One Morning in Fitzroy
Is there a better way to spend a morning than counting garbage trucks and bikes and having staring contests with old people?
Super Tuesday is a day for counting. In Australia, though, it’s not about counting votes, it’s about counting bikes.
I’m a member of an organisation called Bicycle Network, which, according to their website, is ‘Australia’s biggest bike riding organisation’. In practice, that means that they advocate for better infrastructure, hold events to promote cycling, circulate news, and, twice a year, they count bikes. Counting is a useful tool in advocacy, because then the BN can have solid data to back up their efforts with local Councils and such when saying that we need more and better bike lanes, improved intersections, and coffee cups that don’t spill when you jam them in your water bottle holder.
This count is no small undertaking. BN engages a massive group of volunteers to head out to strategic locations in cities across Australia, and then count the number of bikes, e-bikes, and e-scooters that roll past.
I’ve always been a bit of a cyclist, especially so since we moved to Australia in 2010. When we got here we did not have a car, so were forced into riding our bikes everywhere, and it is a habit that has stuck even now that we have a 5,000 pound diesel death machine Toyota Prado. We call our death machine Clifford because it’s big and reddish. It’s hard to hate something called Clifford.
Despite all of the cycling that I’ve been doing over the past dozen years, I’ve always been a passive BN member. So this year, with a little extra time on my hands, I decided to volunteer for the count.
When I signed up, I selected a wonky intersection in a nearby suburb called Fitzroy, one where two of the side streets do not line up into a proper intersection. The main street of my location is called Smith Street, a busy north-south thoroghfare lined with funky shops, interesting restaurants, and populated by weirdos, hipsters, and weirdo hipsters.
A few days before Super Tuesday, BN sent me some sheets to use when tallying my counts, and some instructions. The main one caused me some distress. Not only did we have to count riders, but we had to make note of where they came from, where they rode to, and whether they were male, female, or of unknown gender.
So if someone came from the north (lane number 1) and turned and headed west (lane number 4), and it was a masked person riding a scooter, I would have to note 1-4, scooter, gender unknown. This had me worried, keeping all that detail, especially if riders were coming fast and furious.
On the morning of the count, I grabbed my count sheets, two pens, a water bottle, and a colourful placemat off our table because it was a solid surface that I could write on.
Here’s how things went.
7 to 7.15 a.m.
The first thing I notice is the quiet. At stretches, when the trams have passed and there’s no traffic, there is silence. I am so used to Smith Street being a hive of activity at all hours, traffic and people all here to spend money and bustle and carouse that the silence is almost eerie.
I’ve only just started, and a weathered old bearded man appeared on the corner across the street and is giving me a hard stare.
There’s a girl forcing her way across the street by simply walking out and holding up her hands to passing cars.
A man just ran past in the road, pushing a motorcycle. He was dressed for the endeavour, in black pants, leather jacket and a helmet. There are better ways to utilise a motorcycle, I reckon.
Count: Nine bikers and about 15 people walking dogs.
7.15 to 7.30 a.m.
The old man left. I got tired of him staring at me so gave him a long hard stare in return, which I think I scared him off.
More silence, broken by delivery trucks surrounding the Woolworths grocery store down the street.
On the horizon, just beyond the buildings across the street, a hot air balloon appeared. Then I looked south down the road, and there were four or five of them floating eastward.
A woman just passed me on the footpath. She was running with her dog, while saying to it ‘running, running, running, now we’re running’. The dog didn’t seem confused about what was happening, so I’m don’t think that was necessary.
First tattoo of the morning, seen on the back of a woman’s leg. I don’t understand how she was wearing shorts. It’s cold and I can see my breath.
The first scooter just passed.
Count: Nine bikers again, and the one woman on a scooter.
7.30 to 7.45 a.m.
Some guy just parked a fancy Alfa Romeo directly across the street from me. He got out, crossed over to my side, and started clearing off the footpath by shoving a bunch of cones out of the way and wheeling a Woolies cart past me so that it was blocking a phone booth. I have no problem blocking a phone booth, because why is it there in the first place? But if he’d simply pushed the cart the same distance in the other direction, he could have left it right outside the store. He has gone back across the street and pulled a camera out of his boot and set it up in the street facing one of the buildings.
The old bearded man has returned. He’s now on my side of the street, and still staring at me. I stared back, and he crossed to the other side and took up his old position.
There’s very little traffic just now, and I look around and take in my surroundings. I’m wondering why I picked the dirtiest corner in Fitzroy to stand on. It’s covered in dried bin juice from the trash can that’s next to me, bird poop from birds sitting in the tree branches above, and other street detritis like cigarette butts. Maybe the bird poop is a sign that I should move?
Average age of people out at this time of day on Smith Street: 34.
A girl in a blue dress just got run over by a tram. Nearly. Her own fault, as she exited the tram and then tried to cross the street in front of it.
Tuesday must be garbage day. There are lots of garbage trucks about.
Count: 6 bikers, a delivery guy on an e-bike, and eight garbage trucks.
7.45 - 8.00 a.m.
There are pigeons behind me gathered around an old piece of bread that’s lying in the dirt. Upon inspection, the bread appears to be covered in waxy cheese and maybe some onion. Might have been tasty, yesterday.
The camera guy has packed up his Alfa and left. He basically stood in the road with his camera pointed at the building for 15 minutes. Before leaving, he replaced the cones on the footpath that he’d pushed out of the way, but not the Woolies cart. I wonder, can you make enough money shooting photos of buildings to drive an Alfa Romeo?
The pigeons are now fighting. That must be some tasty cheese bread.
Even as it approaches 8 a.m., there are still brief periods of silence that are quite nice.
Another food delivery guy just passed on a bike. Do people have food delivered for breakfast, is that a thing? It honestly never occurred to me.
Count: 16 bikes, one man on an e-bike, and two people on scooters.
8.00 - 8.15 a.m.
All of the sudden 5 riders appear all at once, all going in different directions! Madness! This job is stressful.
A crazy man has appeared. Sure, he might be mentally ill, but he might also be high on something, so I’ll just stick with crazy as my description. He’s carrying a box, and weaving all over the footpath while shouting at people and buildings. Every so often he stops to kick something. Despite the weaving, the way he handles the box is like a skilled waiter navigating a bustling dining room while carrying a tray full of drinks. The box is always upright, he adeptly swaps it from hand to hand as he meanders wildly down the footpath and it remains sound even as he jumps up and down on a chair outside a cafe. Once he’s directly across from me, he kicks over a bin, sending it tumbling into the road and lying across the bike lane. That won’t do, I thought. Blocking lane number 3 could effect the integrity of my counts. I crossed the road and returned the bin to its spot on the footpath, a task harder than I imagined because it was full of garbage. Where are all those garbage trucks when you need them?
My hands are freezing. I should have worn gloves, maybe some with the fingers cut out that would make me give me some street cred while allowing me to continue my pen work.
More pigeons have arrived on my corner, and they are slowly moving closer. I’m worried they might force me into the road into the path of a garbage truck.
A woman just passed wearing a light blue dress that matches her light blue hair. Do people really try and match their clothes with their hair? For me that would mean wearing mesh shirts, which I’ll have to investigate. I have no doubt I could find a selection at the local Op Shop.
A woman recently rode past on a scooter. She was on the footpath across the street. She then rode past going the opposite direction, but upon noticing me watching her, she jumped off and walked the scooter, mouthing a ‘sorry!’ to me. I wonder if she thinks I am something more than a mere counter of two wheeled vehicles, like some sort of undercover footpath cop? Picturing myself standing still and watching the intersection intently, next to the bin while surrounded by pigeons, with an old placemat and a pen in hand, I can see why she would be wary.
The more important question is: do you count the woman twice for riding up and down the footpath in different directions? The answer is yes, yes you do.
Count: 13 bikers, two people on e-bikes, and three scooter riders.
8.15 - 8.30 a.m.
The guy with the box just swerved his way across the road through traffic and then went firing into Woolies like he was raiding the place. He emerged shortly after, took off his shirt and put it in the box, weaved through traffic again, and disappeared down lane number 2.
My fingers are turning white. This is no good. I cannot tally bikes without my fingers.
Time moves very slowly when you are counting.
I checked in on the pigeons having breakfast, and it looks like they picked all the good stuff off the top of the bread. Seems like something a picky little kid would do, pick the cheese off the top of the bread, only the pigeons have kicked on and are going to finish off the bread.
A garbage truck just pulled up right next to my corner, and is sitting there waiting to turn. I curse it for blocking my view of lanes 1 and 2, but it is giving off some warmth, so I snuggled in closer.
The sun has risen enough at this point that there is a little slice of sun hitting the shopfront of a store called Klass Kutters. It doesn’t open for another 30 minutes, so I stand in the doorway, and the sun is glorious.
And ‘Klass Kutters’? Seriously. It makes me feel a bit insecure to know that someone who would name a place Klass Kutters owns a business, and I do not.
A van with the name ‘Cupcake Queens’ on the side just drove by, driven by an man with gray hair. Is he one of the Queens, or does he just drive the van?
Count: 14 bikers, four e-bikes and one guy on a scooter.
8.30 - 8.45 a.m.
The cops have showed up and are hanging out in front of the Woolies down the road. Because of the crazy box man, probably. That’s a quick response.
I can feel the warmth from the sun reaching my fingers, and it is so good.
I’m across the road from Fonda, a restaurant that sells good but overpriced Mexican food. A taco will run you $6.50. You could alternatively get the Mexico City Pulled Pork burrito for a scandalous $19. I’ve never been to Mexico City, but I would like to think you could go there and buy a dozen burritos for $19.
Count: Speaking of 19, 19 bikes and three e-bikes.
8.45 - 9.00 a.m.
A firetruck just went screaming by!
Now that I am not standing on the filthy corner, I can notice how lovely the big gum trees are on that part of Moor Street, the trees that the pigeons sit in to poop on the corner.
I can see a place called N. Lee Bakery just down the block. It does a solid bahn mi and I’m hungry, but I don’t think people eat bahn mis for breakfast.
87% of people this time of day are carrying a coffee cup, a phone, or both.
A guy just walked past me eating a bahn mi.
8.55 and a gray haired fellow arrived at Klass Kutters to open up for the day. He gave me a ‘g’day’ that was wary because I was loitering outside of his hairkutting parlor, and hopeful that I was waiting there to get a hairkut. I stayed put.
8.59 and a second guy arrived at Klass Kutters. And the last bike went past.
Count: 22 bikers, three e-bikes, and four people on scooters.
At that I said goodbye to the pigeons, packed up my placemat and sheets, and headed up lane number 4 in the direction of home.
A 140lb, almost 50 year old man, scaring someone off with just a stare made me chuckle. They must be pretty soft down under. ;-)