Two articles appear in the New York Times today that strike a particular chord with me. What is more urban than the alley? Well, Chicago is installing permeable pavement in its alleys as a means to reduce stormwater runoff. This was being discussed a year ago when I was researching an article about green development in Chicago, and I’m thrilled to see the alleys actually being built. Read the Chicago article here .

Those of you familiar with Colfax Avenue in Denver will want to read about zoning changes and redevelopment occurring to the area just east of the state capitol. I’ve long been interested in this eclectic section of street. I am even more pleased to see the article features a photograph of Pete’s Kitchen, the first place I ever ate breakfast in Denver (like Al’s Breakfast, I have a nose for finding good greasy spoons). Read the Denver article here.

The Next American City is an up-and-coming magazine that explores a broad range of urban topics faced by leaders and decision makers. I have two articles that appeared in their pages this year. Read them here - The First Fast Train in Minnesota and A Skybridge Over Salt Lake.

The first thing I like to do when I arrive in a new city is drop my bags and head out for a stroll to discover the place. I like to pound the pavement and take in the sights, sounds and yes, even smells of a new city. I have many vivid memories of walking through a city for the first time, like King Street in Alexandria, Virginia, M Street in Georgetown, Polk Street in San Francisco, the warehouse district in Austin, and even downtown Pittsburgh. There is no better way to do so than on foot.

Oddly, the same argument can be made for wilderness. Indeed, my favorite writer, Edward Abbey, writes that the wilderness and our national parks are best seen on foot. He proposes banning all automobiles from the national parks in his seminal book “Desert Solitaire.” Abbey asks why, if we don’t allow cars in our cathedrals, concert halls, art museums, bedrooms and other sacred places in our culture, do we allow them in our national parks?

Interestingly, Abbey also acknowledges efforts to keep cars out of central cities. Keep in mind that he wrote Desert Solitaire in the late 1960s, around that time that numerous cities did ban cars and create pedestrian malls and car-free districts. Some worked, many failed, but even today the best areas of our cities are places where the automobile is mitigated or banned. Even the congestion pricing scheme in London helps control traffic in the central city, much the way Abbey wished for traffic to be controlled in the national parks. But I digress.

The greater point is Abbey’s argument that people’s enjoyment of national parks and wilderness is greatly enhanced when they are not trapped in their automobiles. He writes in Desert Solitaire, “A man on foot, on horseback or on a bicycle will see more, feel more, enjoy more in one mile than the motorized tourists can in a hundred miles.” He’s right. You may hear a bird call, pause to notice a shadow cast at sunset, smell decaying leaves in a forest or simply feel the weather and better understand the climate of a place. You can’t do that in a car.

The same thing can be applied to cities. I make sure to walk through a portion of San Francisco every time I visit, and during the course of a one mile walk I may stumble upon a great bookstore or cafe, smell an unusual dish being prepared at a restaurant in Chinatown, or discover a fantastic view of the bay from high on a hill. Drive the 101 freeway to San Jose and the experience begins to wane.

Abbey also advocates for the wise utilization of a place, a topic easily applied to cities as well. He argues that fewer motorized vehicles make the same space feel larger. He describes a lake one mile wide and ten miles long and explains that a motorboat could circumnavigate it comfortably in an hour. Ten motorboats begin to crowd it and fifty would create mayhem and make enjoyment of the lake impossible. Make all 50 boats nonmotorized canoes and suddenly enjoyment returns. Anyone who has been to the BWCA wilderness in Minnesota understands this - and a truly rare and wonderful wilderness experience it is!

An attractive, albeit narrow city street can accomodate hundreds of cars an hour, but that can be unpleasant for pedestrians. Put everyone on a bicycle and things are perhaps less chaotic, and certainly quieter, but if those very same amoun of people per hour traveled by foot down the street instead of in their car, it changes the experience mightily. Indeed, it is then possible to actually enjoy that street. Be it Main Street at Disneyland, Pearl Street in Boulder, State Street in Madison, or Trafalgar Square in London (there are hundreds of examples), the urban experience (OK, fake urban experience in the case of Disney) is greatly enhanced when cars are mitigated or removed from the scene.

Abbey explains that the national parks truly wild again without cars, “a venturesome minority” will set off alone on foot. “Let them take risks,” he writes, “for Godsake, let them get lost, sunburnt, stranded, drowned, eaten by bears, buried alive under avalanches-that is the right and privilege of any free American.” The rest of us will need guidance to “saddle a horse, read a topographical map, follow a trail over slickrock, memorize landmarks, build a fire in rain, treat snakebite, rappel down a cliff, glissade down a glacier, read a compass, find water under sand, load a burro, splint a broken bone, bury a body, patch a rubber boat, portage a waterfall, survive a blizzard, avoid lightning, cook a porcupine,….” The list goes on, but Abbey believes this guidance should come from park rangers whom he feels (he should know, he was one) are too often pushing paper in air conditioned offices and in fact not actually “ranging.”

Maybe all we need are urban rangers. I do not recommend banning cars from cities. No. All I ask is that we are mindful of the automobile’s mostly negative impact and that we seek more efficient methods of transportation so that we may better enjoy urban life. So, like Abbey recommends for national parks, pehaps what we need are rangers. Urban rangers. Ranging. Besides better planning, architecture and the like, perhaps we just need a little direction. A lot of people appear helplessly lost in cities without their cars. Urban rangers would help us navigate our cities better on foot. They would give us maps and recommend “trails” to take, or better yet help us fine tune our skills so we can “follow our nose” and discover the city for ourselves. Rangers could help us find that cafe we seek, barter at a street market, learn to “stroll” and “people watch,” understand how to pay transit fare, carry groceries without a minivan, appropriately guide a bicycle through city streets, enjoy density,…. The list goes on.

Go out and discover your city. Walk a route you usually drive. Let your legs and heart propel you. Go see, smell and hear the city like never before. Jay Walljasper’s book “The Great Neighborhood Book” recommends just that. You may surprise yourself at what you discover, but walking through a city is the one true way to experience it. Enjoy the place you love. Make Edward Abbey proud.

Much has happened since my last entry about Tillie’s Bean, my local coffee shop. Our city council member Gary Schiff has indeed put forth a proposed Coffee Unplugged Ordinance. However, in the intervening days since Tillie’s generated an uproar from musicians, they were forced to close due to a bizarre set of circumstances that involved the state revoking their sales license. The hope is that Tillie’s will refinance their operation through a different bank this week and restore their good standing with the state.

The lesson here is twofold - First, it is hard to run a neighborhood business in the face of multiple seen and unforseen forces. Second, there is greater community value from independent coffee shops versus national franchises.

Maggie Turner, the owner of Tillie’s Bean, knew three years ago when sho opened that there would be bumps in the road, but never foresaw the cumulative effect of two summers of road construction on the street outside her door, a break-in, a robbery, multiple graffiti “taggings,” and a drug overdose in her restroom. But she said she is a fighter, and with luck she has dedicated customers that will return once she is open again. I hope so - it is a fight worth fighting.

Research has shown that for every dollar spent in the local economy, a far greater share stays there when spent at locally-owned businesses versus national chains. Local businesses are more likely to spend locally on goods and supplies, and professional services. They are also more likely to give to local charity. Plus, Tillie’s, like other coffee shops, is a third place, where neighbors can meet, develop trust and form associations. To better understand the meaning and value of a “third place,” just read Ray Oldenburg’s book “The Great Good Place.”

Tillie’s Bean represents a microcosm of what good urbanists like me stand for and shout about everywhere. It is a local business with ties to the community, and provides a good third place to get to know neighbors. It is also in an eminently walkable neighborhood, one block from my house, in the base of a mixed-use condo building, and a block from the 38th Street light rail station - all pluses in my book.

Tillie’s is planning to celebrate their reopening on Saturday the 17th of November. Enough musicians (no more than three at a time!) want to support Tillie’s and play there that they will offer live music all day, in addition to a silent auction and an overall festive spirit. I encourage you to stop by if you are in the area.

Let’s hope we all win this good fight for this great place.

The urbanist that lives inside of me was born in Madison, Wisconsin in 1994. The very first entry on this website tells that story. It has been 10 whole years since I graduated from the University of Wisconsin. The temptation is to remember one’s college days with a certain hazy reverie, and to return to your alma mater and act as though no time has passed while privately weeping for the fact that you are aging and there’s no stopping the march of time. There is certainly that temptation for me, and I do have fond memories of Madison. But I am more interested in Madison as a place, and it is always wonderful to go visit and see the changes and evolution in that wonderful city.

Indeed, much has changed in the 10 years since I graduated. I recently spent a day wandering around on my own there, seeing it with both rose colored glasses but also with a fresh set of eyes. Besides the obvious new tenants on State Street (Chipotle, Starbucks, and Cold Stone Creamery) and the condo projects that have popped up downtown (in what downtown haven’t they?), there are some less obvious improvements to downtown.

The Monona Terrace, the convention center overlooking Lake Monona, is inspired by a Frank Lloyd Wright design (a true Star-chitect). It has truly calayzed significant new development in the area in the 10 years since it opened. The area around it used to be somewhat deviod of life. That is certainly not the case today. A big success story for downtown.

A clever marketing and wayfinding system has also been introduced to the downtown, with a focus on State Street. Everybody, especially alumni, think they know Madison like the back of their hand. In truth, nobody does - there are a lot of bars from which to choose! As the six blocks of State Street get redone with new pavement, benches, streetlights, etc., the city is adding maps and directories of businesses, parking and destinations. Each block also has signage by address - the 100 block, the 200 block, etc. The maps cover everything from the edge of campus and the Memorial Union Terrace, up State Street and the couple blocks east of the capitol to the Monona Terrace. They are very well done, and help students, alumni and visitors alike find their way. Any downtown seeking to become a true destination, a set of nice maps are critical.

I made my way out to Picnic Point, which is a mostly forested area with numerous trails occupying a peninsula facing the University across Lake Mendota. From the Memorial Union Terrace, you can take the Lakeshore Path along campus and out to the end of Picnic Point. It is roughly six miles round trip and a favorite among students for walking and jogging. I was happy to see Picnic Point had not changed much. You still enter Picnic Point and the gravel trail hugs the row of trees to the right, close to the water, with a sloping lawn framing a stand of tall trees with a few pines sprinkled in. Sun, shade, grass, water, trees, all in one place. The landscape architect who designed it is a genius. Most of Picnic Point is fairly untouched, with the exception of the trails and a couple manicured areas with firepits. But it offers intermittent vistas across Lake Mendota, and the views back towards campus and the city are truly captivating. It is very lovely.

The entire city plan for Madison, created by John Nolen, is designed around the state capitol, which occupies the top of a hill on the isthmus between Lakes Mendota and Monona. Height restrictions mean one can catch glimpses of the capitol up streets, across the water, or from unexpected places miles away. As grand plans go, it is one of the better of any city I’ve visited.

But while the capitol building and square forms the geographic heart of the city of Madison, the Memorial Union Terrace is its soul. It is, bar none, the most beautiful place on earth to hang out on a sunny day. Sitting on a distinctive Terrace chair, sipping a beer from a Wisconsin Union wax paper cup and watching the parade of people and sailboats go by is an exceptional experience. Everything about it is well designed - the way the Union building walls form a sort of room around the space, framing the lake, the way the Terrace is indeed “terraced,” stepping down to the water, or the way it is a public place that allows people to come and go as they please, with no obligation to buy anything or limit their time there. The colorful mix of characters and life is just wonderful. Add live music on warm summer nights and you get pure perfection.

This is difficult to describe, there is a certain spiritual centeredness about Madison that I don’t feel elsewhere. I don’t think it is my memory of the place, because clearly I’m impressed with how Madison has evolved as a city since I left. It has the right mix of geography (the lakes and isthmus), planning and architecture (some landmarks but mostly good urban buildings that take advantage of the geography - as well, they avoided ramming a freeway through it all), and people (the timeless presence of university students is like eternal life). The best way to describe it is the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

I guess that is what a true city is. Its setting is splendid and its mix of inhabitants give it life and balance. Of course I’m proud to say I went to school there, but I’m thrilled to say it hasn’t lost any of its lustre in the interveing years. I dare say it is better than it was then. Madison is a vibrant, living organism and a great urban place.