Our Man in Munich - Part IV

My friend Mike Tierney, an American expat in Munich, on growing up outside New York and sensory deprivation/activation:

Engaging all of the senses, and observations otherwise missed

3rd Ave Elevated over Cross Bronx Expressway, c. 1974, photo by Jack E. Boucher, via Wikimedia Commons

First, an autobiographical note.  I was born in the Bronx in the early 1960s, but I have no memories of the place.  My family was among the thousands who fled the boroughs of the City for the surrounding countryside.  By that time, Robert Moses and his acolytes had lacerated New York City with highways to make way for the new higher-order life form and left the Bronx drawn and quartered.  The new Cross Bronx Expressway became the evacuation route for those of sufficient means to create a better life as grass farmers and quarter-acre landed gentry in Westchester and Putnam Counties.  It was not long before the neighborhoods of the Bronx died like a drained swamp, all non-auto human life left to die of asphyxiation and UV exposure.  The swamp is an apt metaphor: a carbon sink, a wealth of biodiversity, and a source of nutrients and oxygen for the surrounding area.  

Hudson River Valley, © 2009 James G. Howes

And so I was deposited in the highlands above the Hudson River Valley, around 70 miles north of Manhattan, along with a bunch of other kids from the Bronx, Brooklyn, and Staten Island.  For a young boy it was the perfect Huck Finn life.  For years I explored miles of former farm fields that were growing into new forests, looking for caves and downed airplanes.  But we were city people: the winding country roads were called "blocks," and many evenings were spent hanging out on "the stoop" and listening to tales of milkmen, horse-drawn produce carts, and epic street stick-ball tournaments.

In my section of the woods ("our block") I was always outside, but that was it.  Otherwise, all I knew of my hometown was experienced from a car.  With the exception of a few parking lots and school playgrounds, my feet never touched the ground.  As a small child, the rest of my hometown was seen from the side window of the family Detroit land yacht, and later as an adolescent it was seen through the front windshield.  No better than High Definition TV, but with an 8-track tape deck and ash trays for everybody.  Had I not regularly hand-cranked the window open, I would never have known the smell of burning leaves (legal then), Indian Summer humidity, and melting snow.

Here endeth the historical note.

Biking through Munich offers sensory activation every kilometer, and it changes with the season.  Crossing the Isar by Rosenheimer Platz, twice a year you are hit with a sweet smell of fermentation from the industrial breweries that provide all the 6-7 million liters of beer consumed at Oktoberfest - with my help, of course.  Apparently, by law, all of the beer consumed must be brewed within the city boundary.

By Giesing (southeast of the city) I pass the Dallmayr coffee plant, where I get several hundred meters of the smell of roasting coffee.

In the fall a morning fog sets in between Giesing and Fasanenpark.  The temperature suddenly drops and only the nearby trees are visible, serving as both landmarks and speedometer.

One particular night offered something otherwise missed.  I was crossing the Isar coming home when I heard a strange splashing sound below the bridge.  I stopped to look.  My first reaction was that someone was driving a Fiat Cinquacento into the Isar.  I looked harder.  It was a beaver.  I swear you could throw a saddle over this thing.  Apparently there are a few of them living around the river, with no natural predators.  I realized then that this beast must be the basis of the Bavarian legend of the "Wolpertinger," a mischievous chimeric monster of the forest, similar to North America's Sasquatch and Mexico's dreaded Goat Sucker.  It submerged in to the blackness, leaving an eerie silence.  I checked my headlight and continued on.

Next:

Integration into the urban landscape and culture

Our Man in Munich - Part III

Third in a series from my friend Michael Tierney, an American expat living and cycling in Munich:

The glorious dearth of spandex

I was on a bike path that cuts through the woods along the S-Bahn (Metro) tracks near the Fasangarten stop.  As I approached a street crossing I noticed an older man fifty feet downrange on an old creaking bike.  He was smoking a cigar as he rode, leaving a sequence of smoke clouds behind him.  In my head I heard locomotive sound effects as he accelerated: puff ... ... puff ... ... puff ... puff ... puff - puff - puff - puffpuffpuffpufpfpf.

As I blew through this Morse code SOS of smoke and smoldering lung contents I realized that I never see anyone in spandex.  I have ridden through biker-emitted cigarette plume sequences more often than I have seen anyone wearing an aerodynamic outfit that matches the bike.  Those times have has been on weekends and on paths that run along the river.

This guy is just on his way to work.  Note the gloves.  A good pair of gloves is key.  

The best of the city bikers, however, are the older women, purse in basket, hat defying aerodynamics, and the way they swing one leg in front of the seat and over the pedal crank to coast the last 30 feet of their trip standing on the left pedal.  It is a half century-rehearsed old school side saddle dismount, usually in front of the Apoteke (pharmacy) for a fresh can of purple hair dye.  I love those moments.  But beware and stay out of their way.  They are the curators of bike path etiquette and are quick to dispense terse instructions to anyone breaching them, with steely gaze and Bavarian accent.  They can smell fear and consider hesitation an invitation for a lecture.  Just look down and say "entschuldigen Sie bitte."

Next:

Integration into the urban landscape and culture

Engaging all of the senses and observations otherwise missed

Our Man in Munich - Part II

[Editor's note - Second guest post in a series from my old DC friend Mike Tierney. Now living and working in Munich, he'll provide a closer look at that city's bikescape.]

An opening comment - I have read (including in this blog) that opposition to bike paths is mounting.  As an expat away from the battle lines, I am grateful to all of you who are fighting for the humans, and trying remove the car from its decades-long position as the higher order life form in our country.  Our soul is at stake.

Bike paths and visibility on the intersections

There is a "ring" road - more like a highway - around the perimeter of Munich's original walled city.  This road is rather wide and fast, and cars get bottlenecked at a few key intersections.  One would expect these intersections to be treacherous for bikes, but the city has done an excellent job of making the bike crossings visible.  And let me make this clear: drivers in Munich are fantastic when it comes to looking out for bikes.  It may be that the bike is just one of many forms of transportation in the city, and that every driver rides as well, or knows someone who does.  Even in the busiest intersection, whether from a Maserati, old BMW, broken down Trabant, or Toyota minivan, you are assured of eye contact with the driver as he/she tries to cross your path when turning.  I never take that for granted.

Anyway, this (not so poorly taken as the other photos yet still lousy) picture is of the Lindwurmstrasse bike path as it crosses Sonnenstrasse near Sendlinger Tor, the southern facing gate of the old wall.  This path crosses a set of Tram lines in addition to four car lanes.  Immediately past this intersection to the left is Sendlinger Tor Platz, where a roasted chestnut stand sets up shop for the Winter.  The smell wafts through a hundred meters or so of this stretch of the commute.  I recommend them with a good single malt Scotch.  A bag of eleven costs 3 euros.

The intersection below is at Isartor, the east-facing gate of the original walled city.  The red painted bike path extends across the ring road and around the Isartor toward Marienplatz.  In the evening it is common to be in a pack of bikes on this path.  It is wide enough for abreast.

The same site in a not so jolly time.  These gates are over 800 years old and have seen a lot.  If you cannot read it, the sign says "Death is so permanent, driver carefully," which was obviously meant for occupying US troops.  Note the two bikes to the left.  This image is scanned from a postcard I bought in a bookshop in the Reichenbachstrasse neighborhood.  The postcard rack had ironic war rubble postcards like this, along with early 20th century photos of enormous women carrying ten or fifteen loaded beer steins and Lederhosen-clad men doing the ankle slapping dance.

next:

The glorious dearth of Spandex

Integration into the urban landscape and culture

Engaging all of the senses and observations otherwise missed

Our Man in Munich - Part I

[Editor's note - Today's guest post, first of a series, is from my old friend Mike Tierney. Not to date ourselves, but we met during our common salad days of DC's great 1980s music scene (he's an exceptional Foxton/Entwistle type of bassist I'll have you know). Now living and working in Munich, he'll provide DCC readers an exclusive portal to that fine city's bikescape.]

I am grateful to Bill for the opportunity to join in. For just over two years I have been bike commuting from the center of Munich to the southeastern outskirts of the city, where I work. This and subsequent guest posts will include observations about how Munich facilitates bike commuting, and how it is integrated into the urban landscape and culture.

Please note: I am not a professional photographer, which will be apparent in the following photos. 

The bike itself

It's a steel frame single speed that I had built by a shop in the Au (pronounced like "Ow!") neighborhood on the east side of the Isar river. The side bag is by Vaude, a German company that manufactures for the domestic market. The bag is waterproof (critical) and can carry three bottles of Weißbier without throwing off the balance too much. Here the amateur photographer is about to be attacked by "Mimi," the Hausmeister's chronically furious Yorkshire Terrier. Note the fast (or is it slow?) shutter speed capturing the blur of tiny rancid paws carrying the little monster to his prey. Moving on...

Bike lanes on the sidewalks

Munich is laced with bike paths, many of which are integrated into the sidewalks in the form of a strip of asphalt running down a concrete or brick sidewalk. Not all of the main streets have sidewalk-based bike paths. The city government publishes a map of the city showing where they are. Or, with a diligent Google Maps satellite image, search one can identify all the best bike paths between points A and B.

The best type of sidewalk-based bike path provides a few feet between it and where the cars are parked. The pathetically amateurish photo at left is of the path along Lindwurmstrasse near Sendlinger Tor - the southern gate of the original walled city. This path is on my commute route. Most pedestrians (the locals in particular) are good about keeping off the bike paths. Unfortunately, they are not always apparent to the hapless tourist, especially during Oktoberfest, which will be discussed in gruesome detail some other time.

Another type of sidewalk-based bike path is not as safe, but is likely the only solution for a narrow sidewalk. The poor excuse for a photo at left is of the path along Rosenheimer Strasse (also part of the daily commute) near Rosenheimer Platz. This is near the Gasteig, Munich's version of the Kennedy Center. One of every three trips on this route you encounter someone with a cello case strapped to his/her back, looking like some form of high-velocity flotation device. Anyway, the problem with this type of bike path is that you have to be on the lookout for suddenly-opening car doors. Better to keep a bit to the right.

Note the derelict bikes strapped to the trees like hurricane storm surge victims. You find these all over the city, some of which have not moved since the heyday of Einstürzende Neubauten [Editor's alert - 80s reference], but this is a topic for another time.

Later:

Visibility on the intersections

The glorious dearth of Spandex

Integration into the urban landscape and culture

Engaging all of the senses and observations otherwise missed