Building the Cycling City

by Melissa Bruntlett

  Dubbed the “Creative Crosswalk,” the ensuing project was a co-creation of the City, Street Makers, and the local artist collective Opperclaes. “It was a pilot that dignified the pedestrian and gave priority back to them,” says Besselink. Vibrant color was added to slow apathetic motorists and enhance the street at pedestrian level. The words “STAND STRAIGHT / WALK PROUD” appear larger than life on the crosswalk as a reminder that pedestrians have the right to the street, and while it is the first pilot of its kind in Rotterdam—harkening to the now-ubiquitous rainbow crosswalks across North America, and Hecho en Casa, an urban intervention and street art festival in Santiago, Chile—the City will be monitoring this intersection closely. If deemed a success, it will be implemented in other problematic areas of Rotterdam.

  But of all the tactical urbanism interventions that Besselink has imported to Rotterdam during her tenure, she credits San Francisco’s PARKing Day as the start of it all. “It fit the objective of ‘City Lounge’ so well: create more public space and more green space.” Working with Happy Streets, the City simply acted as a facilitator, leaving businesses and residents free to choose their level of involvement. The only limits to the imagination were the City’s bylaws, namely no alcohol and no selling.

  Each year since 2014, Happy Streets has organized the participants and identified parklet locations to the City. On the day of the event, Besselink and her team travel to each site, feeding the parking meters on the City’s dime and enjoying how their fellow citizens transformed a blank canvas—a standard street-parking space—into an inviting extension of the public realm. By 2016, the number of participants had grown to 90, and Besselink is immensely proud to know that she was instrumental in convincing colleagues to try something different, which has grown into such a success in rethinking their streets.

  Figure 1-4: A bird’s-eye view of Rotterdam’s “Creative Crosswalk” pilot project, which spans the wide postwar thoroughfare of Westblaak. (Credit: City of Rotterdam)

  Since the tragic bombing in 1940, Rotterdam seems to have been in a constant state of transition, from an industrial-age European city to a car-centric, modernist port city. It has now spent the last half century changing course yet again, still using the modernist DNA as a local identity but giving the streets back to their rightful owners. While examples of complete street design can be found in their own backyard, innovators like Besselink have shown that looking further afield for inspiration can have a tremendous effect on changing not only the structure of the streets, but also the hearts and minds of its citizens. It hasn’t been easy, and it will be some time before other Dutch cities stop referring to Rotterdam as a “car city,” but Rotterdammers show no signs of slowing down their efforts. “I think Rotterdam will be a people-orientated place in 10 to 15 years,” says Besselink. “I am convinced we are in the middle of a changing era. We only need to convince our local politicians that this is the future of our cities. I wouldn’t say that we are a car-free city—but a more people-oriented, accessible city, with room for everybody.”

  02 NOT SPORT. TRANSPORT.

  What is remarkable is that Dutch bicycle makers, for a major portion of the twentieth century, seized the opportunity to explicitly not improve the bicycle. From our modern perspective, so preoccupied with innovation, this may be difficult to fathom, but it must be understood primarily as an ingenious marketing strategy.

  — TIMO DE RIJK

  Quoted by Zahid Sardar in The Dutch Bike

  The story of how the Netherlands became synonymous with cycling would be incomplete without a closer look at the simple machine that inspired it at the turn of the twentieth century: the safety bicycle. Had it not been for widespread, nationwide adoption starting in the 1890s, and the central social role the safety bicycle played over the next 125 years, Dutch cities would probably resemble their neighbors in Western Europe and across the Atlantic, with wide streets, very little cycling infrastructure, and corridors clogged with cars. But just as the Dutch people take their unique bicycle culture for granted, many tend to forget that the vehicle that helped them achieve international notoriety first arrived on their shores with travelers from across the North Sea.

  “The Dutch didn’t innovate at all,” reveals Carlton Reid, author, bike historian, and editor-at-large of BikeBiz. “The Dutch-style bike as we know it today is a complete copy of the English-designed standard bicycle.” Invented by John Kemp Starley in Coventry, England, in 1888, the standard—or safety—bicycle gained tremendous popularity throughout the early 1900s across Europe, including the Netherlands, where its simplicity was ideally suited to the Dutch personality: nothing too fussy, and designed simply to be a practical way to get around town more quickly than by walking.

  According to Reid, starting in the 1910s British manufacturers began to create models that were more lightweight; they were no longer interested in the slow, utilitarian nature of the standard bicycle, but rather were looking at new technologies and advancements to improve on their original concept. In the Netherlands, however, the bike stayed exactly the same—so much so that by the 1920s many, including the English, started to forget about its origins, and what was once recognized as the British roadster became what is now known as the Dutch bicycle. And who were the Dutch to correct them? After the Royal Dutch Touring Club (that is, the Algemene Nederlandse Wielrijdersbond, or ANWB) advocated for the establishment of a so-called Dutch bike in their periodical De Kampioen, they simply ran with it, and today we think of these black, upright frames being as Dutch as tulips and clogs (both of which, incidentally, were similarly “borrowed” from elsewhere).

  “It wasn’t that it was boring,” Reid says, explaining why the Dutch latched onto the design of the bicycle. “They simply adopted what they saw as a perfect product, that did exactly what it was they wanted it to do.” However, one explanation he does offer, especially as regards more northerly—and largely Protestant—towns, is that the plain black omafiets (“grandmother bike,” characterized by a dropped top tube) or opafiets (“grandfather bike,” characterized by a straight top tube) suited the Calvinist mindset: simple and not ostentatious. With more working-class populations, northern towns enjoyed higher cycling numbers than did their Catholic counterparts in the south (as they still do to this day), and their joy of cycling just stuck.

  The Anatomy of the “Dutch” Bicycle

  To understand what continues to make that original design so popular in the Netherlands—and increasingly elsewhere, as photos spread around the world via social media—it’s important to look at the basic components that have made it so special.

  “First and foremost, what sets a Dutch bike apart is the position you sit in when you’re riding—the position the bike is forcing you to take,” Reid points out. While most frames force riders to lean forward onto their handlebars, the upright position of a Dutch bicycle is so severe that it appears the rider is sitting on a stool rather than a bicycle. This geometry offers many advantages, including a more relaxed approach to cycling, with less strain on the back, shoulders, forearms, and wrists.

  In addition to improving the user’s comfort, this vertical posture affords a clear, almost-360-degree view of the people and places around them, improving sightlines, safety, communication, visibility, and sociability. It shuns the idea that cycling should be about speed and sport, making it a much broader, inviting, and more-inclusive activity. It also changes perceptions of how citizens can move around their cities, making urban cycling more appealing to demographics that were traditionally left on the sidelines, including women, children, seniors, and the less physically fit and able.

  Figure 2-1: A standard, upright Dutch bicycle makes everyday cycling in regular attire a perfectly practical activity, even when carrying an extra load. (Credit: Modacity)

  There are other implications that come with the spread of slower, safer, sit-up bikes, including the use of helmets, which, in recent years, have seemingly become essential in many societies. But such cultural norms were est
ablished at a time when fast, forward-leaning cycling was ubiquitous, and safe bike infrastructure wasn’t. When drifting along at a jogging pace, in an upright position, on a network of dedicated cycle tracks—as the Dutch have done for decades—the notion of head protection becomes altogether unnecessary. Helmet use in the Netherlands remains remarkably low (0.5 percent of all cyclists) and yet, the nation boasts the lowest rate of bike-related head injuries in the world.

  But it’s more than just the comfortable riding pose; it’s the simplicity of the design—and its influence on Dutch bicycle culture—that sustains the normalcy of cycling in locals and visitors alike. Henry Cutler is a New Yorker who moved across the Atlantic for a job as an industrial designer with Philips Electronics in 2001, and never left. “I was absolutely charmed by the Netherlands and the cycling culture,” he reflects over 16 years later. After spending a few years in the northern college town of Groningen—famous for being one of the best small cycling cities in the world—Cutler gave up his day job, moved to Amsterdam, and began work on his passion project. In 2003, he opened Workcycles, his own design and manufacturing company, developing a line of products that applied many of the key principles unique to Dutch bicycles.

  “The plan was to sell the world on Dutch cycling,” reveals Cutler, knowing then—before the days of Twitter—that he was privy to a wonderful secret. “Nobody seemed to be aware of this unique culture outside of a handful of planners and tourists.”

  “For the Dutch, it’s not a thing to obsess about,” Cutler says. They may never admit it, or consider themselves to be “cyclists”—an irrelevant term when the vast majority of the population cycles on a regular basis—but their bikes are special to the Dutch. While a bike may be an important tool, it also has to be able to handle everything life may throw at it. “The typical Dutch bike is like an outdoor dog,” he explains. “It’s got to be tough, but it’s got to be comfortable. It’s got to take all kinds of abuse, and it’s still got to be ready for you the next day outside, where it lives with all the other bikes. So it shouldn’t be too attractive, and yet it’s got to do its job.”

  Considered heavy by North American standards, these workhorse bikes are generally made from sturdy steel that can survive anything, from being knocked over in a high wind, to being tossed aside by the garbage man. They must travel for miles every day, and withstand all of the elements, since most apartments lack garages or storage areas to lock them up in. Cutler describes how most people in the Netherlands will even ride their bikes through bent cranks, misaligned wheels, cracked frames, and worn-out brakes, so each and every component of the bike needs to be able to survive tremendous abuse until the day it finally falls apart.

  One of the most striking things for an outsider when looking at a Dutch bike in any shop is how complete it is. As has been pointed out, people in the Netherlands are incredibly pragmatic, and they don’t want to have to worry about “add-ons” that can overcomplicate the purchase of what will become their daily mode of transport.

  Each and every omafiets sold in the Netherlands comes complete with the accessories needed to facilitate everyday cycling in regular clothes. Fenders keep the rain and mud off the rider’s clothing. A chain casing keeps the chain in near-perfect condition, while protecting trouser legs from pesky grease and tearing. A skirt guard prevents flowing fabric from getting caught in the rear spokes. Coaster (or backpedal) brakes free up one hand for carrying all kinds of useful items, including an umbrella. Dynamo lights run day and night, automatically powered by the turning of the wheels. A frame lock freezes up the back wheel with the turn of a key, providing an added level of security. A bell offers clearer communication on the cycle tracks. Front and rear racks can accommodate any number of functional objects, including crates, baskets, or a passenger; some even incorporate built-in bungee cords. And a kickstand keeps the bicycle from tipping over whenever it is standing still.

  These features are also standard on children’s bikes, as most kids start cycling solo before they reach school age. Truly, the design is in the details, because the industry knows that this equipment must stand the test of time, and unless bikes can brave the weather and still keep the user dry, they will sit on the sales floor collecting dust. Imagine, for a moment, a car dealership attempting to sell vehicles where lights, locks, horns, and other functional safety items were considered optional “extras.”

  “It’s in the DNA of the Dutch”

  The simplicity and practicality of the Dutch bike continues to play a role in the widespread popularity of cycling there, but as Reid explains, it is about more than just the tool they use for the task. “Cycling is a cultural concept as much as it is an archetypal thing. It’s the culture—the milieu—that makes Dutch people cycle.”

  Even after the rest of the Western world started seeing the bicycle solely as a form of exercise and exhilaration, cycling in the Netherlands continued to be an ordinary method of transportation throughout the mid-twentieth century. It would be difficult for a Dutch family today to look back at photographs of previous generations and not see images of their parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents pedaling away. Conversely, most North Americans would likely have to look back three or four generations to see anything similar, at least when it comes to utilitarian cycling. “In part, it is true that the success of cycling in the Netherlands is due to the separation of modes—the bike paths and the geography. But in part it’s also not true,” contends Reid, convinced that there is something else at play. “It is in the DNA of the Dutch, in that cycling is handed down through generations. It may not be passed down through genetics, but it is passed down through family tradition.”

  Although cycling in the Netherlands experienced a brief dip in the late sixties and early seventies, where motoring gained a short-lived ascendancy, the Dutch have been riding bikes in large numbers almost since the first one came off the ship from England. Reid suggests that because this tradition was not passed down in other areas of the world, it has been challenging for immigrants new to the Netherlands to adopt the bicycle as readily. As a result, organizations have been working to teach newcomers how to ride a bike and enjoy the myriad benefits of cycling; and while their gradual acceptance of the bicycle as a means of transportation has been a painstaking process, many are hoping that future generations of immigrants will grow up cycling just as naturally as the native Dutch.

  The Perfect Bike for All … or Is It?

  As cycling numbers grow around the world, so too do the number of retailers. But the availability of Dutch bikes outside the borders of the Netherlands is woefully poor, and Cutler spotted an opportunity to use his knowledge of product design and mechanics to expose them to far more people—and to expand the market for them exponentially.

  Cutler recalls thinking that “‘the world doesn’t know about this—about the world of Dutch bicycles, about the world of bicycles as transportation. This is clearly the future. At least it should be, and I should play a role in making that happen.’” From his canal-side shop in the historic Jordaan district of Amsterdam, Cutler and his staff have been designing bicycles that represent all of the values and ideals of the traditional omafiets—but for a North American ridership. Cutler believes that many manufacturers, particularly in the United States, have let trends dictate their product offerings, and this has favored quick and easy sales of road, mountain, BMX, and hybrid bikes over complete, practical, Dutch-style bikes that will last their owner’s lifetime.

  But a change in product offerings is more than just adding upright city bikes to the sales floor. According to Cutler, there also has to be a change in North American cycling culture, one that strips away the bravado of sport cycling. It must be accessible to a broader audience, with a far better understanding of the customer’s needs. “When a woman comes in here to buy a bike,” says Cutler, “we have to get the details from her: ‘Are you a mom? How many kids do you have? How old are they and are you planning on having more?” These are not questions be
ing asked on sales floors elsewhere, leading to ill-suited purchases of what he calls “the wrong bike for the wrong reason.” Sadly, many of these bikes end up collecting dust in their owner’s garage, because they are uncomfortable, unpleasant, and unpractical for running day-to-day errands.

  Figure 2-2: Hauling five children isn’t the Workcycles FR8’s precise function, but as Henry Cutler demonstrates, it can indeed be done. (Credit: Henry Cutler)

  In what seems to be a standard chicken-and-egg dilemma, Reid offers a differing perspective, arguing that Dutch-style bikes are not stocked outside the Netherlands because the demand doesn’t presently exist—and the demand doesn’t exist because the bikes are unavailable. “The Dutch bike is very good for their geographic conditions. The majority of people will not cycle up hills, so the heavy Dutch bike isn’t practical for them,” he insists. And while some smaller North American manufacturers have attempted lighter, context-specific versions of the Dutch bike, and bike-share providers have peppered them across dozens of cities, sales figures aren’t sufficient to demonstrate a clear market for them.

  “Consumers need to place the demand in order for shops to carry Dutch-style bikes,” explains Reid. “Currently these shops are destinations for the people that are dedicated to these types of bikes, which is not sustainable for catering to a wider market.” From his perspective, the British and North American markets are completely dominated by recreational cycling, an unfortunate product of decades of hostile street design and “car-centric” policy. Nowadays, the majority of customers periodically strap their bike to the back of their automobile and drive to a trail for some exercise—a sad condemnation of the inadequate on-street facilities in most cities. For better and for worse, the bicycle market is also steered by style, so fashionable colors and models are updated by manufacturers on an annual basis, and consumers are likely looking for something they will replace within three or four years’ time.