Appalachian Trail," said Ty Symroski, a
city planner in Key West and a volunteer with the East Coast
Greenway Alliance, the nonprofit group that is spearheading
the trail. "If only three people did it, but 300 million
dream about it, that would be worth it."
"Think about it," he added. "It would be an awesome ride."
But first, people have to know it exists. On a recent
Saturday afternoon, on the Key West portion of the trail,
wild chickens took refuge under shady palms, and the
concrete path was filled with cyclists of all ages, from
children on tricycles to elderly couples on tandems. Among
them was Georgina Acuna, 31, a human resources consultant
visiting from Miami, who was riding a rickety single-speed
bike along the final, 2.3-mile leg of the greenway, hugging
the shore, slicing past mangrove marshes, beachside homes
and the emerald waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
Like most users of the greenway, Ms. Acuna saw only a local
bike path. "This trail goes to the other side of Key West,
right?" she said, as she stood at the very foot of the
trail, just before it spills into Higgs Beach. A few feet
away was a granite marker the size of a wastebasket,
designating the spot as the "southern gateway" of the East
Coast Greenway.
"No one is contesting that most people will use the greenway
to travel short distances, or only on weekends," said Karen
M. Votava, the executive director of the Greenway Alliance,
based in Wakefield, R.I. She, too, invoked the Appalachian
Trail as a model. "Only 400 or so people go the whole length
of the Appalachian Trail every year. But if you look closer,
over four million use it in short pieces."
Chances are, even in its infancy the greenway has already
surpassed that figure. Unlike the Appalachian Trail, which
ambles through backwoods and national parks, the greenway
does not avoid urban areas. (Its slogan is, "A trail
connecting cities.") The idea for the long biking trail was
born in the early 1990's as cities throughout the country,
especially in the Northeast, began laying down bicycle
paths. It was a movement fueled by an aging baby-boom
population seeking to trim its waist line, and by
environmentalists who embraced cycling as a clean
alternative to cars.
The biggest boost came in 1991 when Congress, under heavy
lobbying by environmental groups, authorized the Intermodal
Surface Transportation Efficiency Act, known as Istea
(pronounced ice tea). In addition to expanding the nation's
highway system, the act set aside $1.5 billion for building
bicycle and pedestrian paths. Local governments contributed
an additional 20 percent in matching financing.
"Istea was the pivotal moment," said Andy Clarke, executive
director of the League of American Bicyclists in Washington.
The program grew to $2 billion in 1998 under the
Transportation Equity Act for the 21st Century, and is up
for renewal this year.
Cities as divergent as New York and Portland, Me., began
using the money to build minigreenways, though the total
number of bike paths is hard to pin down. Many used old
railroad rights of way, and by 1998 there were 198 converted
rail-trails in the country, totaling 359 miles. That number
has climbed to 1,250 rail-trails today, with a combined
12,585 miles, according to the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy,
a nonprofit group in Washington.
The East Coast Greenway Alliance was formed in 1991 to
stitch together the new trails. The idea was to create an
"emerald necklace" connecting every city along the coast, as
well as the suburbs, exurbs and rural areas in between. To
date, 61 segments totaling 650 miles are complete, half on
former rail beds. Organizers are also working on lining up
existing campsites so cyclists can sleep along the trail.
One of the most popular segments is the B.& A. Trail, which
goes over an abandoned railroad spur. An estimated two
million people use the trail every year, including Steven
George, 46, a warehouse worker from Glen Burnie, Md., whose
front door faces the greenway. "I bike down to my mom's
house in Annapolis," he said.
The B.& A. Trail skips over six-lane highways, trickling
ravines and traffic lights. It is an idyllic 13.3-mile ride
out of the Baltimore area — until you hit a stop sign near a
road called Boulters Way. To continue south toward
Washington, on the Washington, Baltimore & Annapolis Trail,
cyclists have to swerve onto Route 2, share the road with
50-m.p.h. traffic, cross a bridge into Annapolis, and zigzag
through 10 miles of tricky local streets to the nearby town
of Odenton.
There, at the corner of Odenton Road and Route 170, near a
7-Eleven and the Crab Galley seafood carry out, a new
asphalt trail materializes out of nowhere. But the trail,
nearly completed, runs for only 2.3 miles before it dead-
ends at a housing development. To reach the next leg of the
greenway, cyclists have to traverse another six miles of
sidewalks, local streets and unmarked intersections.
And Maryland is one of the more complete states.
Neither Delaware nor Georgia claims an inch of existing
greenway. New Hampshire has a single temporary route: along
the shoulder of coastal Route 1A. And South Carolina is
still poring over maps. "The biggest obstacle is money,"
said Ms. Votava of the Greenway Alliance. To date, $600
million has been allocated for the trail. Another $1.5
billion, she estimated, is needed to complete it by 2010.
Each mile costs roughly $1 million to build, but some are
much costlier. No bikes, for example, are allowed over the
bridges that span the Susquehanna River in Maryland, and it
is less than certain that the state will erect a
1.4-mile bridge just for cyclists and pedestrians — so far
$2 million of the estimated $8 million needed for the
bridge has been raised. (Cyclists currently have to
arrange to transport their bikes by car.)
And then there is the Nimby factor. The greenway has sparked
occasional protests from homeowners who fear that it will
invite criminals into their backyards. "People raise the
specter of crime, but it's shown to have no validity," said
Mr. Clarke of the bicyclists' league, referring to several
surveys that examined the neighborhood impact of such
greenways. "Bicycle users typically don't carry large
television sets on their backs." Still, places like
Greenwich, Conn., and Providence, R.I., have kept the trail
from going through their communities.
To publicize and raise money for the trail, about a dozen
cyclists are planning to pedal the entire 2,600-mile route
this fall, or at least the outlines of it. The inaugural
tour is scheduled to depart from Calais, Me., on Sept. 12,
and end in Key West 53 days later, though many routes — and
permission to ride over highway bridges — are still being
worked out.
But Jack Kurrle, 74, a retired tool-and-die engineer from
Sun City West, Ariz., is already in training. "It's the same
reason why people climb Mount Everest," said Mr. Kurrle, an
avid cyclist who rides a recumbent bike. "It's a chance to
be the first one to ride the trail."
Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company | Home | Privacy
Policy | Search | Corrections | Help | Back to Top
------------------------------------------------------------
----------------
----
June 4, 2004 Building an `Emerald Necklace,' Link by Link
By DENNY LEE
THE bike trail is roughly eight feet wide. It is paved in
black asphalt and hemmed in by a wooden split-rail fence.
And when the sun comes out, as it did the other weekend, the
Baltimore & Annapolis Trail in Maryland springs to life with
cyclists, in-line skaters and wild rabbits. But no one on
the trail, not even the spandex-wearing weekend warriors,
could pinpoint where the path begins or ends.
"It starts in Annapolis," said Debbie Doering, 42, a cyclist
from that town, who was riding a purple Bianchi road bike. A
few miles up the path, Ron Coombs was unpacking a mountain
bike from his station wagon. "It goes up to the B.W.I.," he
said, referring to Baltimore-Washington International
Airport. In other words, according to these bikers, the
greenway would be about 13 miles long.
They were off by only 2,600 miles or so.
The B.& A. Trail, it turns out, is merely a tiny dash along
a much longer ribbon of asphalt and dirt roads known as the
East Coast Greenway. The greenway, a cyclist's version of
the Appalachian Trail, begins near the Canadian border in
Calais, Me., and ends at a beach in Key West, Fla. In
between, it snakes through 15 states and the District of
Columbia, hundreds of towns and countless neighborhoods,
forming a seamless route — free of traffic lights and exhaust-
spewing cars — for people who want to travel the East Coast
on their own power.
At least it does on paper.
So far, only 20 percent of the East Coast Greenway has been
built and designated; in some places, the greenway is as
navigable as the North Korean border. But enough of the
trail has been plotted and temporary routes labeled that the
greenway's pathfinders held a coming-out party in Washington
last June to declare the trail officially open.
Though nobody has yet ridden the trail end to end. (A fit
person, going at a solid pace of 70 miles a day, would need
37 days to complete it — and that's without a day of rest.)
Even its staunchest advocates predict that only a handful of
people will ever pedal the entire route. "Sure, but very few
people have done the Appalachian Trail," said Ty Symroski, a
city planner in Key West and a volunteer with the East Coast
Greenway Alliance, the nonprofit group that is spearheading
the trail. "If only three people did it, but 300 million
dream about it, that would be worth it."
"Think about it," he added. "It would be an awesome ride."
But first, people have to know it exists. On a recent
Saturday afternoon, on the Key West portion of the trail,
wild chickens took refuge under shady palms, and the
concrete path was filled with cyclists of all ages, from
children on tricycles to elderly couples on tandems. Among
them was Georgina Acuna, 31, a human resources consultant
visiting from Miami, who was riding a rickety single-speed
bike along the final, 2.3-mile leg of the greenway, hugging
the shore, slicing past mangrove marshes, beachside homes
and the emerald waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
Like most users of the greenway, Ms. Acuna saw only a local
bike path. "This trail goes to the other side of Key West,
right?" she said, as she stood at the very foot of the
trail, just before it spills into Higgs Beach. A few feet
away was a granite marker the size of a wastebasket,
designating the spot as the "southern gateway" of the East
Coast Greenway.
"No one is contesting that most people will use the greenway
to travel short distances, or only on weekends," said Karen
M. Votava, the executive director of the Greenway Alliance,
based in Wakefield, R.I. She, too, invoked the Appalachian
Trail as a model. "Only 400 or so people go the whole length
of the Appalachian Trail every year. But if you look closer,
over four million use it in short pieces."
Chances are, even in its infancy the greenway has already
surpassed that figure. Unlike the Appalachian Trail, which
ambles through backwoods and national parks, the greenway
does not avoid urban areas. (Its slogan is, "A trail
connecting cities.") The idea for the long biking trail was
born in the early 1990's as cities throughout the country,
especially in the Northeast, began laying down bicycle
paths. It was a movement fueled by an aging baby-boom
population seeking to trim its waist line, and by
environmentalists who embraced cycling as a clean
alternative to cars.
The biggest boost came in 1991 when Congress, under heavy
lobbying by environmental groups, authorized the Intermodal
Surface Transportation Efficiency Act, known as Istea
(pronounced ice tea). In addition to expanding the nation's
highway system, the act set aside $1.5 billion for building
bicycle and pedestrian paths. Local governments contributed
an additional 20 percent in matching financing.
"Istea was the pivotal moment," said Andy Clarke, executive
director of the League of American Bicyclists in Washington.
The program grew to $2 billion in 1998 under the
Transportation Equity Act for the 21st Century, and is up
for renewal this year.
Cities as divergent as New York and Portland, Me., began
using the money to build minigreenways, though the total
number of bike paths is hard to pin down. Many used old
railroad rights of way, and by 1998 there were 198 converted
rail-trails in the country, totaling 359 miles. That number
has climbed to 1,250 rail-trails today, with a combined
12,585 miles, according to the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy,
a nonprofit group in Washington.
The East Coast Greenway Alliance was formed in 1991 to
stitch together the new trails. The idea was to create an
"emerald necklace" connecting every city along the coast, as
well as the suburbs, exurbs and rural areas in between. To
date, 61 segments totaling 650 miles are complete, half on
former rail beds. Organizers are also working on lining up
existing campsites so cyclists can sleep along the trail.
One of the most popular segments is the B.& A. Trail, which
goes over an abandoned railroad spur. An estimated two
million people use the trail every year, including Steven
George, 46, a warehouse worker from Glen Burnie, Md., whose
front door faces the greenway. "I bike down to my mom's
house in Annapolis," he said.
The B.& A. Trail skips over six-lane highways, trickling
ravines and traffic lights. It is an idyllic 13.3-mile ride
out of the Baltimore area — until you hit a stop sign near a
road called Boulters Way. To continue south toward
Washington, on the Washington, Baltimore & Annapolis Trail,
cyclists have to swerve onto Route 2, share the road with
50-m.p.h. traffic, cross a bridge into Annapolis, and zigzag
through 10 miles of tricky local streets to the nearby town
of Odenton.
There, at the corner of Odenton Road and Route 170, near a
7-Eleven and the Crab Galley seafood carry out, a new
asphalt trail materializes out of nowhere. But the trail,
nearly completed, runs for only 2.3 miles before it dead-
ends at a housing development. To reach the next leg of the
greenway, cyclists have to traverse another six miles of
sidewalks, local streets and unmarked intersections.
And Maryland is one of the more complete states.
Neither Delaware nor Georgia claims an inch of existing
greenway. New Hampshire has a single temporary route: along
the shoulder of coastal Route 1A. And South Carolina is
still poring over maps. "The biggest obstacle is money,"
said Ms. Votava of the Greenway Alliance. To date, $600
million has been allocated for the trail. Another $1.5
billion, she estimated, is needed to complete it by 2010.
Each mile costs roughly $1 million to build, but some are
much costlier. No bikes, for example, are allowed over the
bridges that span the Susquehanna River in Maryland, and it
is less than certain that the state will erect a
1.4-mile bridge just for cyclists and pedestrians — so far
$2 million of the estimated $8 million needed for the
bridge has been raised. (Cyclists currently have to
arrange to transport their bikes by car.)
And then there is the Nimby factor. The greenway has sparked
occasional protests from homeowners who fear that it will
invite criminals into their backyards. "People raise the
specter of crime, but it's shown to have no validity," said
Mr. Clarke of the bicyclists' league, referring to several
surveys that examined the neighborhood impact of such
greenways. "Bicycle users typically don't carry large
television sets on their backs." Still, places like
Greenwich, Conn., and Providence, R.I., have kept the trail
from going through their communities.
To publicize and raise money for the trail, about a dozen
cyclists are planning to pedal the entire 2,600-mile route
this fall, or at least the outlines of it. The inaugural
tour is scheduled to depart from Calais, Me., on Sept. 12,
and end in Key West 53 days later, though many routes — and
permission to ride over highway bridges — are still being
worked out.
But Jack Kurrle, 74, a retired tool-and-die engineer from
Sun City West, Ariz., is already in training. "It's the same
reason why people climb Mount Everest," said Mr. Kurrle, an
avid cyclist who rides a recumbent bike. "It's a chance to
be the first one to ride the trail."
Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company | Home | Privacy
Policy | Search | Corrections | Help | Back to Top