After all, it’s mainly wealthier citizens who can afford to live in the “new urbanist” walkable developments popping up around the country.īoth situations come with unwanted assumptions and conclusions, both of which we would probably rather avoid. City-walkers are perceived as either too poor to own a car or as too rich. Similar to the stigma in some cities around biking (as only for poor people), walking around the city comes with certain stigmas, too. We avoid walking because who wants to have to constantly barter with an irritated driver sitting behind the wheel of a 2,500-pound machine? #4. It’s this set of expectations that makes walking so scary. We are not expected to share the road with other forms of transit. People living in car-dominated cultures expect to be able to get around as fast and as conveniently as possible. Because drivers aren’t used to expecting walkers, drivers are easily frustrated by walkers (and bikers). Cars are allowed to turn right on pedestrian crosswalks when pedestrians have the walking signal. I’ve been forced into this situation and have seen parents with child-carrying strollers forced into it, too. Other sidewalks are lumpy, extremely narrow, or overgrown with grass. For example, there are plenty of streets here in Waco where the sidewalks disappear suddenly, shoving pedestrians into the street alongside traffic. In many American cities, walkable infrastructure is unsafe, incomplete, or unimaginative. Walking most North American cities sucks because they make us feel vulnerable and awkward. If you’ve ever tried to walk your city and decided to never do it again because of how odd and out of place you felt, I sympathize. Sure, there’s a sidewalk, but does anyone actually belong on a sidewalk next to a busy road full of speeding cars? Yes, there’s a cross-walk here, but with four lanes of traffic gunning for the intersection, do pedestrians really belong? Technically, this sidewalk can carry me to my destination, but with no trees or shops, with no other pedestrians, with all of the signs designed to be seen by drivers, not walkers, and with the need to constantly negotiate with cars moving in and out of busy driveways, the sidewalk feels more like an afterthought than an actual means of mobility. But no matter how confident I feel about my skills as an urban walker, the design of most streets tells me that I’m out of place. ![]() There I go, little urban me, sporting sunglasses and Bluetooth earphones, carrying all my bags and jaywalking like a pro. When I walk around Waco, I feel overexposed, vulnerable, and a little silly. Walking your city sucks because everything is too far apart and it would be a waste of time. This is common in most North American cities thanks to a combination of federal housing policy, single-use zoning, the influence of the automobile lobby, and an overreaction to industrialism. Consequently, the places I frequent the most are too far apart from where I live and too far apart from each other. Homes and common businesses (cafés, laundromats, post offices, libraries, etc.) do not exist close together. The reality is, as much as I adore walking, it makes zero sense for me to “walk my life.” Like most American cities built after the 1900s, Waco has been designed in a sprawled-out fashion, with buildings separated by type. Yet while many of us would agree that walkability makes sense for countless reasons, few of us actually walk the cities where we live. I walk here too and try to encourage my friends to do the same. I’m now living temporarily in a small Texas city. Other walks ended with new discoveries and a full heart. Some walks left me heavy-hearted and disappointed. Others were so delightfully designed at human scale that I could have wept. Some were dangerous, forcing me onto unsafe infrastructure or pitting me against aggressive drivers. Without the comfort, protection, and ease of the automobile, I’ve experienced these places more authentically. ![]() ![]() With every walk, I’ve discovered new layers, textures, and details to the city. I’ve walked through ghettos, homeless encampments, busy intersections, and luxurious, mansion-lined residential streets. I’ve walked exciting historic corridors and empty suburban wastelands. I’ve walked the streets of Paris and Rome, the streets of forgotten small towns in the American South. As a traveling journalist, I have walked dozens of cities.
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