Complete Streets---Coming to Eat Your Shrubbery?

When you read the phrase, “Complete Streets”, what do you think of? If you’re from a rural area, or a poorly-run major city, you might think it refers to streets that are paved and free of Fiat-swallowing potholes. It’s actually an initiative that’s simply common practice in other developed countries: a Complete Street takes into account all users, not just cars. 

Those other users typically include pedestrians, cyclists, and transit. For pedestrians, sidewalks and safe crossing points are installed. Cyclists might get a dedicated bike lane or off-road cycletrack. Accommodating transit could be as simple as creating pull-outs for buses or as elaborate as a dedicated lane for the bus or streetcar.

A crosswalk along the Fall Line Trace in Columbus, GA. Cyclists are protected by a HAWK signal. Photo by author.

Allowances are also supposed to be made to allow for access by those with disabilities as well. This could mean audible pedestrian signals so that those with vision impairments can cross safely. For those in wheelchairs, ramps would be installed at all crossing points.

These are just a sampling of the changes a Complete Streets program can bring. You might think that there’s nothing even slightly controversial about any of these. You would also be very, very wrong.

Even something as seemingly correct as transportation accommodations mandated by the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) can incite opposition from organizations such as the Heritage Foundation. If helping the most physically vulnerable in our society can arouse irritation, imagine the anger at spending taxpayer dollars on those who are simply trying to get about in something other than a car. In the run-up to passage of a transportation funding bill in June of 2012, Senator Rand Paul attempted to eliminate all funding for bike and pedestrian improvements.  The Senate rejected his amendment with 60 Senators voting against it, but 38 Senators thought his amendment was a good idea. 

Their argument centered on the need to divert the money to fix bridges, which by some estimates could cost $71 billion. The elimination sought by Senator Paul would have diverted $900 million at the most to that effort. In other words, those who voted for elimination thought they could achieve fix a major problem with a little over 1% of what was needed. That might have paid for painting a few railings somewhere, but not much else. However, the occasional budgetary complaint from politicians isn’t the biggest problem faced by Complete Streets proposals.

The more pervasive opposition stems from far more mundane concerns. Some residents may complain that a sidewalk in their yard would be too much of an imposition because some of the tree canopy or landscaping would need to be removed. This raises a rather crucial question: should the needs of the pedestrians, such as kids walking to a school bus stop, be secondary to those of the residents’ shrubbery?

To answer this, the benefits of Complete Streets must be weighed against the hassles. As it turns out, they are an incredibly effective expenditure of transportation dollars, especially given their low cost---relative to a freeway widening or other big-ticket item. The Federal Highway Administration found that installing sidewalks can reduce accidents involving pedestrians walking along roadways by 88%! Bike lanes installed in New York City have been credited with a 28% reduction in crashes.

Let’s not forget the convenience benefits, though. As I said, transit is supposed to be incorporated into a Complete Streets Policy. If a dedicated lane is possible, the speed benefits can be significant. At least, that’s what a UC Berkeley Study found in Seoul, South Korea, where bus speeds nearly doubled once dedicated lanes in the median were opened. Faster service typically translates into more users, which in turn means less pollution being inhaled by local residents. 

So, Complete Streets programs have benefits, but a lingering fear remains among those unfamiliar with the concept. They fear that planners will foist a one-size-fits-all approach upon them. Granted, planners haven’t done themselves any favors by insisting on standards designed to accommodate worst-case scenarios. In the case of lane widths, planners may express reluctance to narrow them to less than 12 feet, even though current federal standards allow widths all the way down to nine feet. Why? Because they will  want to allow enough space for the largest fire engine (10 feet) or the largest tour bus (8 2/3 feet). Instead of procuring or allowing vehicles that fit the roads, some planners may want to make the roads fit the vehicles. 

It gets worse. The ADA mandates a clear width minimum of 3 feet for walkways. That’s not a sidewalk width recommendation; that’s how much space must be kept clear of obstructions. ADA guidelines call for the placement of wider sections of 5-6 feet every 200 feet to allow for two users to pass each other, but this is often misinterpreted as a mandate to make an ENTIRE sidewalk 5-6 wide. That’s fine for newly-developed areas, but terrible for areas that are already established. Lots of shrubbery faces its doom, unless planners show some flexibility.

Happily, Complete Streets policies as adopted around the country are demonstrating this flexibility. That’s probably because the pressure for adoption is a bottom-up process emanating from citizens, rather than a top-down approach from a bureaucracy. 

Consider two of the Complete Streets resolutions that I’ve been a part of. The City of Alexandria’s Complete Streets Resolution doesn’t insist on rigid standards, but simply demands consideration of all uses. This is also true of the Washington metro area’s regional Complete Streets policy, which is essentially a recommendation of best practices.  This is hardly surprising. Alexandria has centuries-old streets in the Old Town neighborhood with narrow sidewalks and, in some cases, cobblestones. Washington has the Georgetown neighborhood, which is very similar. Both cities also have sections built in the car-dependent mid-20^th century, with minimal pedestrian accommodation. How is a one-size-fits-all policy even conceivable?

A crosswalk in Old Town Alexandria. Notice the signage and bulb-out to shorten the crossing distance. Photo by author.

Complete Streets policies are nothing radical. Their cost is a pittance compared to what urban expressways such as Washington’s Intercounty Connector cost (a cool $2.5 billion). And it’s highly unlikely that they will turn into overpriced parking lots, as urban expressways always do.

Put Your Road on a Diet

Do you ever complain about the high speed of traffic near your house? When running local errands, do you sometimes glance down at your speedometer and start praying the local police are taking a donut break? If the answer to either of these is yes, there’s a good chance the roads in question are engineered for speeds that are too high. They may be wide and straight like an expressway, but with the hidden danger of cross-traffic and driveways.

In a lot of communities, residents along these overbuilt roads agitate to lower speed limits, but these are inevitably ignored by impatient motorists. In others, local planners opt for speed tables that slow traffic down with the implicit threat of jarring drivers’ teeth out. A better option that can’t be ignored and won’t damage your bone structure is a road diet.

A road diet is a narrowing of the amount of space available to vehicular traffic. For example, if a road is four lanes wide, a road diet might take it down to two through lanes, plus a center turn lane along with two bike lanes. This is exactly what the Virginia Department of Transportation (VDOT) did to Lawyers Road in Reston, a community near Washington, DC. 

Lawyers Road in Reston, Virginia. Now you can turn left and ride your bike with less fear of imminent death. Courtesy of VDOT

By giving bicyclists their own reserved space, VDOT sought to reduce the risk of a car/bike collision. Traffic attempting to turn left could get out of the through lanes and into the center turn lane, thus reducing the risk of rear-end collisions. The center turn lane also served as a buffer between the through lanes, so head-on collisions would be less likely. 

So far, the diet appears to be working. An unscientific VDOT survey found that 69% of the respondents felt safer on the reconfigured road, while 47% biked on it more often. That perception of safety was real: crashes were down from 15 in the year before the diet to 3 in the first year afterwards. What is really interesting is that 71% wanted to see similar diets elsewhere in northern Virginia. 

Sounds great, right? Sure, but keep in mind that most people have no idea what a road diet is. When you tell them, “We’re going to narrow this road to make it work better,” they look at you as though you have begun speaking to them in an obscure Dutch dialect. I know this because I’ve tried it (the road diet suggestion, not the Dutch dialect). At least one person I floated the concept by vowed to fight to his last breath to stop it, because he thought it would hinder his daily commute. 

Cameron Street, a one-way route in Alexandria, Virginia near King Street/Old Town Metro Station. This is about as busy as it gets, yet some find the idea of replacing a vehicular lane with a bike lane to be tantamount to setting their car on fire. Photo by the author.

As a chocoholic would find when confronted with Mississippi Mud Pie, diets don’t always stick. A DDOT (District Department of Transportation) planner recently told me that Benning Road in Washington, DC underwent a road diet that created substantial backups at some traffic lights. Complaints from users and residents in the area forced the city to remove it. Why did it fail? Simple: the traffic count was too high.

Road diets only work if the road isn’t already a parking lot. One study from the University of Kentucky showed that success was likely if the traffic count was 17,000 vehicles or less per day. In some cases, that number could be as high as 23,000. That maximum depended on the side street volume and the number of traffic signals. Lawyers Road in Reston handled a mere 10,000 vehicles per day, perhaps explaining its success.

Road diets need not be confined to multi-lane thoroughfares. Two-lane roads can benefit from these. In a park near Williamsport, PA, planners narrowed the road by adding bike lane and closed a gap between two bike trails. Drivers slow down because they perceive their space as being tighter, like you might feel on a narrow mountain road. Drivers have been trained for generations to stay between the lines; bike lanes such as these play off of that indoctrination. 

Note how much narrower this road near Williamsport, Pennsylvania, looks with the bike lanes added. Although this location is semi-rural with long sight-lines, vehicles moved a lot slower than I expected. Photo by the author.

Going back to the Lawyers Road example, the success of this project has spawned an extension that will imitate the Williamsport example. VDOT is thinking of replacing each of the two 18-foot lanes with a 12-foot lane plus a 6-foot bike lane. Crash rates, based on previous experience, are expected to decline by 30%. Plus, cyclists who refuse to ride in traffic will be encouraged to use this route (see my previous post on the advantages of separating bikes and cars).

So, if transportation planners propose a road diet along your route, take a deep breath and don’t panic. Unless the traffic count is well over 20,000 vehicles today, which would be a major road as opposed to a simple street, traffic will actually flow better. Fewer crashes mean fewer bottlenecks. Plus, some of those people who blocked your path before might get out of their cars and use their bikes in lanes that are out of your path.

The Folly of Brick Sidewalks

Every town in the US with a historic area, whether real or recreated, likes to replace their plain Jane concrete sidewalks with brick. It’s an expensive undertaking that’s also tough to maintain. Just think of all the times you’ve seen a missing brick in one of these walkways. 

Simple concrete slabs rarely disappear, though they may crack thanks to vandalizing tree roots or dimwitted contractors. Trees in urban areas are often planted in spaces too small for the root ball. A healthy tree will ultimately remedy the problem and bore underneath the paving, then slowly expand and lift everything above it. Bricks are easier to lift than slabs of concrete, but both will ultimately give way. 

It is true that brick has an advantage when it comes to trees, though. It can be a permeable surface that allows water to reach the roots. In the Netherlands, brick is used in both walkways and streets to allow the constant rainfall--- think Seattle, only with more wooden shoes--- to soak in rather than drain off. The appeal of this is obvious: much of the Netherlands is built on reclaimed land that’s below sea level. All that runoff has to be pumped up and into one of the many canals that are, in turn, pumped into the diked rivers. It’s much easier to just let a lot of it percolate into the soil. Their bricks are set in a sandy base that’s tamped down with what looks like a jackhammer that someone forgot to remove the protective cap from. Once the sand is thoroughly packed, a team of workers moves in to carefully place the bricks flush against each other, all the while cutting the bricks with what must be the world’s strongest powersaw blade so that there are no gaps at all. It’s a labor-intensive task that you won’t see too often in areas governed by cost-conscious (a polite way of saying cheap) politicians. 

Our version of brick sidewalks tends to be a choice between “good-enough” and “cheating”. The “good-enough” model is that the bricks are set haphazardly on soil (not necessarily sand) that’s been vaguely smoothed over. The undulating surface will worsen over time as seeping water erodes the uneven subsurface.

The “cheating” method involves setting the bricks in concrete. Any gaps are filled with concrete, so little brick-cutting is involved. Unfortunately, concrete tends to crack and crumble as the bricks expand and contract with the changes in the weather. That means the bricks will start to loosen and, inevitably, pop loose.

For someone with trouble walking or with vision impairments, loose or missing bricks can be a tripping hazard. If that person is elderly, a sudden fall is potentially dangerous. An undulating surface can be just as hazardous, as a brick’s edge might pop up just enough to trip someone. 

A brick sidewalk in Old Town Alexandria. Notice how it undulates towards the top of the picture. This one is actually in decent condition. Photo by author.

That permeability that’s so advantageous in the Netherlands can backfire spectacularly in the US. Some cities made the mistake of burying the bases of traffic signal poles underneath their brick sidewalks. Sure, it looked a lot better to have those unsightly metal bolts out of sight, but the water percolating through the brick rusted those same bolts. That’s why some cities such as Alexandria in Virginia are taking the wise precaution of replacing old, partly buried signal poles with new ones. Collapsing traffic lights are upsetting to both tourists and voters. 

The new traffic signals being installed in Old Town Alexandria, VA. The old signal is on the right. Note that its base is buried under the bricks, which trap moisture and rust the metal. The new signal on the left has an exposed base. Photo by author.

So given these problems, why are brick walkways so popular? Blame it on skewed priorities when it comes to preserving our historical sites. In the early 20^th century, Colonial Williamsburg was rebuilt from ruins while colonial dwellings in Old Town Alexandria were rigorously preserved through the creation of one of the first historic districts. New urbanism developments such as Kentlands in Maryland emulated the colonial motif, right down to the brick walkways. By contrast, Native American burial mounds such as the Ocmulgee Old Fields in Georgia that are thousands of years older remain under threat of highway construction. The prevailing culture in the United States prizes the colonial aesthetic above all else.

So is there an alternative to dangerous, ill-constructed brick? Happily there is: stamped concrete. This surface is smoother than brick thanks to its inherent uniformity with as little as a 15% cost premium over regular, bland concrete. It spreads out like a regular slab, only with a stamping process to create a pattern. This pattern can mimic brick, if that’s what floats your colonial boat, right down to the color. That’s really the cool part: the concrete’s color doesn’t come from paint, but from a sort of dye that’s added into the mix prior to pouring. That means the color doesn’t flake off.

This stamped concrete is over 10 years old and shows no sign of cracking. It's located in front of the Courtyard Inn Center City in downtown Philadelphia, PA. It must endure a harsh freeze/thaw cycle and heavy vehicular traffic. Photo by author.

Yes, there are some negatives. As with any material, stamped concrete can crack if not poured properly. It’s always amazing to me how few contractors understand that expansion joints have to be put in between slabs. A single giant slab is doomed to crumble. 

Another drawback is public perception. Some preservation purists will insist on using real brick because it’s what the colonists used. Never mind that those lovely brick sidewalks and streets were either unpaved or lined with planks in the actual colonial era. It’s the perception, however erroneous, that counts with these folks. 

The bottom line is that any municipality of developer that wants to improve the ambiance of a given area should think twice about using brick as anything other than the façade of a building. As a paving material, it is costly and labor-intensive. Stamped concrete can look just as good, be safer to use, and last longer. Just be ready for some griping from a few purists.