For our 25th Bike New Yorker profile, I wanted to turn the focus to my former cohort, the outgoing Director of Communications, whose boundless enthusiasm, energy, and good humor, as well as his skill and creativity as a writer and steadfast dedication to Bike New York’s mission, will be greatly missed here at Bike New York HQ. Sam is skipping town with his wife, Rachel, in a rehabbed 1974 Airstream Overlander for parts unknown, but not before I got him to talk about the reinvigoration of Bike New York’s brand, the biggest challenge faced by bike education and advocacy groups, and what he’ll miss about New York City.

 

 

Bike New York’s visual identity has changed significantly since you started here. Why and how did that come about?

When I started at Bike New York, my colleague Beth Heyde (who now works in the NYC DOT’s bike share program) had recently put out an RFP for some graphic design work. Our old look and website were outdated, cartoonish, and overly complicated, so I figured this was the perfect opportunity for an overhaul. Around that time, I was at a party with my friend Elliott Walker, a designer at Pentagram, and I asked him if it would be even remotely feasible, given our limited nonprofit budget, for them to give us a makeover. He went back to his team and, against all odds, said yes. Turns out they have a soft spot for NYC-focused projects. Over the course of the following two years, we worked with Pentagram to come up with our current branding and with Barrel to build our new website. I knew they’d make us look good, but I had no idea they’d make us look this good.

 

 

What do you see as the biggest challenges for Bike New York, past and future?

The biggest challenge not just for Bike New York but for bike education and bike advocacy groups around the world is to disabuse ourselves of the fallacious notion that there is a fundamental difference between cyclists and motorists, that the dichotomy of “us” and “them” is in any way grounded in reality. In truth, there are simply people who ride bikes and people who drive cars. And there are plenty who do both. I ride and drive. Different tools for different jobs. Once we’re able to rid ourselves of this false dichotomy, we’ll be able to stop framing this as a battle and start viewing it as an opportunity for collaborative progress. The public spaces that are our streets do not belong to cyclists. They do not belong to motorists. They belong to people, and we need to figure out a way to meet the needs of all street users through creative infrastructure and egalitarian policies. My philosophy of communication as it pertains to the world of bike education and advocacy is firmly rooted in the belief that in order for progress to be possible, the humanity and beliefs of all parties involved must be recognized as valid and worthwhile. I’m not totally sure if that makes sense, but there it is.

The biggest challenge for bike education and bike advocacy groups around the world is to disabuse ourselves of the fallacious notion that there is a fundamental difference between cyclists and motorists.

Please give me your top five favorite work moments.

I can honestly say that coming into work everyday was a joy. It’s pretty rare to have the opportunity to work with so many likeminded people, with so many friends. But if I were to pick a distinct favorite moment, it’d have to be meeting Patty Chang Anker at the 2014 Finish Festival after she’d conquered all 40 miles of the Tour—less than a year after she learned to ride. To bear witness to her overcoming so many mental, emotional, and physical obstacles was an inspiring honor and a testament to the power of Bike New York’s education program.

 

 

Your energy and enthusiasm seem boundless. How do you manage that?

I don’t know if “manage” is the best way to describe my relationship to my enthusiasm. Sometimes it feels like I’m at its mercy, like when I let it push me past my limits and I wound up feverish and throwing up on the street outside the Bike New York offices late one cold night this past April before the Tour. There’s this Greek word—splagchnizomai—that means, literally, “to be moved in the gut,” and it’s used about a dozen times in the Bible to mean “to feel compassion.” It’s a visceral and evocative word, and I think it has something to do with ancient Greeks believing that feelings of love and compassion originated in the gut, much like we ascribe powerful emotions to a conflation of the spiritual heart and the physical heart. When I’m passionate about something—like I was and am about my work at Bike New York—it registers on the level of splagchnizomai. It’s not that I move so much as I am moved—moved by what I love and by doing what I love with people who are passionate about the same thing. (I gather a lot of energy from other people.) Most of the time, that means I’m energized and excited and engaged. Sometimes, it means I’m barfing on the sidewalk while a cop brings me seltzer as I wait for Rachel, my wife, to collect me and take me home. All in all, I’d say the pros outweigh the occasional cons.

I’m moved by what I love and by doing what I love with people who are passionate about the same thing.

 

 

You have several bikes. Which ones will you be taking with you on the road?

Rachel and I will both be bringing our Surly Ogre all-terrain tourers/mountain bikes. Those things are beasts. I’ll also have my Brompton folding bike, which is just too handy and packable to leave behind. It’s proven to be a remarkably versatile workhorse—I’ve used it to get groceries, schlep home from Williamsburg with Rachel standing on the back rack, and, in a weird inversion of transportational norms, to cart home a bike rack for my truck.

 

 

Any places you’re looking forward to riding?

I’m happy riding anywhere, but I’m really looking forward to riding to any and every swimming hole I can suss out. Is there anything better than biking to and cannonballing into a cool, clear, body of water?

 

 

You’re not just leaving your position at Bike New York, you’re also skipping town. What will you miss most about NYC?

Rachel and I were talking about this last night as we fell asleep on the floor of our recently de-furnished apartment in Red Hook. The short answer is “a lot.” The long answer is very, very long. I’ll miss getting caught in the rain on my ride to work and finding temporary shelter in Riverside Park beneath the Henry Hudson Parkway. I’ll miss the everything bagels with jalapeño cream cheese from Absolute Bagels on Broadway & 107th. I’ll miss sledding in Central Park with the kids I used to nanny. I’ll miss knowing that some of the world’s most incredible art is always a short bike ride away, even if I didn’t take the time to go see it as often as I’d’ve liked. I’ll miss returning home from our honeymoon and fully feeling that that tiny 4th-floor apartment on the corner of Rodney and South 4th was home. I’ll miss the warmth of McSorley’s Ale House when it’s snowing out and the tart scent of Vidalia onions that stays in your fingers for days after you’ve finished their saltines, onions, and cheese plate. I’ll miss the two hours of reading I’d get to put in on the days I’d commute by train. I’ll miss The Corner Bistro. I’ll miss hearing Geechee Dan sing on the 6th Ave./14th St. station platform. I’ll miss the sunsets on Valentino Pier. I’ll miss running into friends and family on a miraculously frequent basis for a city so huge. I’ll miss being able to pretty much completely furnish an apartment with crap found on the street. I’ll miss the mild sense of validation I’d feel when I’d remark on the ever-fresh sense of awe inspired by the skyline and a New York City native would concur. I’ll miss the Brooklyn College quad. I’ll miss late quiet rides through the dead streets of Brooklyn’s industrial zones. I’ll miss stopping in at Redbeard Bikes to see Ilya & Kasia and getting reprimanded by The Redbeard himself for failing to maintain ideal tire pressure. I’ll miss the pastrami and swiss on a hero from Defonte’s. I’ll miss passing by my old apartment on Grand & Union and seeing the curtains I put up years ago still in use. I’ll miss the view of the GW Bridge and Riverside Church and Grant’s Tomb from the Bike New York offices. I’ll miss weaving south through Times Square traffic and thinking of how Tim Haney once said that doing so makes him feel like he’s 12 years old again. I’ll miss hearing “What time is it? Show time!”—no matter how annoying I pretend it is. I’ll miss seeing Feral Foster stomp & howl at Jalopy on Wednesday nights. I’ll miss the heady mix of anonymity and community one feels when wandering alone through the City. I’ll miss rummaging through the stacks at The Community Bookstore on Court. I’ll miss the clatter of the wooden slats under tire on the Brooklyn Bridge on the descent into Manhattan. I’ll miss the incredible people I’ve been lucky enough to meet and know. I’ll miss Coffey Park, the zócalo of Red Hook. I’ll miss how certain songs—The National’s “Fake Empire,” Bat for Lashes’ “Lillies,” collude with the City to amplify a moment, a thought, a feeling to a degree too great to comprehend. I’ll miss a lot of things. I will not miss the absence of thunder.

 

 

Please share one good riding moment or experience in NYC, outside of Bike New York events, of course.

Looking back, my first long-distance ride was pretty transformative. I’d done some casual 20-30 mile rides throughout the City, but I’d never really gone for a ride. Then, in 2012, my brother Hunter and his friend Sean invited me to ride to and fro Piermont. I think it was about 60 miles. I wasn’t familiar with the River Road and 9W at that time, so I wasn’t too worried about it. As such, I showed up on the morning of the ride hungover and wearing a cotton T-shirt, canvas shorts, and Keds. I was to ride Sean’s extra road bike, which turned out to be too small. It was the first proper road bike I’d ever ridden. We made it the The Filling Station on 9W for lunch, and I was feeling pretty good. But then we turned around to head back. That’s when the enormous burger and beer and lingering hangover and poor choice of athletic wear took their toll. Hunter and Sean are both several years my senior, yet they kicked my ass on the way home. When we made it back to Williamsburg, Sean goaded me to race the last few blocks to Blue Bottle Coffee, where he said he’d buy my drink if I beat him. I doubt I beat him, but he did buy my coffee—a heinously powerful cold-brewed batch of jet fuel. That night, tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep a wink. My body was beat, but my over-caffeinated brain was humming at a thousand RPM. I guess I liked it, because after that ride, I was hooked.