newjerseynewsroom.com

BY PAT SUMMERS

NEWJERSEYNEWSROOM.COM

They travel in opposite directions, though they cover some of the same ground. They don't meet en route; in fact, they don't even know each other.

The big thing they have in common – and it's still UNcommon – is that they regularly commute to work by bicycle.

With different reasons and systems for what they do, cyclists Abdul Wiswall and Ian Curtis have one more commonality: they're not spewing engine pollution into the atmosphere. For them, that's a side benefit, however notable it may be.

Abdul Wiswall: North from Trenton

On a sparkling summer morning after an all-night rain, Abdul Wiswall arrived at his job near Princeton after riding in from his Trenton home ... on his bicycle. The campus of Educational Testing Service includes woods and fields, and his ride there can include the scenic D & R canal path. It's enough to prompt spontaneous outbreaks of "Oh, what a beautiful morning!"

But this is how Wiswall, 38, gets to work every day, year-round, with whatever weather comes his way, so he might by now take some of it for granted. In the three-plus years he has done so, he's got the art of bicycle commuting down to a fine science.

His steel Bianchi cyclo-cross bicycle has dropped bars like a regular road bike and tires more like those on a mountain bike. It's sturdy looking, with leather tape on its handlebars burnished to about the same autumn leaf-tone as the classic Brooks seat.

Wiswall seems quietly proud of how he bought and reconditioned the bicycle, which he has also fitted out with lights and reflectors, including on the sides of the wheels for visibility from that angle too.

In the well-worn red panniers on either side of the rear wheel, he carries whatever supplies he might need for a 25-mile round trip commute.

Rain gear, including an orange poncho, shares space with bicycle-repair equipment. He's ready for anything, from fixing flats to replacing chain links. On this August morning, he has brought khakis and a plaid shirt — work clothes to change into after he showers in the basement of the building where he's a test developer for ETS.

In another carrier there's homemade bread and homegrown vegetables with a few peaches – as usual, no prepared food – and his current lunchtime-only reading. ("I don't read and ride!")

For Wiswall, the cycling all began as a way to test his limits. He built up to the ride to ETS, and now has a couple possible routes. His brother, in New York, also cycle- commutes, putting the two men "in the best shape ever." And it doesn't stop there: on weekends, Wiswall may ride around Trenton on a tandem bike, joined by any of his four children.

Late last year, Wiswall had "a freak accident" at the end of his ride to work, one that made him more of a helmet-advocate than ever. The ETS driveway had recently been resealed, and he wasn't wearing his helmet when his bicycle wheels kicked out from under him. He landed on his head, unconscious, waking to hear the ambulance crew remark, "He's really out of it."

Three days later, he was back on his bicycle after escaping with only a concussion. He had promptly gone out and bought a sturdy "multi sports" helmet, and now, he says, "I don't even look at my bike without my helmet on!"

Which is just as well. Wiswall's familiar with vehicle drivers who "buzz" cyclists, coming dangerously close, to scare them. The one complaint he filed with police never got anywhere.

On the plus side, he has contributed to cleaner air by removing one internal combustion engine from the road. For a while in his commute, Wiswall regularly encountered a motorcycle rider. Then one day, he was surprised to be greeted by a guy on a bicycle that he didn't recognize.

"You know who I am, man," the former biker told him, explaining that he now commutes to his job by bicycle, thanks to Wiswall's example.

To a committed cyclist who expects to age as "that crazy old guy on the bicycle," can it get any better than that?

Ian Curtis: South from Hillsborough

Twice a week, Ian ("Yan") Curtis, a 20-year bicycle commuter, rides from his home in Hillsborough to his job in Trenton. Depending on the route he chooses, that round trip averages about 50 miles.

Curtis didn't adopt his "alternative means of transportation" to save money or gas.

Rather, he calls cycling "a way of life," adding, "This is living a theme of fitness, health, conservation and being forced to practice a consistency."

He uses either a titanium Serotta Legend or a Specialized Tarmac, one a road-racer and the other a cyclo-cross, and he's articulate about clothing and care of the cyclist, the cycle itself and the tools to keep it "immaculately maintained." He doesn't cycle in rainy weather, partly because maintenance afterward can mean hours – he takes the bike completely apart for cleaning, then reassembles it.

On one eventful commuting day he well remembers, a truck turned right from his left, then another vehicle passed within a foot of him. He talks calmly to drivers who honk at him or come too close, believing that "Cyclists are easy targets [for motorists] to vent on."

Yet Curtis, 43, also gives drivers the benefit of the doubt. Rather than claim motorists deliberately buzz or hit cyclists, he believes drivers just don't pay attention. He often wears white and orange so he's easy to see. (Photos here show him wearing the uniform of his racing team: Pure Energy, named for a cycling/coffee shop in Lambertville.)

He's had two accidents that left him unconscious. Medi-vac'd out of the first one, Curtis stopped bicycle commuting for six months after the second. He has decided reactions to the bill proposed by Assemblywoman L. Grace Spencer (D-Newark). Under it, motorists would be required to leave a buffer of at least three feet when passing cyclists traveling in the same direction, with violators fined $100.

One statistic cited to support Spencer's bill is N.J.'s record number of cyclist fatalities (21) in 2008 – to which Curtis says simply: "Fatalities increase as the number of riders increases." He wonders who would, or could, enforce it if Spencer's bill becomes law and whether signs along the road urging motorists to be cautious and share the road would be equally effective.

In one instance however, Curtis thinks the three-foot buffer could help: While it might be very hard to prove a motorist was traveling too close – under three feet – let's say the cyclist was actually hit, he hypothesizes. "The driver's fault is far clearer with the three-foot rule because then s/he must prove it was the cyclist who did some significant erroneous act.

"The cyclist may swerve to avoid a hole or glass or animal, but rarely more than a few feet. If that few feet already exists due to the rule, the driver has significantly more of a hurdle in proving the cyclist's at fault."

A father of three children, Curtis must be hyper-organized, packing lunches and leaving notes for his kids and wife before starting his commute. Once he reaches the Department of Environmental Protection – where he oversees clean up of brownfield sites – he parks his bike behind the building and showers in the basement.

Curtis extols his department's internal "Green Commuting" program, which encourages employees to bicycle-commute. DEP provides bike racks with camera surveillance and makes link-up information and emergency transportation available, as well as "office bikes" for employee use between offices.

For those involved, statistics are kept on trip numbers and miles covered. So far this year, Curtis has amassed around 2,600 bicycle-commuting miles. That doesn't count his recreational cycling.

Pat Summers is a freelance writer who also blogs at AnimalBeat.blogspot.com.