http://travel2.nytimes.com/2004/06/0...es/04GREE.html
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June 4, 2004
Building an `Emerald Necklace,' Link by Link
By DENNY LEE

THE bike trail is roughly eight feet wide. It is paved in black asphalt and
hemmed in by a wooden split-rail fence. And when the sun comes out, as it
did the other weekend, the Baltimore & Annapolis Trail in Maryland springs
to life with cyclists, in-line skaters and wild rabbits. But no one on the
trail, not even the spandex-wearing weekend warriors, could pinpoint where
the path begins or ends.

"It starts in Annapolis," said Debbie Doering, 42, a cyclist from that town,
who was riding a purple Bianchi road bike. A few miles up the path, Ron
Coombs was unpacking a mountain bike from his station wagon. "It goes up to
the B.W.I.," he said, referring to Baltimore-Washington International
Airport. In other words, according to these bikers, the greenway would be
about 13 miles long.

They were off by only 2,600 miles or so.

The B.& A. Trail, it turns out, is merely a tiny dash along a much longer
ribbon of asphalt and dirt roads known as the East Coast Greenway. The
greenway, a cyclist's version of the Appalachian Trail, begins near the
Canadian border in Calais, Me., and ends at a beach in Key West, Fla. In
between, it snakes through 15 states and the District of Columbia, hundreds
of towns and countless neighborhoods, forming a seamless route — free of
traffic lights and exhaust-spewing cars — for people who want to travel the
East Coast on their own power.

At least it does on paper.

So far, only 20 percent of the East Coast Greenway has been built and
designated; in some places, the greenway is as navigable as the North Korean
border. But enough of the trail has been plotted and temporary routes
labeled that the greenway's pathfinders held a coming-out party in
Washington last June to declare the trail officially open.

Though nobody has yet ridden the trail end to end. (A fit person, going at a
solid pace of 70 miles a day, would need 37 days to complete it — and that's
without a day of rest.) Even its staunchest advocates predict that only a
handful of people will ever pedal the entire route. "Sure, but very few
people have done the Appalachian Trail," said Ty Symroski, a city planner in
Key West and a volunteer with the East Coast Greenway Alliance, the
nonprofit group that is spearheading the trail. "If only three people did
it, but 300 million dream about it, that would be worth it."

"Think about it," he added. "It would be an awesome ride."

But first, people have to know it exists. On a recent Saturday afternoon, on
the Key West portion of the trail, wild chickens took refuge under shady
palms, and the concrete path was filled with cyclists of all ages, from
children on tricycles to elderly couples on tandems. Among them was Georgina
Acuna, 31, a human resources consultant visiting from Miami, who was riding
a rickety single-speed bike along the final, 2.3-mile leg of the greenway,
hugging the shore, slicing past mangrove marshes, beachside homes and the
emerald waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

Like most users of the greenway, Ms. Acuna saw only a local bike path. "This
trail goes to the other side of Key West, right?" she said, as she stood at
the very foot of the trail, just before it spills into Higgs Beach. A few
feet away was a granite marker the size of a wastebasket, designating the
spot as the "southern gateway" of the East Coast Greenway.

"No one is contesting that most people will use the greenway to travel short
distances, or only on weekends," said Karen M. Votava, the executive
director of the Greenway Alliance, based in Wakefield, R.I. She, too,
invoked the Appalachian Trail as a model. "Only 400 or so people go the
whole length of the Appalachian Trail every year. But if you look closer,
over four million use it in short pieces."

Chances are, even in its infancy the greenway has already surpassed that
figure. Unlike the Appalachian Trail, which ambles through backwoods and
national parks, the greenway does not avoid urban areas. (Its slogan is, "A
trail connecting cities.") The idea for the long biking trail was born in
the early 1990's as cities throughout the country, especially in the
Northeast, began laying down bicycle paths. It was a movement fueled by an
aging baby-boom population seeking to trim its waist line, and by
environmentalists who embraced cycling as a clean alternative to cars.

The biggest boost came in 1991 when Congress, under heavy lobbying by
environmental groups, authorized the Intermodal Surface Transportation
Efficiency Act, known as Istea (pronounced ice tea). In addition to
expanding the nation's highway system, the act set aside $1.5 billion for
building bicycle and pedestrian paths. Local governments contributed an
additional 20 percent in matching financing.

"Istea was the pivotal moment," said Andy Clarke, executive director of the
League of American Bicyclists in Washington. The program grew to $2 billion
in 1998 under the Transportation Equity Act for the 21st Century, and is up
for renewal this year.

Cities as divergent as New York and Portland, Me., began using the money to
build minigreenways, though the total number of bike paths is hard to pin
down. Many used old railroad rights of way, and by 1998 there were 198
converted rail-trails in the country, totaling 359 miles. That number has
climbed to 1,250 rail-trails today, with a combined 12,585 miles, according
to the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy, a nonprofit group in Washington.

The East Coast Greenway Alliance was formed in 1991 to stitch together the
new trails. The idea was to create an "emerald necklace" connecting every
city along the coast, as well as the suburbs, exurbs and rural areas in
between. To date, 61 segments totaling 650 miles are complete, half on
former rail beds. Organizers are also working on lining up existing
campsites so cyclists can sleep along the trail.

One of the most popular segments is the B.& A. Trail, which goes over an
abandoned railroad spur. An estimated two million people use the trail every
year, including Steven George, 46, a warehouse worker from Glen Burnie, Md.,
whose front door faces the greenway. "I bike down to my mom's house in
Annapolis," he said.

The B.& A. Trail skips over six-lane highways, trickling ravines and traffic
lights. It is an idyllic 13.3-mile ride out of the Baltimore area — until
you hit a stop sign near a road called Boulters Way. To continue south
toward Washington, on the Washington, Baltimore & Annapolis Trail, cyclists
have to swerve onto Route 2, share the road with 50-m.p.h. traffic, cross a
bridge into Annapolis, and zigzag through 10 miles of tricky local streets
to the nearby town of Odenton.

There, at the corner of Odenton Road and Route 170, near a 7-Eleven and the
Crab Galley seafood carry out, a new asphalt trail materializes out of
nowhere. But the trail, nearly completed, runs for only 2.3 miles before it
dead-ends at a housing development. To reach the next leg of the greenway,
cyclists have to traverse another six miles of sidewalks, local streets and
unmarked intersections.

And Maryland is one of the more complete states.

Neither Delaware nor Georgia claims an inch of existing greenway. New
Hampshire has a single temporary route: along the shoulder of coastal Route
1A. And South Carolina is still poring over maps. "The biggest obstacle is
money," said Ms. Votava of the Greenway Alliance. To date, $600 million has
been allocated for the trail. Another $1.5 billion, she estimated, is needed
to complete it by 2010.

Each mile costs roughly $1 million to build, but some are much costlier. No
bikes, for example, are allowed over the bridges that span the Susquehanna
River in Maryland, and it is less than certain that the state will erect a
1.4-mile bridge just for cyclists and pedestrians — so far $2 million of the
estimated $8 million needed for the bridge has been raised. (Cyclists
currently have to arrange to transport their bikes by car.)

And then there is the Nimby factor. The greenway has sparked occasional
protests from homeowners who fear that it will invite criminals into their
backyards. "People raise the specter of crime, but it's shown to have no
validity," said Mr. Clarke of the bicyclists' league, referring to several
surveys that examined the neighborhood impact of such greenways. "Bicycle
users typically don't carry large television sets on their backs." Still,
places like Greenwich, Conn., and Providence, R.I., have kept the trail from
going through their communities.

To publicize and raise money for the trail, about a dozen cyclists are
planning to pedal the entire 2,600-mile route this fall, or at least the
outlines of it. The inaugural tour is scheduled to depart from Calais, Me.,
on Sept. 12, and end in Key West 53 days later, though many routes — and
permission to ride over highway bridges — are still being worked out.

But Jack Kurrle, 74, a retired tool-and-die engineer from Sun City West,
Ariz., is already in training. "It's the same reason why people climb Mount
Everest," said Mr. Kurrle, an avid cyclist who rides a recumbent bike. "It's
a chance to be the first one to ride the trail."



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