This traffic accident occurred on Friday 13th! I think the boy-racer in the BMW has some explaining to do!

 

BBC2 - Technical Fault - New Look

This photo appeared in the following ideotrope albums:

 

Biking the Mojave Fall 2007 - Introduction

I biked through Death Valley in October 1996. It was 109°F at Furnace Creek. The area is beautiful, but it was way too hot at that time of year. I knew I wanted to come back on my bicycle when it was cooler. This year it worked out to take about 3 weeks after Thanksgiving. I ended up spending 18 days to cycle from Palm Springs to Las Vegas. I spent about half of that time in Death Valley NP. In Baker I met a group of cyclists on racing bikes with a support vehicle. They were cycling from Palm Springs to Las Vegas in 2 days. I saw a lot more desert than they did.

Coachella Valley and Joshua Tree National Park

I crossed the Coachella Valley on Ramon Rd. It was over 70°F, probably the warmest day of the trip. It wasn't 'til I turned onto Thousand Palms Rd. that I felt like I was heading out into the desert on my own. The San Andreas Fault system runs along the northern end of the Coachella Valley. The faults allow groundwater to rise to the surface resulting in a number of California fan palm oases. It's wonderful to see oases in the desert.

It was a 1300m climb on Berdoo Canyon Rd. to the Coachella Valley-Pleasant Valley saddle in Joshua Tree NP. I didn't see a single person or vehicle in Berdoo Canyon. Climbing out of Pleasant Valley I saw the first person, a fellow adventurer. Patrick was walking solo across Joshua Tree NP from west to east. That's a heck of a trek. That park is huge and has only one known spring. Patrick had set up two water caches before his trip.

Amboy Road and Mojave National Preserve

I bought enough food in 29 Palms to last 4 days to Baker. Heading east on the Amboy Rd. I met the only other touring cyclist of the trip. He had come down from Bishop through Death Valley NP, Baker, Kelso, Amboy - much the same route I was planning to take. When I met him, he had run out of food. I shared some almonds with him but didn't have much sympathy with his plight. The reason he didn't buy food in Baker was because there wasn't a health food store! Well, I told him there was a grocery store in 29 Palms, but it might not be up to his standard.

One of the things I was looking forward to on this trip was experiencing the transition zone between the Sonoran Desert (lower, farther south) and the Mojave Desert (higher, farther north). Creosote bushes grow in both, but most other flora is limited to one ecosystem or the other. In the transition zones you can see a mix of vegetation. What I saw ended up being less dramatic than Washington County, Utah where the Colorado Plateau, the Basin and Range country, and the Mojave Desert all come together. Joshua Trees were the main ecosystem indicator for me. I knew I was climbing high when I started to see them.

I was surprised how much traffic there was on the Amboy Rd. It wasn't much, but a lot of the paved roads that I was on during the trip would have one car every 10-30 minutes and perhaps none all night. The only truly busy roads were the road north out of Baker (on a Saturday morning) and the Pahrump-Las Vegas superhighway which has a wonderful bicycle lane.

I climbed Sheep Hole Pass to get into the Amboy Valley. It was in the Amboy Valley where I became accustomed two aspects important to cyclists in the Mojave:

Distances are deceiving. You can see really far. It takes much longer to cross these valleys that it appears that it would.

The slight inclines up alluvial fans or other fill climb a lot more than they appear to. In Colorado I'm not accustomed to seeing the whole climb since there are usually canyon climbs here. Leaving Amboy, for example, I climbed over 3000 ft. on a slowly rising alluvial plane. It took hours.

I enjoyed time off the bike to walk out to and up Amboy Crater. The following day I climbed to the top of the Kelso Dunes. And one day later I climbed one of the cinder cones east of Baker. I enjoyed having a diversion each day. Each of those areas is beautiful in its own way. The creosote bushes in the Amboy Valley are particularly green because of the shallow water table. Kelso Dunes are simply fantastic, and the cinder cone area with over 30 cinder cones and not another person felt like another planet.

In Baker I bought enough food to last 10 days and ate at the Mad Greek at my brother's recommendation. I had taken a rest day the previous day because of rain, and Baker was a bit flooded. Folks were out pushing water around with brooms. At the store the locals were telling each other how much their roofs leaked.

Death Valley National Park

Heading north of Baker the saddle that separates the Silurian Valley from Death Valley is only about a 50' climb. From there I left the pavement and stopped at Saratoga Springs to see the incredible wetlands in the desert. I had planned on climbing the Ibex Dunes, but wind was blowing sand off the top of the dunes and everything was still a bit wet from the rain. The following day I reached the pavement, took it for 5 miles and then headed west up Warm Springs Canyon.

The 1400m climb up Warm Springs Canyon was not the longest of the trip, but it was the toughest. The climb started out hard from below sea level in Death Valley and continued to be hard all the way to the saddle leading into Butte Valley. I struggled in my easiest gear (which is really low) the whole way. Surprisingly I walked very little. It always seemed to be just slightly easier to pedal than to walk.

Butte Valley felt remote. The views to the east were phenomenal giving Greater View Spring its name. I could see range after range. I stopped at Stella Anderson's place and cut some chicken wire to repair my glasses. The rattling had loosened a screw which I couldn't find. It was important to get a good fix since I wore those glasses a lot riding in the early morning and late afternoon. I found I had about 10 hours of light to ride in with perhaps 45 minutes of twilight on either end to mess around in camp. The sun was theoretically up for 8 or 9 hours, but it was often a lot less than that in the canyons. My repair job worked well, and I didn't even strip the threads so the glasses are good as new again :)

Mengel Pass is rough and keeps too many people from taking this route between Death Valley and Panamint Valley. Down in Goler Wash I met Rock(y), one of two residents of Ballarat. His father is the other. Rocky was poking around Goler Wash with his girlfriend who was visiting from LA. He had worked with various mining operations in the area, and I enjoyed his stories. It was also fun to talk with his Isreali girlfriend. We compared this desert with the eastern Mediterranean desert where I have also cycled.

In Ballarat the following day I talked with Rocky some more, but the girlfriend had already returned to LA. There are a surprising number of springs on the west side of the Panamints (due to faults, I'm sure) and a surprising number of fighter jets playing overhead. I scared a coyote into some bushes near a spring and then was scared myself by the jet passing just overhead. Once the quiet returned I could hear the coyotes, packs of them, howling and yipping in the bushes. The yipping made it sound like there were a lot of youngsters. Fun to hear the bushes make such unusual noises.

Hunter Mountain to Racetrack Playa

I was pretty tired this day and finally made it to Panamint Springs where I had planned to get water. There's a store as well, but they really only have candy bars. The restaurant, however, was able to sell me some bread and cheese. I bought a veggie burger for lunch as well. That rejuvenated me enough to climb about half of the 1100m paved climb that afternoon.

I was lucky that the following day was stunningly warm since I climbed to over 7000 ft. The 1100m paved climb was followed by 600m of climbing on a dirt road. I'm sure it ended up being more than that since there were a number of descents thrown in as well. To give an idea of the terrain the only two flat places I went through that day were named: Lee Flat and Ulida Flat! Lee Flat was filled with the most Joshua trees I've ever seen in one place. I camped in Ulida Flat next to one of the only Joshua trees out there.

I made it over Hunter Mountain, through Hidden Valley, down Lost Burro Gap, and arrived at Teakettle Junction with enough water to be able to make the ~16 mile detour to Racetrack Playa. Of course I'd seen photos of the moving rocks at Racetrack Playa, but I was absolutely blown away being at the site in person. It's not simply the amazement of seeing the evidence of the moving rocks and all the different directions and shapes of the tracks, but also how well preserved the area is. It wouldn't take too many people moving rocks from the tracks, driving on the playa, or walking out there when the surface is wet to really ruin the magic of the place. Additionally Racetrack Playa is so big and so flat. The flat playa blends in in the distance with the hills miles away. I loved this place. I was lucky enough to be there when I was. The rain from 5 days earlier had completely dried out, and it rained some more just 10 hours after I was there.

I recovered my stashed gear and water at Teakettle Junction and headed uphill into a cold, stiff wind climbing out of Racetrack Valley. By this point in the trip I had started to associate Joshua trees with cold weather. At the saddle in the twilight I made it my goal to descend far enough down to get away from the Joshua trees and perhaps into warmer weather. It was practically dark by the time I got off my bike, but I succeeded! It sprinkled off and on all night, but I was dry and fairly warm.

Through the bottom of Death Valley

The downhill continued all the way to the pavement at Ubehebe Crater, but I had to push the bike a bit once I got to the lava/cinder area. The black sand of the roadbed was much finer and deeper than the surface of most of the descent. Getting to Ubehebe concluded what I had planned for this trip. The only thing left was to get to Las Vegas. Berdoo Canyon, Mengel Pass, and Hunter Mountain had all been hard excursions, but each took about a day less than I had (conservatively) expected. I had time to make it a pleasant, easy ride to Vegas. I hiked around Ubehebe Crater and relaxed in the wind at the parking lot. Only two cars plus a ranger came by during the ~3 hours I was there. Each car stopped, the occupants got out, took a couple photos, and were driving away less than 2 minutes later. Incredible! This place is the middle of nowhere. I couldn't understand why anyone would drive so far and spend so little time. It turns out though that Ubehebe is only a 10 mile detour from the Scotty's Castle road.

I didn't make much distance this day even though it was flat and I had a tailwind after Ubehebe. I camped illegally near the paved road but was careful to avoid washes since I could tell it was going to storm. Storm it did. The wind bent my tent sideways, and rain poured down for hours. Death Valley received about a third of their annual average rainfall in this ~6 hour period. It was December 7, and it rained almost as much as it had from January 1 to December 6. The nice flat sandy spot I had chosen for my tent was just a bit lower than the surrounding area. The whole area was really quite flat, but the soil there can't absorb water very quickly. In the middle of the night I found my tent sitting in an inch or so of water. Only my thermarest was above it. I moved the tent in the pouring rain, but it was too late. Most of my stuff was pretty wet. Both pairs of socks and the bottom of my down bag were soaked. I wrapped my feet in a wool scarf like a Ace bandage and tried to get some sleep.

I was up early in the morning. I had managed to keep my down coat fairly dry so I put that over my damp clothes to ride away in the morning. Tons of rocks up to the size of softballs had poured across the 2-lane paved highway out of washes that were only a foot or two wide. It had snowed down to 4000'. In every direction were snow-covered peaks. I was so lucky to be down low, near pavement. The dirt roads that I had spent much of the last week on were probably impassable that morning. Ulida Flat where I had camped two nights earlier was probably covered in snow. I was able to keep warm biking in my down coat, but I was down at sea level, the warmest place around!

The sun came out. Everything warmed up. The views were phenomenal. In spite of the damp clothes it was a fantastic day to be cycling. At Furnace Creek I was directed to the sunny employee picnic area where I pulled everything out of my bags and dried everything out while enjoying lunch and wine from the grocery store. I hung out there for 2-3 hours before anyone else showed up. It was Herb, the night maintenance man. Enthralled with the bike he asked lots of questions about touring and the LHT specifically. He kept getting calls on his radio but continued to talk with me. Herb plans to live on his bike for a while and had been researching bicycles. I enthusiastically encouraged him since I know from experience that a lot of folks discourage that kind of crazy plan. Before he left to finally answer one of his calls, he asked me, "did you find the free showers?" I hadn't. Hohoho, that shower felt wonderful.

I spent a rest day at Furnace Creek and talked to Herb to 2 or 3 more times. I also met Mary and Paul from Rogue River, Oregon, who invited me to dinner at their campsite. I didn't carry a stove on this trip. The hot meal that Mary put together was the best meal of the trip. She had dried tomatoes and zucchini from their garden, a hot sauce with peppers that they grew, a jalepeno artichoke dip as an appetizer, and plenty of red wine. Was I ever a happy camper!

And on to Las Vegas

Back on the bike I rode south with a tailwind past Badwater all the way to the 5 miles of paved road that I had ridden between Saratoga Springs and Warm Springs Canyon over a week earlier. Instead of heading south to Baker I climbed Jubilee Pass. The following day I climbed Salsberry Pass on the coldest day of the trip. I simply couldn't warm up since I couldn't get away from the wind. And then I came to Tecopa Hot Springs! That cut the chill even though the wind was so fierce that I was dry within minutes of getting out of the pool. Around the corner I stopped at a RV park to get some water and ended up spending an hour talking with the 75-year-old man who runs the place with his wife. He ran an ultra-marathon when he was 55, had biked from Las Vegas to Sedona, had run a bunch of marathons. In the summer they leave Tecopa Hot Springs and explore the country in their 35' motorhome.

Later that afternoon I came upon Victor. Stopped at the side of the road, he handed me a Guinness and two granola bars. We chatted for a while using his car as a windbreak. He's taking a break from his 'round the world bicycle trip on a crazy rig that he built himself.

The following morning the only indication that I entered Nevada was a sign reading "Inyo County Line". Lower down on the same post was a smaller sign at an angle because it was falling off. That sign said "leaving". About 3 cars passed me in an hour, and then a car stopped. It was the couple from RV park in Tecopa Hot Springs. She had baked muffins that morning, put together a package of them for me, and handed them to me! They were still warm! Oh, I was cycling with a big smile yet again! I was on a gradual climb that continued all the way to Mountain Springs Pass. To get an idea of how long the climb was, consider that the couple drove all the way to Las Vegas, went to the dentist, drove back, and passed me just one minute before I crested the pass. They honked, smiled, and waved as did I. The first 2000' of descent was fast and cold, but I was warm and happy in my down coat.

My last excursion before Las Vegas was to ride through the scenic Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. The cliffs and cemented sand dunes in that area reminded me much more of the Colorado Plateau than anything I'd seen on my journey through the Mojave Desert. In the morning I rolled into Vegas, found a bike shop, boxed my stuff, and took a taxi to the downtown Greyhound station. In Denver a day later I rebuilt my bike at the Greyhound station for the short ride to Market St. Station. I took the bus to Boulder and rode through the snow to get home.

  

Botafogo, Rio de Janeiro - Brésil

Leaving Pleasants Valley Road out there in the Vaca Valley, Gates Valley Road climbs thru oak tree canopies and a few ranch homes below these foothills, turning to dirt road before topping-out here at Blue Ridge Road on Vaca Mountain; from here it follows the ridgeline to the north and south. This view is looking east. The large town of Vacaville is out of view to the right. The flatlands are an extreme contrast to these mountains: It is rich farmland that is part of river delta.Those clouds are over Sacramento (34 air miles away) and the foothills (70 air miles away) of the 400-mile long Sierra Nevada Mountain Range. Suisun Valley is behind me; beyond that is Napa Valley, and San Francisco 30 miles further southwest. This is earthquake country, and I'm pretty sure the faults are responsible for these heights. Some interesting rock strata can be seen in that hillside with light vegetation.

 

I drove up here just to explore the road, but Pleasants Valley Road is the really beautiful and interesting drive. The coolish look of the green vegetation belies how hot it was out here in mid-July. Not a place you want to be for long without water or shade. It is, however, well-worth seeing the beauty of the area. I hope it can survive the sprawl of nearby Vacaville.

 

G

Mohammed Shahriar Alam, State Minister for Foreign Affairs, Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Bangladesh speaking during the Session: Overcoming Fault Lines at the King Hussein Bin Talal Convention Centre during the World Economic Forum on the Middle East and North Africa, Jordan 2019. Copyright by World Economic Forum / Faruk Pinjo

Taken 30.09.1992.

 

The third shot in a sequence shows our loco LM250 (Hunslet 6329/1965) standing blocking the mainline while out of shot behind me re-railing of our railcar takes place. Despite only blocking the line for less than 30 minutes we soon had a queue of peat trains lined up on the mainline to Lanesborough Power Station (three in this shot alone see note). The nearest to the camera is Moundillon allocated LM247 (Hunslet 6326/1965). This section of line between Derryarouge and Lanesborough is a pinch point and trains converge here less than a mile from the power station having arrived from the 13 bogs south of the River Shannon. Before our derailment the plan had been to cross onto the relief line and allow the peat trains to pass. This system is a 24hr Energy peat site. It covers a large slice of Co.Longford serving 22 bogs with workshops at Mountdillon south east of Lanesborough village on the North Western edge of the Bog of Allen.

I got to [REDACTED]'s funeral and this little poop emoji came flying out.

Blackrock - october - 13

When I bought my HTC Desire last winter, I was very happy with my shiny new Android phone. It worked like a charm. However, after upgrading in the summer, it suddenly stopped working and would not boot. I sent it back, it was checked and got a new battery. I got it back about 3.5 weeks ago, installed everything again and was happy again.

 

But then approx. 1 week ago my SIM and SD cards were not recognized anymore. Restoring the phone to the factory settings solved the SD card problem, but the SIM would still not work. I put other SIMs in for test purposes, but they were also not recognized. And now my SD card doesn't work anymore either (2nd symbol from the left in the top bar) and I am back in the year 1980 shortly after mid-day.

 

Among the people I know who have the HTC Desirce, I'm the only one with a not so smart phone. As a colleague said: I did my civil duty because 1 in 100 is bad. As I got the bad one, 99 others can be happy. I guess, that's my good deed.

Cabrillo Beach, CA

 

This is a close up picture of:

www.flickr.com/photos/usageology/48553412891/in/dateposted/

 

For an image showing the obvious faults see:

www.flickr.com/photos/usageology/48553572996/in/photostream/

FINALLY getting started on Zoe's costume. She gave us about 2 months of lead time, so if we are rushed, it's NOT her fault.

BBC2 - Technical Fault - 2nd December 2017 during Snooker Championship

Fault!!

Taken with a Polaroid SX70 camera.

This afternoon I reported three street lights which were on 24 hours a day. Haringey's lighting staff call them "dayburners".

They waste electricity and the lamps get double the normal wear, so are likely to fail much earlier. A resident told me at least two of these lights had been dayburning for several months.

 

Streetlights in the photo above and the one just below are both in Devon Close N17. Scroll down further for the one nearby in Circular Road. And below that for a photo of all three on 10 March 2012.

 

As with several recent "StreetScene" problems I didn’t immediately report these dayburners. Why not? Because I wanted to see whether the Council's own reporting systems are working. Or are they relying on a resident or a local councillor walking past, noticing, and emailing a report?

 

I've been told that street cleaners working for Veolia - Haringey's waste contractors - are not expected to report faulty lights. It appears that the same may apply to Haringey staff.

 

Haringey needs to rethink fault reporting

 

I've suggested to Haringey’s Environment Department that they take a fresh look at reporting systems for all kinds of streetscene problems including: dumping, damaged pavements, lighting faults, potholes, overgrown bushes etc.

 

If these types of problems are left they will in some cases get far worse. For example, small potholes become larger potholes as more wheels repeatedly hit them. Dumping can attract more dumping. And generally, if streets, corners and small greens show a lack of care and monitoring this can 'signal' and encourage anti-social behaviour.

 

But if Haringey Council is relying mainly on residents' reports then it must rethink how to make reporting as widely used as possible; and as simple and easy as possible.

 

Failing to achieve this risks having a service which is skewed towards better-off areas, where people are more likely to send in reports.

 

I have made a number of suggestions to Haringey to improve reporting. An obvious one is to relaunch the Community Volunteer Scheme. It was, in that formerly fashionable term, co-production. A small but successful model of Haringey residents - volunteers from the local communities - working in partnership with the borough council and its contractors.

 

(For some practical examples of how it worked, please explore Liz Ixer's photos on Flickr from her work as a Community Volunteer. This links to one set in a huge collection of photos of problems she spotted and reported round the streets of Harringay.)

 

It is dismaying that this scheme has not been properly supported and helped not just to continue but expand.

 

______________________________________________

 

Links

 

§ The Broken Windows Theory suggests that a disorderly environment is seen as a place where people can get away with anti-social behaviour. Link to Wikipedia page

§ Original article: Broken Windows; The police and neighborhood safety by George L. Kelling and James Q. Wilson, in Atlantic Magazine March 1982.

§ Where this photo was taken.

This was one of only two places during my trip where I climbed above the Joshua trees and into the pine trees. The other was Mountain Springs Pass west of Las Vegas.

 

This photo appeared in the following ideotrope albums:

 

Biking the Mojave Fall 2007 - Introduction

I biked through Death Valley in October 1996. It was 109°F at Furnace Creek. The area is beautiful, but it was way too hot at that time of year. I knew I wanted to come back on my bicycle when it was cooler. This year it worked out to take about 3 weeks after Thanksgiving. I ended up spending 18 days to cycle from Palm Springs to Las Vegas. I spent about half of that time in Death Valley NP. In Baker I met a group of cyclists on racing bikes with a support vehicle. They were cycling from Palm Springs to Las Vegas in 2 days. I saw a lot more desert than they did.

Coachella Valley and Joshua Tree National Park

I crossed the Coachella Valley on Ramon Rd. It was over 70°F, probably the warmest day of the trip. It wasn't 'til I turned onto Thousand Palms Rd. that I felt like I was heading out into the desert on my own. The San Andreas Fault system runs along the northern end of the Coachella Valley. The faults allow groundwater to rise to the surface resulting in a number of California fan palm oases. It's wonderful to see oases in the desert.

It was a 1300m climb on Berdoo Canyon Rd. to the Coachella Valley-Pleasant Valley saddle in Joshua Tree NP. I didn't see a single person or vehicle in Berdoo Canyon. Climbing out of Pleasant Valley I saw the first person, a fellow adventurer. Patrick was walking solo across Joshua Tree NP from west to east. That's a heck of a trek. That park is huge and has only one known spring. Patrick had set up two water caches before his trip.

Amboy Road and Mojave National Preserve

I bought enough food in 29 Palms to last 4 days to Baker. Heading east on the Amboy Rd. I met the only other touring cyclist of the trip. He had come down from Bishop through Death Valley NP, Baker, Kelso, Amboy - much the same route I was planning to take. When I met him, he had run out of food. I shared some almonds with him but didn't have much sympathy with his plight. The reason he didn't buy food in Baker was because there wasn't a health food store! Well, I told him there was a grocery store in 29 Palms, but it might not be up to his standard.

One of the things I was looking forward to on this trip was experiencing the transition zone between the Sonoran Desert (lower, farther south) and the Mojave Desert (higher, farther north). Creosote bushes grow in both, but most other flora is limited to one ecosystem or the other. In the transition zones you can see a mix of vegetation. What I saw ended up being less dramatic than Washington County, Utah where the Colorado Plateau, the Basin and Range country, and the Mojave Desert all come together. Joshua Trees were the main ecosystem indicator for me. I knew I was climbing high when I started to see them.

I was surprised how much traffic there was on the Amboy Rd. It wasn't much, but a lot of the paved roads that I was on during the trip would have one car every 10-30 minutes and perhaps none all night. The only truly busy roads were the road north out of Baker (on a Saturday morning) and the Pahrump-Las Vegas superhighway which has a wonderful bicycle lane.

I climbed Sheep Hole Pass to get into the Amboy Valley. It was in the Amboy Valley where I became accustomed two aspects important to cyclists in the Mojave:

Distances are deceiving. You can see really far. It takes much longer to cross these valleys that it appears that it would.

The slight inclines up alluvial fans or other fill climb a lot more than they appear to. In Colorado I'm not accustomed to seeing the whole climb since there are usually canyon climbs here. Leaving Amboy, for example, I climbed over 3000 ft. on a slowly rising alluvial plane. It took hours.

I enjoyed time off the bike to walk out to and up Amboy Crater. The following day I climbed to the top of the Kelso Dunes. And one day later I climbed one of the cinder cones east of Baker. I enjoyed having a diversion each day. Each of those areas is beautiful in its own way. The creosote bushes in the Amboy Valley are particularly green because of the shallow water table. Kelso Dunes are simply fantastic, and the cinder cone area with over 30 cinder cones and not another person felt like another planet.

In Baker I bought enough food to last 10 days and ate at the Mad Greek at my brother's recommendation. I had taken a rest day the previous day because of rain, and Baker was a bit flooded. Folks were out pushing water around with brooms. At the store the locals were telling each other how much their roofs leaked.

Death Valley National Park

Heading north of Baker the saddle that separates the Silurian Valley from Death Valley is only about a 50' climb. From there I left the pavement and stopped at Saratoga Springs to see the incredible wetlands in the desert. I had planned on climbing the Ibex Dunes, but wind was blowing sand off the top of the dunes and everything was still a bit wet from the rain. The following day I reached the pavement, took it for 5 miles and then headed west up Warm Springs Canyon.

The 1400m climb up Warm Springs Canyon was not the longest of the trip, but it was the toughest. The climb started out hard from below sea level in Death Valley and continued to be hard all the way to the saddle leading into Butte Valley. I struggled in my easiest gear (which is really low) the whole way. Surprisingly I walked very little. It always seemed to be just slightly easier to pedal than to walk.

Butte Valley felt remote. The views to the east were phenomenal giving Greater View Spring its name. I could see range after range. I stopped at Stella Anderson's place and cut some chicken wire to repair my glasses. The rattling had loosened a screw which I couldn't find. It was important to get a good fix since I wore those glasses a lot riding in the early morning and late afternoon. I found I had about 10 hours of light to ride in with perhaps 45 minutes of twilight on either end to mess around in camp. The sun was theoretically up for 8 or 9 hours, but it was often a lot less than that in the canyons. My repair job worked well, and I didn't even strip the threads so the glasses are good as new again :)

Mengel Pass is rough and keeps too many people from taking this route between Death Valley and Panamint Valley. Down in Goler Wash I met Rock(y), one of two residents of Ballarat. His father is the other. Rocky was poking around Goler Wash with his girlfriend who was visiting from LA. He had worked with various mining operations in the area, and I enjoyed his stories. It was also fun to talk with his Isreali girlfriend. We compared this desert with the eastern Mediterranean desert where I have also cycled.

In Ballarat the following day I talked with Rocky some more, but the girlfriend had already returned to LA. There are a surprising number of springs on the west side of the Panamints (due to faults, I'm sure) and a surprising number of fighter jets playing overhead. I scared a coyote into some bushes near a spring and then was scared myself by the jet passing just overhead. Once the quiet returned I could hear the coyotes, packs of them, howling and yipping in the bushes. The yipping made it sound like there were a lot of youngsters. Fun to hear the bushes make such unusual noises.

Hunter Mountain to Racetrack Playa

I was pretty tired this day and finally made it to Panamint Springs where I had planned to get water. There's a store as well, but they really only have candy bars. The restaurant, however, was able to sell me some bread and cheese. I bought a veggie burger for lunch as well. That rejuvenated me enough to climb about half of the 1100m paved climb that afternoon.

I was lucky that the following day was stunningly warm since I climbed to over 7000 ft. The 1100m paved climb was followed by 600m of climbing on a dirt road. I'm sure it ended up being more than that since there were a number of descents thrown in as well. To give an idea of the terrain the only two flat places I went through that day were named: Lee Flat and Ulida Flat! Lee Flat was filled with the most Joshua trees I've ever seen in one place. I camped in Ulida Flat next to one of the only Joshua trees out there.

I made it over Hunter Mountain, through Hidden Valley, down Lost Burro Gap, and arrived at Teakettle Junction with enough water to be able to make the ~16 mile detour to Racetrack Playa. Of course I'd seen photos of the moving rocks at Racetrack Playa, but I was absolutely blown away being at the site in person. It's not simply the amazement of seeing the evidence of the moving rocks and all the different directions and shapes of the tracks, but also how well preserved the area is. It wouldn't take too many people moving rocks from the tracks, driving on the playa, or walking out there when the surface is wet to really ruin the magic of the place. Additionally Racetrack Playa is so big and so flat. The flat playa blends in in the distance with the hills miles away. I loved this place. I was lucky enough to be there when I was. The rain from 5 days earlier had completely dried out, and it rained some more just 10 hours after I was there.

I recovered my stashed gear and water at Teakettle Junction and headed uphill into a cold, stiff wind climbing out of Racetrack Valley. By this point in the trip I had started to associate Joshua trees with cold weather. At the saddle in the twilight I made it my goal to descend far enough down to get away from the Joshua trees and perhaps into warmer weather. It was practically dark by the time I got off my bike, but I succeeded! It sprinkled off and on all night, but I was dry and fairly warm.

Through the bottom of Death Valley

The downhill continued all the way to the pavement at Ubehebe Crater, but I had to push the bike a bit once I got to the lava/cinder area. The black sand of the roadbed was much finer and deeper than the surface of most of the descent. Getting to Ubehebe concluded what I had planned for this trip. The only thing left was to get to Las Vegas. Berdoo Canyon, Mengel Pass, and Hunter Mountain had all been hard excursions, but each took about a day less than I had (conservatively) expected. I had time to make it a pleasant, easy ride to Vegas. I hiked around Ubehebe Crater and relaxed in the wind at the parking lot. Only two cars plus a ranger came by during the ~3 hours I was there. Each car stopped, the occupants got out, took a couple photos, and were driving away less than 2 minutes later. Incredible! This place is the middle of nowhere. I couldn't understand why anyone would drive so far and spend so little time. It turns out though that Ubehebe is only a 10 mile detour from the Scotty's Castle road.

I didn't make much distance this day even though it was flat and I had a tailwind after Ubehebe. I camped illegally near the paved road but was careful to avoid washes since I could tell it was going to storm. Storm it did. The wind bent my tent sideways, and rain poured down for hours. Death Valley received about a third of their annual average rainfall in this ~6 hour period. It was December 7, and it rained almost as much as it had from January 1 to December 6. The nice flat sandy spot I had chosen for my tent was just a bit lower than the surrounding area. The whole area was really quite flat, but the soil there can't absorb water very quickly. In the middle of the night I found my tent sitting in an inch or so of water. Only my thermarest was above it. I moved the tent in the pouring rain, but it was too late. Most of my stuff was pretty wet. Both pairs of socks and the bottom of my down bag were soaked. I wrapped my feet in a wool scarf like a Ace bandage and tried to get some sleep.

I was up early in the morning. I had managed to keep my down coat fairly dry so I put that over my damp clothes to ride away in the morning. Tons of rocks up to the size of softballs had poured across the 2-lane paved highway out of washes that were only a foot or two wide. It had snowed down to 4000'. In every direction were snow-covered peaks. I was so lucky to be down low, near pavement. The dirt roads that I had spent much of the last week on were probably impassable that morning. Ulida Flat where I had camped two nights earlier was probably covered in snow. I was able to keep warm biking in my down coat, but I was down at sea level, the warmest place around!

The sun came out. Everything warmed up. The views were phenomenal. In spite of the damp clothes it was a fantastic day to be cycling. At Furnace Creek I was directed to the sunny employee picnic area where I pulled everything out of my bags and dried everything out while enjoying lunch and wine from the grocery store. I hung out there for 2-3 hours before anyone else showed up. It was Herb, the night maintenance man. Enthralled with the bike he asked lots of questions about touring and the LHT specifically. He kept getting calls on his radio but continued to talk with me. Herb plans to live on his bike for a while and had been researching bicycles. I enthusiastically encouraged him since I know from experience that a lot of folks discourage that kind of crazy plan. Before he left to finally answer one of his calls, he asked me, "did you find the free showers?" I hadn't. Hohoho, that shower felt wonderful.

I spent a rest day at Furnace Creek and talked to Herb to 2 or 3 more times. I also met Mary and Paul from Rogue River, Oregon, who invited me to dinner at their campsite. I didn't carry a stove on this trip. The hot meal that Mary put together was the best meal of the trip. She had dried tomatoes and zucchini from their garden, a hot sauce with peppers that they grew, a jalepeno artichoke dip as an appetizer, and plenty of red wine. Was I ever a happy camper!

And on to Las Vegas

Back on the bike I rode south with a tailwind past Badwater all the way to the 5 miles of paved road that I had ridden between Saratoga Springs and Warm Springs Canyon over a week earlier. Instead of heading south to Baker I climbed Jubilee Pass. The following day I climbed Salsberry Pass on the coldest day of the trip. I simply couldn't warm up since I couldn't get away from the wind. And then I came to Tecopa Hot Springs! That cut the chill even though the wind was so fierce that I was dry within minutes of getting out of the pool. Around the corner I stopped at a RV park to get some water and ended up spending an hour talking with the 75-year-old man who runs the place with his wife. He ran an ultra-marathon when he was 55, had biked from Las Vegas to Sedona, had run a bunch of marathons. In the summer they leave Tecopa Hot Springs and explore the country in their 35' motorhome.

Later that afternoon I came upon Victor. Stopped at the side of the road, he handed me a Guinness and two granola bars. We chatted for a while using his car as a windbreak. He's taking a break from his 'round the world bicycle trip on a crazy rig that he built himself.

The following morning the only indication that I entered Nevada was a sign reading "Inyo County Line". Lower down on the same post was a smaller sign at an angle because it was falling off. That sign said "leaving". About 3 cars passed me in an hour, and then a car stopped. It was the couple from RV park in Tecopa Hot Springs. She had baked muffins that morning, put together a package of them for me, and handed them to me! They were still warm! Oh, I was cycling with a big smile yet again! I was on a gradual climb that continued all the way to Mountain Springs Pass. To get an idea of how long the climb was, consider that the couple drove all the way to Las Vegas, went to the dentist, drove back, and passed me just one minute before I crested the pass. They honked, smiled, and waved as did I. The first 2000' of descent was fast and cold, but I was warm and happy in my down coat.

My last excursion before Las Vegas was to ride through the scenic Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. The cliffs and cemented sand dunes in that area reminded me much more of the Colorado Plateau than anything I'd seen on my journey through the Mojave Desert. In the morning I rolled into Vegas, found a bike shop, boxed my stuff, and took a taxi to the downtown Greyhound station. In Denver a day later I rebuilt my bike at the Greyhound station for the short ride to Market St. Station. I took the bus to Boulder and rode through the snow to get home.

   

It wasn't me

I had no intent

You cannot accuse me

It was moral luck

 

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Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve is a U.S. national monument and national preserve in the Snake River Plain in central Idaho. It is along US 20 (concurrent with US 93 and US 26), between the small towns of Arco and Carey, at an average elevation of 5,900 feet (1,800 m) above sea level.

 

The Monument was established on May 2, 1924. In November 2000, a presidential proclamation by President Clinton greatly expanded the Monument area. The 410,000-acre National Park Service portions of the expanded Monument were designated as Craters of the Moon National Preserve in August 2002. It spreads across Blaine, Butte, Lincoln, Minidoka, and Power counties. The area is managed cooperatively by the National Park Service and the Bureau of Land Management (BLM).

 

The Monument and Preserve encompass three major lava fields and about 400 square miles (1,000 km2) of sagebrush steppe grasslands to cover a total area of 1,117 square miles (2,893 km2). The Monument alone covers 343,000 acres (139,000 ha). All three lava fields lie along the Great Rift of Idaho, with some of the best examples of open rift cracks in the world, including the deepest known on Earth at 800 feet (240 m). There are excellent examples of almost every variety of basaltic lava, as well as tree molds (cavities left by lava-incinerated trees), lava tubes (a type of cave), and many other volcanic features.

 

Craters of the Moon is in south-central Idaho, midway between Boise and Yellowstone National Park. The lava field reaches southeastward from the Pioneer Mountains. Combined U.S. Highway 20–26–93 cuts through the northwestern part of the monument and provides access to it. However, the rugged landscape of the monument itself remains remote and undeveloped, with only one paved road across the northern end.

 

The Craters of the Moon Lava Field spreads across 618 square miles (1,601 km2) and is the largest mostly Holocene-aged basaltic lava field in the contiguous United States. The Monument and Preserve contain more than 25 volcanic cones, including outstanding examples of spatter cones. The 60 distinct solidified lava flows that form the Craters of the Moon Lava Field range in age from 15,000 to just 2,000 years. The Kings Bowl and Wapi lava fields, both about 2,200 years old, are part of the National Preserve.

 

This lava field is the largest of several large beds of lava that erupted from the 53-mile (85 km) south-east to north-west trending Great Rift volcanic zone, a line of weakness in the Earth's crust. Together with fields from other fissures they make up the Lava Beds of Idaho, which in turn are in the much larger Snake River Plain volcanic province. The Great Rift extends across almost the entire Snake River Plain.

 

Elevation at the visitor center is 5,900 feet (1,800 m) above sea level.

 

Total average precipitation in the Craters of the Moon area is between 15–20 inches (380–510 mm) per year. Most of this is lost in cracks in the basalt, only to emerge later in springs and seeps in the walls of the Snake River Canyon. Older lava fields on the plain have been invaded by drought-resistant plants such as sagebrush, while younger fields, such as Craters of the Moon, only have a seasonal and very sparse cover of vegetation. From a distance this cover disappears almost entirely, giving an impression of utter black desolation. Repeated lava flows over the last 15,000 years have raised the land surface enough to expose it to the prevailing southwesterly winds, which help to keep the area dry. Together these conditions make life on the lava field difficult.

 

Paleo-Indians visited the area about 12,000 years ago but did not leave much archaeological evidence. Northern Shoshone created trails through the Craters of the Moon Lava Field during their summer migrations from the Snake River to the camas prairie, west of the lava field. Stone windbreaks at Indian Tunnel were used to protect campsites from the dry summer wind. No evidence exists for permanent habitation by any Native American group. A hunting and gathering culture, the Northern Shoshone pursued elk, bears, American bison, cougars, and bighorn sheep — all large game who no longer range the area. The most recent volcanic eruptions ended about 2,100 years ago and were likely witnessed by the Shoshone people. Ella E. Clark has recorded a Shoshone legend which speaks of a serpent on a mountain who, angered by lightning, coiled around and squeezed the mountain until liquid rock flowed, fire shot from cracks, and the mountain exploded.

 

In 1879, two Arco cattlemen named Arthur Ferris and J.W. Powell became the first known European-Americans to explore the lava fields. They were investigating its possible use for grazing and watering cattle but found the area to be unsuitable and left.

 

U.S. Army Captain and western explorer B.L.E. Bonneville visited the lava fields and other places in the West in the 19th century and wrote about his experiences in his diaries. Washington Irving later used Bonneville's diaries to write the Adventures of Captain Bonneville, saying this unnamed lava field is a place "where nothing meets the eye but a desolate and awful waste, where no grass grows nor water runs, and where nothing is to be seen but lava."

 

In 1901 and 1903, Israel Russell became the first geologist to study this area while surveying it for the United States Geological Survey (USGS). In 1910, Samuel Paisley continued Russell's work and later became the monument's first custodian. Others followed and in time much of the mystery surrounding this and the other Lava Beds of Idaho was lifted.

 

The few European settlers who visited the area in the 19th century created local legends that it looked like the surface of the Moon. Geologist Harold T. Stearns coined the name "Craters of the Moon" in 1923 while trying to convince the National Park Service to recommend protection of the area in a national monument.

 

The Snake River Plain is a volcanic province that was created by a series of cataclysmic caldera-forming eruptions which started about 15 million years ago. A migrating hotspot thought to now exist under Yellowstone Caldera in Yellowstone National Park has been implicated. This hot spot was under the Craters of the Moon area some 10 to 11 million years ago but 'moved' as the North American Plate migrated northwestward. Pressure from the hot spot heaves the land surface up, creating fault-block mountains. After the hot spot passes the pressure is released and the land subsides.

 

Leftover heat from this hot spot was later liberated by Basin and Range-associated rifting and created the many overlapping lava flows that make up the Lava Beds of Idaho. The largest rift zone is the Great Rift; it is from this 'Great Rift fissure system' that Craters of the Moon, Kings Bowl, and Wapi lava fields were created. The Great Rift is a National Natural Landmark.

 

In spite of their fresh appearance, the oldest flows in the Craters of the Moon Lava Field are 15,000 years old and the youngest erupted about 2000 years ago, according to Mel Kuntz and other USGS geologists. Nevertheless, the volcanic fissures at Craters of the Moon are considered to be dormant, not extinct, and are expected to erupt again in less than a thousand years. There are eight major eruptive periods recognized in the Craters of the Moon Lava Field. Each period lasted about 1000 years or less and were separated by relatively quiet periods that lasted between 500 and as long as 3000 years. Individual lava flows were up to 30 miles (50 km) long with the Blue Dragon Flow being the longest.

 

Kings Bowl Lava Field erupted during a single fissure eruption on the southern part of the Great Rift about 2,250 years ago. This eruption probably lasted only a few hours to a few days. The field preserves explosion pits, lava lakes, squeeze-ups, basalt mounds, and an ash blanket. The Wapi Lava Field probably formed from a fissure eruption at the same time as the Kings Bowl eruption. More prolonged activity over a period of months to a few years led to the formation of low shield volcanoes in the Wapi field. The Bear Trap lava tube, between the Craters of the Moon and the Wapi lava fields, is a cave system more than 15 miles (24 km) long. The lava tube is remarkable for its length and for the number of well-preserved lava cave features, such as lava stalactites and curbs, the latter marking high stands of the flowing lava frozen on the lava tube walls. The lava tubes and pit craters of the monument are known for their unusual preservation of winter ice and snow into the hot summer months, due to shielding from the sun and the insulating properties of basalt.

 

A typical eruption along the Great Rift and similar basaltic rift systems starts with a curtain of very fluid lava shooting up to 1,000 feet (300 m) high along a segment of the rift up to 1 mile (1.6 km) long. As the eruption continues, pressure and heat decrease and the chemistry of the lava becomes slightly more silica rich. The curtain of lava responds by breaking apart into separate vents. Various types of volcanoes may form at these vents: gas-rich pulverized lava creates cinder cones (such as Inferno Cone – stop 4), and pasty lava blobs form spatter cones (such as Spatter Cones – stop 5). Later stages of an eruption push lava streams out through the side or base of cinder cones, which usually ends the life of the cinder cone (North Crater, Watchmen, and Sheep Trail Butte are notable exceptions). This will sometimes breach part of the cone and carry it away as large and craggy blocks of cinder (as seen at North Crater Flow – stop 2 – and Devils Orchard – stop 3). Solid crust forms over lava streams, and lava tubes (a type of cave) are created when lava vacates its course (examples can be seen at the Cave Area – stop 7).

 

Geologists feared that a large earthquake that shook Borah Peak, Idaho's tallest mountain, in 1983 would restart volcanic activity at Craters of the Moon, though this proved not to be the case. Geologists predict that the area will experience its next eruption some time in the next 900 years with the most likely period in the next 100 years.

 

All plants and animals that live in and around Craters of the Moon are under great environmental stress due to constant dry winds and heat-absorbing black lavas that tend to quickly sap water from living things. Summer soil temperatures often exceed 150 °F (66 °C) and plant cover is generally less than 5% on cinder cones and about 15% over the entire monument. Adaptation is therefore necessary for survival in this semi-arid harsh climate.

 

Water is usually only found deep inside holes at the bottom of blow-out craters. Animals therefore get the moisture they need directly from their food. The black soil on and around cinder cones does not hold moisture for long, making it difficult for plants to establish themselves. Soil particles first develop from direct rock decomposition by lichens and typically collect in crevices in lava flows. Successively more complex plants then colonize the microhabitat created by the increasingly productive soil.

 

The shaded north slopes of cinder cones provide more protection from direct sunlight and prevailing southwesterly winds and have a more persistent snow cover (an important water source in early spring). These parts of cinder cones are therefore colonized by plants first.

 

Gaps between lava flows were sometimes cut off from surrounding vegetation. These literal islands of habitat are called kīpukas, a Hawaiian name used for older land surrounded by younger lava. Carey Kīpuka is one such area in the southernmost part of the monument and is used as a benchmark to measure how plant cover has changed in less pristine parts of southern Idaho.

 

Idaho is a landlocked state in the Mountain West subregion of the United States. It shares a small portion of the Canada–United States border to the north, with the province of British Columbia. It borders Montana and Wyoming to the east, Nevada and Utah to the south, and Washington and Oregon to the west. The state's capital and largest city is Boise. With an area of 83,570 square miles (216,400 km2), Idaho is the 14th largest state by land area. With a population of approximately 1.8 million, it ranks as the 13th least populous and the 6th least densely populated of the 50 U.S. states.

 

For thousands of years, and prior to European colonization, Idaho has been inhabited by native peoples. In the early 19th century, Idaho was considered part of the Oregon Country, an area of dispute between the U.S. and the British Empire. It officially became a U.S. territory with the signing of the Oregon Treaty of 1846, but a separate Idaho Territory was not organized until 1863, instead being included for periods in Oregon Territory and Washington Territory. Idaho was eventually admitted to the Union on July 3, 1890, becoming the 43rd state.

 

Forming part of the Pacific Northwest (and the associated Cascadia bioregion), Idaho is divided into several distinct geographic and climatic regions. The state's north, the relatively isolated Idaho Panhandle, is closely linked with Eastern Washington, with which it shares the Pacific Time Zone—the rest of the state uses the Mountain Time Zone. The state's south includes the Snake River Plain (which has most of the population and agricultural land), and the southeast incorporates part of the Great Basin. Idaho is quite mountainous and contains several stretches of the Rocky Mountains. The United States Forest Service holds about 38% of Idaho's land, the highest proportion of any state.

 

Industries significant for the state economy include manufacturing, agriculture, mining, forestry, and tourism. Several science and technology firms are either headquartered in Idaho or have factories there, and the state also contains the Idaho National Laboratory, which is the country's largest Department of Energy facility. Idaho's agricultural sector supplies many products, but the state is best known for its potato crop, which comprises around one-third of the nationwide yield. The official state nickname is the "Gem State."

 

The history of Idaho is an examination of the human history and social activity within the state of Idaho, one of the United States of America located in the Pacific Northwest area near the west coast of the United States and Canada. Other associated areas include southern Alaska, all of British Columbia, Washington, Oregon, western Montana and northern California and Nevada.

 

Humans may have been present in Idaho for 16,600 years. Recent findings in Cooper's Ferry along the Salmon River in western Idaho near the town of Cottonwood have unearthed stone tools and animal bone fragments in what may be the oldest evidence of humans in North America. Earlier excavations in 1959 at Wilson Butte Cave near Twin Falls revealed evidence of human activity, including arrowheads, that rank among the oldest dated artifacts in North America. Native American tribes predominant in the area in historic times included the Nez Perce and the Coeur d'Alene in the north; and the Northern and Western Shoshone and Bannock peoples in the south.

 

Idaho was one of the last areas in the lower 48 states of the US to be explored by people of European descent. The Lewis and Clark expedition entered present-day Idaho on August 12, 1805, at Lemhi Pass. It is believed that the first "European descent" expedition to enter southern Idaho was by a group led in 1811 and 1812 by Wilson Price Hunt, which navigated the Snake River while attempting to blaze an all-water trail westward from St. Louis, Missouri, to Astoria, Oregon. At that time, approximately 8,000 Native Americans lived in the region.

 

Fur trading led to the first significant incursion of Europeans in the region. Andrew Henry of the Missouri Fur Company first entered the Snake River plateau in 1810. He built Fort Henry on Henry's Fork on the upper Snake River, near modern St. Anthony, Idaho. However, this first American fur post west of the Rocky Mountains was abandoned the following spring.

 

The British-owned Hudson's Bay Company next entered Idaho and controlled the trade in the Snake River area by the 1820s. The North West Company's interior department of the Columbia was created in June 1816, and Donald Mackenzie was assigned as its head. Mackenzie had previously been employed by Hudson's Bay and had been a partner in the Pacific Fur Company, financed principally by John Jacob Astor. During these early years, he traveled west with a Pacific Fur Company's party and was involved in the initial exploration of the Salmon River and Clearwater River. The company proceeded down the lower Snake River and Columbia River by canoe, and were the first of the Overland Astorians to reach Fort Astoria, on January 18, 1812.

 

Under Mackenzie, the North West Company was a dominant force in the fur trade in the Snake River country. Out of Fort George in Astoria, Mackenzie led fur brigades up the Snake River in 1816-1817 and up the lower Snake in 1817-1818. Fort Nez Perce, established in July, 1818, became the staging point for Mackenzies' Snake brigades. The expedition of 1818-1819 explored the Blue Mountains, and traveled down the Snake River to the Bear River and approached the headwaters of the Snake. Mackenzie sought to establish a navigable route up the Snake River from Fort Nez Perce to the Boise area in 1819. While he did succeed in traveling by boat from the Columbia River through the Grand Canyon of the Snake past Hells Canyon, he concluded that water transport was generally impractical. Mackenzie held the first rendezvous in the region on the Boise River in 1819.

 

Despite their best efforts, early American fur companies in this region had difficulty maintaining the long-distance supply lines from the Missouri River system into the Intermountain West. However, Americans William H. Ashley and Jedediah Smith expanded the Saint Louis fur trade into Idaho in 1824. The 1832 trapper's rendezvous at Pierre's Hole, held at the foot of the Three Tetons in modern Teton County, was followed by an intense battle between the Gros Ventre and a large party of American trappers aided by their Nez Perce and Flathead allies.

 

The prospect of missionary work among the Native Americans also attracted early settlers to the region. In 1809, Kullyspell House, the first white-owned establishment and first trading post in Idaho, was constructed. In 1836, the Reverend Henry H. Spalding established a Protestant mission near Lapwai, where he printed the Northwest's first book, established Idaho's first school, developed its first irrigation system, and grew the state's first potatoes. Narcissa Whitman and Eliza Hart Spalding were the first non-native women to enter present-day Idaho.

 

Cataldo Mission, the oldest standing building in Idaho, was constructed at Cataldo by the Coeur d'Alene and Catholic missionaries. In 1842, Father Pierre-Jean De Smet, with Fr. Nicholas Point and Br. Charles Duet, selected a mission location along the St. Joe River. The mission was moved a short distance away in 1846, as the original location was subject to flooding. In 1850, Antonio Ravalli designed a new mission building and Indians affiliated with the church effort built the mission, without nails, using the wattle and daub method. In time, the Cataldo mission became an important stop for traders, settlers, and miners. It served as a place for rest from the trail, offered needed supplies, and was a working port for boats heading up the Coeur d'Alene River.

 

During this time, the region which became Idaho was part of an unorganized territory known as Oregon Country, claimed by both the United States and Great Britain. The United States gained undisputed jurisdiction over the region in the Oregon Treaty of 1846, although the area was under the de facto jurisdiction of the Provisional Government of Oregon from 1843 to 1849. The original boundaries of Oregon Territory in 1848 included all three of the present-day Pacific Northwest states and extended eastward to the Continental Divide. In 1853, areas north of the 46th Parallel became Washington Territory, splitting what is now Idaho in two. The future state was reunited in 1859 after Oregon became a state and the boundaries of Washington Territory were redrawn.

 

While thousands passed through Idaho on the Oregon Trail or during the California gold rush of 1849, few people settled there. In 1860, the first of several gold rushes in Idaho began at Pierce in present-day Clearwater County. By 1862, settlements in both the north and south had formed around the mining boom.

 

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints missionaries founded Fort Lemhi in 1855, but the settlement did not last. The first organized town in Idaho was Franklin, settled in April 1860 by Mormon pioneers who believed they were in Utah Territory; although a later survey determined they had crossed the border. Mormon pioneers reached areas near the current-day Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming and established most of the historic and modern communities in Southeastern Idaho. These settlements include Ammon, Blackfoot, Chubbuck, Firth, Idaho Falls, Iona, Pocatello, Rexburg, Rigby, Shelley, and Ucon.

 

Large numbers of English immigrants settled in what is now the state of Idaho in the late 19th and early 20th century, many before statehood. The English found they had more property rights and paid less taxes than they did back in England. They were considered some of the most desirable immigrants at the time. Many came from humble beginnings and would rise to prominence in Idaho. Frank R. Gooding was raised in a rural working-class background in England, but was eventually elected as the seventh governor of the state. Today people of English descent make up one fifth of the entire state of Idaho and form a plurality in the southern portion of the state.

 

Many German farmers also settled in what is now Idaho. German settlers were primarily Lutheran across all of the midwest and west, including Idaho, however there were small numbers of Catholics amongst them as well. In parts of Northern Idaho, German remained the dominant language until World War I, when German-Americans were pressured to convert entirely to English. Today, Idahoans of German ancestry make up nearly one fifth of all Idahoans and make up the second largest ethnic group after Idahoans of English descent with people of German ancestry being 18.1% of the state and people of English ancestry being 20.1% of the state.

 

Irish Catholics worked in railroad centers such as Boise. Today, 10% of Idahoans self-identify as having Irish ancestry.

 

York, a slave owned by William Clark but considered a full member of Corps of Discovery during expedition to the Pacific, was the first recorded African American in Idaho. There is a significant African American population made up of those who came west after the abolition of slavery. Many settled near Pocatello and were ranchers, entertainers, and farmers. Although free, many blacks suffered discrimination in the early-to-mid-late 20th century. The black population of the state continues to grow as many come to the state because of educational opportunities, to serve in the military, and for other employment opportunities. There is a Black History Museum in Boise, Idaho, with an exhibit known as the "Invisible Idahoan", which chronicles the first African-Americans in the state. Blacks are the fourth largest ethnic group in Idaho according to the 2000 census. Mountain Home, Boise, and Garden City have significant African-American populations.

 

The Basque people from the Iberian peninsula in Spain and southern France were traditionally shepherds in Europe. They came to Idaho, offering hard work and perseverance in exchange for opportunity. One of the largest Basque communities in the US is in Boise, with a Basque museum and festival held annually in the city.

 

Chinese in the mid-19th century came to America through San Francisco to work on the railroad and open businesses. By 1870, there were over 4000 Chinese and they comprised almost 30% of the population. They suffered discrimination due to the Anti-Chinese League in the 19th century which sought to limit the rights and opportunities of Chinese emigrants. Today Asians are third in population demographically after Whites and Hispanics at less than 2%.

 

Main articles: Oregon boundary dispute, Provisional Government of Oregon, Oregon Treaty, Oregon Territory, Washington Territory, Dakota Territory, Organic act § List of organic acts, and Idaho Territory

 

On March 4, 1863, President Abraham Lincoln signed an act creating Idaho Territory from portions of Washington Territory and Dakota Territory with its capital at Lewiston. The original Idaho Territory included most of the areas that later became the states of Idaho, Montana and Wyoming, and had a population of under 17,000. Idaho Territory assumed the boundaries of the modern state in 1868 and was admitted as a state in 1890.

 

After Idaho became a territory, legislation was held in Lewiston, the capital of Idaho Territory at the time. There were many territories acts put into place, and then taken away during these early sessions, one act being the move of the capital city from Lewiston to Boise City. Boise was becoming a growing area after gold was found, so on December 24, 1864, Boise City was made the final destination of the capital for the Territory of Idaho.

 

However, moving the capital to Boise City created a lot of issues between the territory. This was especially true between the north and south areas in the territory, due to how far south Boise City was. Problems with communicating between the north and south contributed to some land in Idaho Territory being transferred to other territories and areas at the time. Idaho’s early boundary changes helped create the current boundaries of Washington, Wyoming, and Montana States as currently exist.

 

In a bid for statehood, Governor Edward A. Stevenson called for a constitutional convention in 1889. The convention approved a constitution on August 6, 1889, and voters approved the constitution on November 5, 1889.

 

When President Benjamin Harrison signed the law admitting Idaho as a U.S. state on July 3, 1890, the population was 88,548. George L. Shoup became the state's first governor, but resigned after only a few weeks in office to take a seat in the United States Senate. Willis Sweet, a Republican, was the first congressman, 1890 to 1895, representing the state at-large. He vigorously demanded "Free Silver" or the unrestricted coinage of silver into legal tender, in order to pour money into the large silver mining industry in the Mountain West, but he was defeated by supporters of the gold standard. In 1896 he, like many Republicans from silver mining districts, supported the Silver Republican Party instead of the regular Republican nominee William McKinley.

 

During its first years of statehood, Idaho was plagued by labor unrest in the mining district of Coeur d'Alene. In 1892, miners called a strike which developed into a shooting war between union miners and company guards. Each side accused the other of starting the fight. The first shots were exchanged at the Frisco mine in Frisco, in the Burke-Canyon north and east of Wallace. The Frisco mine was blown up, and company guards were taken prisoner. The violence soon spilled over into the nearby community of Gem, where union miners attempted to locate a Pinkerton spy who had infiltrated their union and was passing information to the mine operators. But agent Charlie Siringo escaped by cutting a hole in the floor of his room. Strikers forced the Gem mine to close, then traveled west to the Bunker Hill mining complex near Wardner, and closed down that facility as well. Several had been killed in the Burke-Canyon fighting. The Idaho National Guard and federal troops were dispatched to the area, and union miners and sympathizers were thrown into bullpens.

 

Hostilities would again erupt at the Bunker Hill facility in 1899, when seventeen union miners were fired for having joined the union. Other union miners were likewise ordered to draw their pay and leave. Angry members of the union converged on the area and blew up the Bunker Hill Mill, killing two company men.

 

In both disputes, the union's complaints included pay, hours of work, the right of miners to belong to the union, and the mine owners' use of informants and undercover agents. The violence committed by union miners was answered with a brutal response in 1892 and in 1899.

 

Through the Western Federation of Miners (WFM) union, the battles in the mining district became closely tied to a major miners' strike in Colorado. The struggle culminated in the December 1905 assassination of former Governor Frank Steunenberg by Harry Orchard (also known as Albert Horsley), a member of the WFM. Orchard was allegedly incensed by Steunenberg's efforts as governor to put down the 1899 miner uprising after being elected on a pro-labor platform.

 

Pinkerton detective James McParland conducted the investigation into the assassination. In 1907, WFM Secretary Treasurer "Big Bill" Haywood and two other WFM leaders were tried on a charge of conspiracy to murder Steunenberg, with Orchard testifying against them as part of a deal made with McParland. The nationally publicized trial featured Senator William E. Borah as prosecuting attorney and Clarence Darrow representing the defendants. The defense team presented evidence that Orchard had been a Pinkerton agent and had acted as a paid informant for the Cripple Creek Mine Owners' Association. Darrow argued that Orchard's real motive in the assassination had been revenge for a declaration of martial law by Steunenberg, which prompted Orchard to gamble away a share in the Hercules silver mine that would otherwise have made him wealthy.

 

Two of the WFM leaders were acquitted in two separate trials, and the third was released. Orchard was convicted and sentenced to death. His sentence was commuted, and he spent the rest of his life in an Idaho prison.

 

Mining in Idaho was a major commercial venture, bringing a great deal of attention to the state. From 1860-1866 Idaho produced 19% of all gold in the United States, or 2.5 million ounces.

 

Most of Idaho's mining production, 1860–1969, has come from metals equating to $2.88 billion out of $3.42 billion, according to the best estimates. Of the metallic mining areas of Idaho, the Coeur d'Alene region has produced the most by far, and accounts for about 80% of the total Idaho yield.

 

Several others—Boise Basin, Wood River Valley, Stibnite, Blackbirg, and Owyhee—range considerably above the other big producers. Atlanta, Bear Valley, Bay Horse, Florence, Gilmore, Mackay, Patterson, and Yankee Fork all ran on the order of ten to twenty million dollars, and Elk City, Leesburg, Pierce, Rocky Bar, and Warren's make up the rest of the major Idaho mining areas that stand out in the sixty or so regions of production worthy of mention.

 

A number of small operations do not appear in this list of Idaho metallic mining areas: a small amount of gold was recovered from Goose Creek on Salmon Meadows; a mine near Cleveland was prospected in 1922 and produced a little manganese in 1926; a few tons of copper came from Fort Hall, and a few more tons of copper came from a mine near Montpelier. Similarly, a few tons of lead came from a property near Bear Lake, and lead-silver is known on Cassia Creek near Elba. Some gold quartz and lead-silver workings are on Ruby Creek west of Elk River, and there is a slightly developed copper operation on Deer Creek near Winchester. Molybdenum is known on Roaring River and on the east fork of the Salmon. Some scattered mining enterprises have been undertaken around Soldier Mountain and on Chief Eagle Eye Creek north of Montour.

 

Idaho proved to be one of the more receptive states to the progressive agenda of the late 19th century and early 20th century. The state embraced progressive policies such as women's suffrage (1896) and prohibition (1916) before they became federal law. Idahoans were also strongly supportive of Free Silver. The pro-bimetallism Populist and Silver Republican parties of the late 1890s were particularly successful in the state.

 

Eugenics was also a major part of the Progressive movement. In 1919, the Idaho legislature passed an Act legalizing the forced sterilization of some persons institutionalized in the state. The act was vetoed by governor D.W. Davis, who doubted its scientific merits and believed it likely violated the Equal Protection clause of the US Constitution. In 1925, the Idaho legislature passed a revised eugenics act, now tailored to avoid Davis's earlier objections. The new law created a state board of eugenics, charged with: the sterilization of all feebleminded, insane, epileptics, habitual criminals, moral degenerates and sexual perverts who are a menace to society, and providing the means for ascertaining who are such persons.

The Eugenics board was eventually folded into the state's health commission; between 1932 and 1964, a total of 30 women and eight men in Idaho were sterilized under this law. The sterilization law was formally repealed in 1972.

 

After statehood, Idaho's economy began a gradual shift away from mining toward agriculture, particularly in the south. Older mining communities such as Silver City and Rocky Bar gave way to agricultural communities incorporated after statehood, such as Nampa and Twin Falls. Milner Dam on the Snake River, completed in 1905, allowed for the formation of many agricultural communities in the Magic Valley region which had previously been nearly unpopulated.

 

Meanwhile, some of the mining towns were able to reinvent themselves as resort communities, most notably in Blaine County, where the Sun Valley ski resort opened in 1936. Others, such as Silver City and Rocky Bar, became ghost towns.

 

In the north, mining continued to be an important industry for several more decades. The closure of the Bunker Hill Mine complex in Shoshone County in the early 1980s sent the region's economy into a tailspin. Since that time, a substantial increase in tourism in north Idaho has helped the region to recover. Coeur d'Alene, a lake-side resort town, is a destination for visitors in the area.

 

Beginning in the 1980s, there was a rise in North Idaho of a few right-wing extremist and "survivalist" political groups, most notably one holding Neo-Nazi views, the Aryan Nations. These groups were most heavily concentrated in the Panhandle region of the state, particularly in the vicinity of Coeur d'Alene.

 

In 1992 a stand-off occurred between U.S. Marshals, the F.B.I., and white separatist Randy Weaver and his family at their compound at Ruby Ridge, located near the small, northern Idaho town of Naples. The ensuing fire-fight and deaths of a U.S. Marshal, and Weaver's son and wife gained national attention, and raised a considerable amount of controversy regarding the nature of acceptable force by the federal government in such situations.

 

In 2001, the Aryan Nations compound, which had been located in Hayden Lake, Idaho, was confiscated as a result of a court case, and the organization moved out of state. About the same time Boise installed an impressive stone Human Rights Memorial featuring a bronze statue of Anne Frank and quotations from her and many other writers extolling human freedom and equality.

 

The demographics of the state have changed. Due to this growth in different groups, especially in Boise, the economic expansion surged wrong-economic growth followed the high standard of living and resulted in the "growth of different groups". The population of Idaho in the 21st Century has been described as sharply divided along geographic and cultural lines due to the center of the state being dominated by sparsely-populated national forests, mountain ranges and recreation sites: "unless you're willing to navigate a treacherous mountain pass, you can't even drive from the north to the south without leaving the state." The northern population gravitates towards Spokane, Washington, the heavily Mormon south-east population towards Utah, with an isolated Boise "[being] the closest thing to a city-state that you'll find in America."

 

On March 13, 2020, officials from the Idaho Department of Health and Welfare announced the first confirmed case of the novel coronavirus COVID-19 within the state of Idaho. A woman over the age of 50 from the southwestern part of the state was confirmed to have the coronavirus infection. She contracted the infection while attending a conference in New York City. Conference coordinators notified attendees that three individuals previously tested positive for the coronavirus. The Idahoan did not require hospitalization and was recovering from mild symptoms from her home. At the time of the announcement, there were 1,629 total cases and 41 deaths in the United States. Five days beforehand, on March 8, a man of age 54 had died of an unknown respiratory illness which his doctor had believed to be pneumonia. The disease was later suspected to be – but never confirmed as – COVID-19.

 

On March 14, state officials announced the second confirmed case within the state. The South Central Public Health District, announced that a woman over the age of 50 that resides in Blaine County had contracted the infection.[44] Like the first case, she did not require hospitalization and she was recovering from mild symptoms from home. Later on in the day, three additional confirmed cases of COVID-19 were reported in the state by three of the seven health districts in the state, which brought the confirmed total cases of coronavirus to five in Idaho. Officials from Central District Health announced their second confirmed case, which was a male from Ada County in his 50s. He was not hospitalized and was recovering at home. South Central Public Health reported their second confirmed case in a female that is over the age of 70 who was hospitalized. Eastern Idaho Public Health reported a confirmed positive case in a woman under the age of 60 in Teton County. She had contracted the coronavirus from contact with a confirmed case in a neighboring state; she was not hospitalized. The South Central Public Health District announced that a woman over the age of 50 that resides in Blaine County had contracted the infection. Like the first case, she did not require hospitalization and she was recovering from mild symptoms from home.

 

On March 17, two more confirmed cases of the infection were reported, bringing the total to seven. The first case on this date was by officials from Central District Health reported that a female under the age of 50 in Ada County was recovering at home and was not hospitalized. The second confirmed case was a female over the age of 50 as reported by South Central Public Health officials.

 

On March 18, two additional confirmed cases were announced by South Central Public Health District officials. One is a male from Blaine County in his 40s and the other a male in his 80s from Twin Falls County. These cases were the first known community spread transmission of the coronavirus in South Central Idaho.

A large plant in Volunteer Park's conservatory.

Along the foot of the hill...

  

This photo appeared in the following ideotrope albums:

 

Biking the Mojave Fall 2007 - Introduction

I biked through Death Valley in October 1996. It was 109°F at Furnace Creek. The area is beautiful, but it was way too hot at that time of year. I knew I wanted to come back on my bicycle when it was cooler. This year it worked out to take about 3 weeks after Thanksgiving. I ended up spending 18 days to cycle from Palm Springs to Las Vegas. I spent about half of that time in Death Valley NP. In Baker I met a group of cyclists on racing bikes with a support vehicle. They were cycling from Palm Springs to Las Vegas in 2 days. I saw a lot more desert than they did.

Coachella Valley and Joshua Tree National Park

I crossed the Coachella Valley on Ramon Rd. It was over 70°F, probably the warmest day of the trip. It wasn't 'til I turned onto Thousand Palms Rd. that I felt like I was heading out into the desert on my own. The San Andreas Fault system runs along the northern end of the Coachella Valley. The faults allow groundwater to rise to the surface resulting in a number of California fan palm oases. It's wonderful to see oases in the desert.

It was a 1300m climb on Berdoo Canyon Rd. to the Coachella Valley-Pleasant Valley saddle in Joshua Tree NP. I didn't see a single person or vehicle in Berdoo Canyon. Climbing out of Pleasant Valley I saw the first person, a fellow adventurer. Patrick was walking solo across Joshua Tree NP from west to east. That's a heck of a trek. That park is huge and has only one known spring. Patrick had set up two water caches before his trip.

Amboy Road and Mojave National Preserve

I bought enough food in 29 Palms to last 4 days to Baker. Heading east on the Amboy Rd. I met the only other touring cyclist of the trip. He had come down from Bishop through Death Valley NP, Baker, Kelso, Amboy - much the same route I was planning to take. When I met him, he had run out of food. I shared some almonds with him but didn't have much sympathy with his plight. The reason he didn't buy food in Baker was because there wasn't a health food store! Well, I told him there was a grocery store in 29 Palms, but it might not be up to his standard.

One of the things I was looking forward to on this trip was experiencing the transition zone between the Sonoran Desert (lower, farther south) and the Mojave Desert (higher, farther north). Creosote bushes grow in both, but most other flora is limited to one ecosystem or the other. In the transition zones you can see a mix of vegetation. What I saw ended up being less dramatic than Washington County, Utah where the Colorado Plateau, the Basin and Range country, and the Mojave Desert all come together. Joshua Trees were the main ecosystem indicator for me. I knew I was climbing high when I started to see them.

I was surprised how much traffic there was on the Amboy Rd. It wasn't much, but a lot of the paved roads that I was on during the trip would have one car every 10-30 minutes and perhaps none all night. The only truly busy roads were the road north out of Baker (on a Saturday morning) and the Pahrump-Las Vegas superhighway which has a wonderful bicycle lane.

I climbed Sheep Hole Pass to get into the Amboy Valley. It was in the Amboy Valley where I became accustomed two aspects important to cyclists in the Mojave:

Distances are deceiving. You can see really far. It takes much longer to cross these valleys that it appears that it would.

The slight inclines up alluvial fans or other fill climb a lot more than they appear to. In Colorado I'm not accustomed to seeing the whole climb since there are usually canyon climbs here. Leaving Amboy, for example, I climbed over 3000 ft. on a slowly rising alluvial plane. It took hours.

I enjoyed time off the bike to walk out to and up Amboy Crater. The following day I climbed to the top of the Kelso Dunes. And one day later I climbed one of the cinder cones east of Baker. I enjoyed having a diversion each day. Each of those areas is beautiful in its own way. The creosote bushes in the Amboy Valley are particularly green because of the shallow water table. Kelso Dunes are simply fantastic, and the cinder cone area with over 30 cinder cones and not another person felt like another planet.

In Baker I bought enough food to last 10 days and ate at the Mad Greek at my brother's recommendation. I had taken a rest day the previous day because of rain, and Baker was a bit flooded. Folks were out pushing water around with brooms. At the store the locals were telling each other how much their roofs leaked.

Death Valley National Park

Heading north of Baker the saddle that separates the Silurian Valley from Death Valley is only about a 50' climb. From there I left the pavement and stopped at Saratoga Springs to see the incredible wetlands in the desert. I had planned on climbing the Ibex Dunes, but wind was blowing sand off the top of the dunes and everything was still a bit wet from the rain. The following day I reached the pavement, took it for 5 miles and then headed west up Warm Springs Canyon.

The 1400m climb up Warm Springs Canyon was not the longest of the trip, but it was the toughest. The climb started out hard from below sea level in Death Valley and continued to be hard all the way to the saddle leading into Butte Valley. I struggled in my easiest gear (which is really low) the whole way. Surprisingly I walked very little. It always seemed to be just slightly easier to pedal than to walk.

Butte Valley felt remote. The views to the east were phenomenal giving Greater View Spring its name. I could see range after range. I stopped at Stella Anderson's place and cut some chicken wire to repair my glasses. The rattling had loosened a screw which I couldn't find. It was important to get a good fix since I wore those glasses a lot riding in the early morning and late afternoon. I found I had about 10 hours of light to ride in with perhaps 45 minutes of twilight on either end to mess around in camp. The sun was theoretically up for 8 or 9 hours, but it was often a lot less than that in the canyons. My repair job worked well, and I didn't even strip the threads so the glasses are good as new again :)

Mengel Pass is rough and keeps too many people from taking this route between Death Valley and Panamint Valley. Down in Goler Wash I met Rock(y), one of two residents of Ballarat. His father is the other. Rocky was poking around Goler Wash with his girlfriend who was visiting from LA. He had worked with various mining operations in the area, and I enjoyed his stories. It was also fun to talk with his Isreali girlfriend. We compared this desert with the eastern Mediterranean desert where I have also cycled.

In Ballarat the following day I talked with Rocky some more, but the girlfriend had already returned to LA. There are a surprising number of springs on the west side of the Panamints (due to faults, I'm sure) and a surprising number of fighter jets playing overhead. I scared a coyote into some bushes near a spring and then was scared myself by the jet passing just overhead. Once the quiet returned I could hear the coyotes, packs of them, howling and yipping in the bushes. The yipping made it sound like there were a lot of youngsters. Fun to hear the bushes make such unusual noises.

Hunter Mountain to Racetrack Playa

I was pretty tired this day and finally made it to Panamint Springs where I had planned to get water. There's a store as well, but they really only have candy bars. The restaurant, however, was able to sell me some bread and cheese. I bought a veggie burger for lunch as well. That rejuvenated me enough to climb about half of the 1100m paved climb that afternoon.

I was lucky that the following day was stunningly warm since I climbed to over 7000 ft. The 1100m paved climb was followed by 600m of climbing on a dirt road. I'm sure it ended up being more than that since there were a number of descents thrown in as well. To give an idea of the terrain the only two flat places I went through that day were named: Lee Flat and Ulida Flat! Lee Flat was filled with the most Joshua trees I've ever seen in one place. I camped in Ulida Flat next to one of the only Joshua trees out there.

I made it over Hunter Mountain, through Hidden Valley, down Lost Burro Gap, and arrived at Teakettle Junction with enough water to be able to make the ~16 mile detour to Racetrack Playa. Of course I'd seen photos of the moving rocks at Racetrack Playa, but I was absolutely blown away being at the site in person. It's not simply the amazement of seeing the evidence of the moving rocks and all the different directions and shapes of the tracks, but also how well preserved the area is. It wouldn't take too many people moving rocks from the tracks, driving on the playa, or walking out there when the surface is wet to really ruin the magic of the place. Additionally Racetrack Playa is so big and so flat. The flat playa blends in in the distance with the hills miles away. I loved this place. I was lucky enough to be there when I was. The rain from 5 days earlier had completely dried out, and it rained some more just 10 hours after I was there.

I recovered my stashed gear and water at Teakettle Junction and headed uphill into a cold, stiff wind climbing out of Racetrack Valley. By this point in the trip I had started to associate Joshua trees with cold weather. At the saddle in the twilight I made it my goal to descend far enough down to get away from the Joshua trees and perhaps into warmer weather. It was practically dark by the time I got off my bike, but I succeeded! It sprinkled off and on all night, but I was dry and fairly warm.

Through the bottom of Death Valley

The downhill continued all the way to the pavement at Ubehebe Crater, but I had to push the bike a bit once I got to the lava/cinder area. The black sand of the roadbed was much finer and deeper than the surface of most of the descent. Getting to Ubehebe concluded what I had planned for this trip. The only thing left was to get to Las Vegas. Berdoo Canyon, Mengel Pass, and Hunter Mountain had all been hard excursions, but each took about a day less than I had (conservatively) expected. I had time to make it a pleasant, easy ride to Vegas. I hiked around Ubehebe Crater and relaxed in the wind at the parking lot. Only two cars plus a ranger came by during the ~3 hours I was there. Each car stopped, the occupants got out, took a couple photos, and were driving away less than 2 minutes later. Incredible! This place is the middle of nowhere. I couldn't understand why anyone would drive so far and spend so little time. It turns out though that Ubehebe is only a 10 mile detour from the Scotty's Castle road.

I didn't make much distance this day even though it was flat and I had a tailwind after Ubehebe. I camped illegally near the paved road but was careful to avoid washes since I could tell it was going to storm. Storm it did. The wind bent my tent sideways, and rain poured down for hours. Death Valley received about a third of their annual average rainfall in this ~6 hour period. It was December 7, and it rained almost as much as it had from January 1 to December 6. The nice flat sandy spot I had chosen for my tent was just a bit lower than the surrounding area. The whole area was really quite flat, but the soil there can't absorb water very quickly. In the middle of the night I found my tent sitting in an inch or so of water. Only my thermarest was above it. I moved the tent in the pouring rain, but it was too late. Most of my stuff was pretty wet. Both pairs of socks and the bottom of my down bag were soaked. I wrapped my feet in a wool scarf like a Ace bandage and tried to get some sleep.

I was up early in the morning. I had managed to keep my down coat fairly dry so I put that over my damp clothes to ride away in the morning. Tons of rocks up to the size of softballs had poured across the 2-lane paved highway out of washes that were only a foot or two wide. It had snowed down to 4000'. In every direction were snow-covered peaks. I was so lucky to be down low, near pavement. The dirt roads that I had spent much of the last week on were probably impassable that morning. Ulida Flat where I had camped two nights earlier was probably covered in snow. I was able to keep warm biking in my down coat, but I was down at sea level, the warmest place around!

The sun came out. Everything warmed up. The views were phenomenal. In spite of the damp clothes it was a fantastic day to be cycling. At Furnace Creek I was directed to the sunny employee picnic area where I pulled everything out of my bags and dried everything out while enjoying lunch and wine from the grocery store. I hung out there for 2-3 hours before anyone else showed up. It was Herb, the night maintenance man. Enthralled with the bike he asked lots of questions about touring and the LHT specifically. He kept getting calls on his radio but continued to talk with me. Herb plans to live on his bike for a while and had been researching bicycles. I enthusiastically encouraged him since I know from experience that a lot of folks discourage that kind of crazy plan. Before he left to finally answer one of his calls, he asked me, "did you find the free showers?" I hadn't. Hohoho, that shower felt wonderful.

I spent a rest day at Furnace Creek and talked to Herb to 2 or 3 more times. I also met Mary and Paul from Rogue River, Oregon, who invited me to dinner at their campsite. I didn't carry a stove on this trip. The hot meal that Mary put together was the best meal of the trip. She had dried tomatoes and zucchini from their garden, a hot sauce with peppers that they grew, a jalepeno artichoke dip as an appetizer, and plenty of red wine. Was I ever a happy camper!

And on to Las Vegas

Back on the bike I rode south with a tailwind past Badwater all the way to the 5 miles of paved road that I had ridden between Saratoga Springs and Warm Springs Canyon over a week earlier. Instead of heading south to Baker I climbed Jubilee Pass. The following day I climbed Salsberry Pass on the coldest day of the trip. I simply couldn't warm up since I couldn't get away from the wind. And then I came to Tecopa Hot Springs! That cut the chill even though the wind was so fierce that I was dry within minutes of getting out of the pool. Around the corner I stopped at a RV park to get some water and ended up spending an hour talking with the 75-year-old man who runs the place with his wife. He ran an ultra-marathon when he was 55, had biked from Las Vegas to Sedona, had run a bunch of marathons. In the summer they leave Tecopa Hot Springs and explore the country in their 35' motorhome.

Later that afternoon I came upon Victor. Stopped at the side of the road, he handed me a Guinness and two granola bars. We chatted for a while using his car as a windbreak. He's taking a break from his 'round the world bicycle trip on a crazy rig that he built himself.

The following morning the only indication that I entered Nevada was a sign reading "Inyo County Line". Lower down on the same post was a smaller sign at an angle because it was falling off. That sign said "leaving". About 3 cars passed me in an hour, and then a car stopped. It was the couple from RV park in Tecopa Hot Springs. She had baked muffins that morning, put together a package of them for me, and handed them to me! They were still warm! Oh, I was cycling with a big smile yet again! I was on a gradual climb that continued all the way to Mountain Springs Pass. To get an idea of how long the climb was, consider that the couple drove all the way to Las Vegas, went to the dentist, drove back, and passed me just one minute before I crested the pass. They honked, smiled, and waved as did I. The first 2000' of descent was fast and cold, but I was warm and happy in my down coat.

My last excursion before Las Vegas was to ride through the scenic Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. The cliffs and cemented sand dunes in that area reminded me much more of the Colorado Plateau than anything I'd seen on my journey through the Mojave Desert. In the morning I rolled into Vegas, found a bike shop, boxed my stuff, and took a taxi to the downtown Greyhound station. In Denver a day later I rebuilt my bike at the Greyhound station for the short ride to Market St. Station. I took the bus to Boulder and rode through the snow to get home.

   

a fault in our stars

Aerial photograph of the San Andreas Fault, Davis Road, Highway 46, and Cholame, San Luis Obispo County, California. Cholame is the site of the Jack Ranch and the James Dean Memorial. Included in this view westward is a (mostly) buried pipeline that carries water to San Luis Obispo (notice the white 'X', where Davis Road crosses the pipeline, and right next to where the pipeline crosses the San Andreas Fault).

The smpsu has blown on the monitor, this fuseholder was never inserted properly from new and probably contributed to the psu's demise. Dating from 1987, the monitor has only taken 32 years to fail.

The United States Congress designated the Oregon Badlands Wilderness in 2009 and it now has a total of 29,261 acres. All of this wilderness is located in Oregon and is managed by the Bureau of Land Management.

The Oregon Badlands Wilderness holds a number of remarkable and exciting landforms and geologic features. Most of the area includes the rugged Badlands volcano, which has features of inflated lava. Windblown volcanic ash and eroded lava make up the sandy, light-colored soil that covers the low and flat places in these fields of lava. Dry River, active during each of several ice ages, marks the southeast boundary between two volcanic areas – Badlands volcano and the Horse Ridge volcanoes. Earth movements along the Brothers Fault Zone have faulted and sliced up the old Horse Ridge volcanoes, but not Badlands volcano. The Badlands formed in an unusual way. The flow that supplied lava to the Badlands apparently developed a hole in the roof of its main lava tube. This hole became the source of lava that built a shield volcano that we call the Badlands (technically, a rootless shield volcano). An irregularly-shaped pit crater at the top of the shield marks the site where lava flowed in all directions to create the Badlands. It is located about 1500 feet northeast of milepost 15 on Highway 20. Highway 20 traverses the shield along a straight, five-mile stretch between the intersections with an old section of Highway 20 (between mileposts 12.6 and 17.5). Soils in the Badlands were largely formed from ash associated with Mt. Mazama, now known as Crater Lake. A variety of wildlife species inhabit the area including yellow-bellied marmots, bobcat, mule deer, elk, and antelope. The southern portion of the Badlands Wilderness includes crucial winter range for mule deer. Avian species include prairie falcons and golden eagles.

Additional information about the Oregon Badlands Wilderness, and all the other BLM Wilderness areas in Oregon/Washington, is available online at:

www.blm.gov/or/resources/recreation/wilderness2.php

 

Fault and Lineation map of Pluto using a grayscale version of the 8000x8000 pixel MVIC image as a basemap.

 

Orange indicates graben and half-graben structures in regions where there is noticeable downdropping of terrain along more or less straight lines.

 

Red indicates landforms that occur in Some of these may indicate faulting or fracturing of the crust, while others may be coincidental.

 

1994 Ford Mondeo LX Diesel

 

Ventnor, Isle of Wight

Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.

- Carlotta O'Neill

 

Bo & Nandi. Although Nandi humored the rest of us, she only had eyes for Bo and listened to her every command. They were truly soul mates. Bo lost Nandi last month and has asked me to send her some shots from our visit last March. These are some of the images I've been putting together for her.

www.twitter.com/Memoire2cite -“ L’urbanisme des possibles ”Pourquoi dire des grands ensembles qu’ils sont des terres d’avenir ? www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLaaQ2crb2Yoi0aqvbpHthqOowQ... Parce que la fréquentation régulière de ces quartiers m’a amené à y voir autre chose que des territoires à problèmes. Habiter les grands ensembles, c’est habiter la ville. Rarement

la ville-centre, celle du Paris haussmannien ou de la ville autrefois intra-muros, mais la ville tout

de même, un territoire souvent diffus, faible, pas toujours reconnaissable, mais où habite finalement aujourd’hui la majorité des urbains. Les grands ensembles font partie de cet assemblage d’entités autonomes, issues de conceptions rarement hasardeuses, mais pas forcément articulées les unes aux autres. Ils se distinguent du territoire urbanisé par leur masse, leur dimension,

parfois leur ordonnancement. C’est très clair quand on survole une ville depuis

un avion : les barres et les tours des grands ensembles émergent au milieu des

nappes de pavillons, des galettes commerciales et des infrastructures routières.

Pour autant, ils n’organisent ni ne structurent le territoire, comme l’espéraient

leurs concepteurs à l’origine. Ils sont juste plus grands.

Les grands ensembles appartiennent au paysage générique et banal de la banlieue.

Ils en sont même devenus des éléments constitutifs. A ce titre, les barres et les

tours nous parlent d’autre chose que d’habitat ou de difficultés sociales. Bien sûr,

ces immeubles ont tendance à accueillir une population souvent défavorisée, mal

intégrée aux réseaux de production et d’emploi. Bien sûr, les modes de vie et les

relations sociales y sont parfois plus durs et plus violents qu’ailleurs. Mais on ne

peut réduire les grands ensembles à ces difficultés. Leurs situations se rapportent

en effet à une condition beaucoup plus large qui est celle de la banlieue dans sa

globalité, soit la part majoritaire de la condition urbaine actuelle.

Intervenir dans les grands ensembles implique donc de penser aujourd’hui cette

nouvelle condition. Comme l’habiter ? Comment y développer une activité ?

Comment y affronter la précarité énergétique ? Les grands ensembles constituent

un formidable territoire pour aborder ces questions, ils disposent d’un formidable

gisement pour penser la ville de demain. Regarder un territoire, une nécéssité avant toute

transformation

6 | L’urbanisme des possibles

En 2012, le Ministère de la Culture nous a confié, à Ken Rabin et moi-même,

le commissariat et la scénographie d’une exposition itinérante de photographies

sur les grands ensembles. Cette initiative revient à Eric Langereau, directeur de

l’ESAM de Caen, l’Ecole supérieure d’art et de médias qui a accueilli l’exposition

pour la première fois.

L’exposition présente les œuvres d’une dizaine de photographes qui, de 1960

à nos jours, ont porté un regard sur les grands

ensembles. Les œuvres de ces photographes sont

riches d’émotions mais aussi d’enseignements car

la manière d’observer un site ou une situation est

absolument déterminante dans la manière de penser

leur transformation. Et le regard de ces artistesphotographes nous aide à dépasser l’héritage des

fausses représentations.

Au travers de cette exposition, nous avons essayé d’élever les grands ensembles

au rang d’objets dignes de considération. Non pas tant des objets de patrimoine

– dans le sens où il faudrait les conserver, s’interdire de les démolir – mais comme

des objets à la fois importants dans l’histoire d’après la Seconde guerre mondiale

et marquants dans le territoire. Des objets qu’il convient encore d’apprendre à

regarder. Le grand ensemble à l’origine : une promesse de modernité et de confort

Dès la fin des années 1950, la Caisse des dépôts s’impose comme le plus important

constructeur de logements en France. Son rôle est essentiel dans le développement

du modèle du grand ensemble. Chacune des opérations qu’elle livre fait l’objet

d’une mission photographique.

Essentiellement réalisées par Jean Biaugeaud, les images promotionnelles qui en

résultent témoignent de la formidable promesse de cette production à grande

échelle : un nouvel habitat égalitaire, une nouvelle organisation du territoire,

le tout soumis à un objectif essentiel, celui de résoudre la crise du logement. A

l’époque, l’enjeu, c’était d’abriter des gens qui travaillent. Ce qu’il faut retenir,

et ça me paraît extrêmement important par rapport à la situation actuelle dans

laquelle on se trouve aujourd’hui, c’est que le grand ensemble était fait pour loger

des salariés qui ne travaillaient pas sur place. Un lieu où on régénérait en quelque

sorte la force de travail. Le confort du logement participait à cette régénération.

Une vie nouvelle, une vie de pionniers

La vie collective des grands ensembles est très intense durant les premières années.

Les habitants s’engagent dans des mouvements d’éducation populaire et de

jeunesse et des associations. Beaucoup d’entre eux militent au parti communiste.

De 1959 à 1969, le photographe Jacques Windenberger habite Sarcelles. Il s’attache

alors à décrire la vie collective très intense dans cette cité encore en chantier, les

solidarités entre voisins aussi bien que les douceurs familiales.

Ses reportages décrivent avec fidélité la vie de ces pionniers qui inventent de

nouveaux modes de vie collectifs. Une vie un peu à l’écart, mais qui reste accrochée

à la société par le lien du travail.Une question identitaire

Les grands ensembles accueillent dès l’origine une importante communauté de

pieds-noirs et d’immigrés. Ce cosmopolitisme reste une caractéristique forte de

ces quartiers. Certains d’entre eux comptent aujourd’hui plus d’une trentaine de

nationalités différentes.

Né en banlieue parisienne, de père algérien et de mère française, le photographe

Bruno Boudjelal fait une série de clichés bouleversants sur le quotidien de plusieurs

générations de femmes d’origine algérienne.

A la fois journaux intimes et reportages sur les conditions de vie, ces séries

formalisent le trouble identitaire que peut ressentir la première génération des

enfants nés des grands ensembles.

Les grands ensembles se sont fondus dans le territoire

Commandées en 2010 par la Direction générale des patrimoines, les vues aériennes

de l’américain Alex MacLean témoignent de la manière dont quelques grands

ensembles emblématiques de la région parisienne perdurent.

Le photographe nous montre ici comme les barres et les tours ont perdu de leur

monumentalité. Les bâtiments, comme le sol, se sont usés. Les populations se sont

renouvelées. Les grandes dimensions de ces quartiers d’habitation, encore inédites

à l’époque de leur construction, ne se discernent plus dans l’hétérogénéité des

masses de la banlieue. De l’ambition initiale, il ne reste que le visage impersonnel

de ces innombrables fenêtres et une fascination mêlée d’inquiétude devant un

effacement si assumé de toute trace d’individualité.

De plus en plus, le grand ensemble et la ville se confondent. L’un et l’autre sont

immergés dans une urbanité spatiale et culturelle de plus en plus diffuse et

homogèneUn paysage en perpetuelle métamorphose

Le photographe Christian Siloé fonde un récit à partir des chantiers – de la

démolition à la reconstruction – d’une cité de Montereau-Fault-Yonne. On

y voit des grues héroïques déchiqueter les restes puissants de structures

d’immeubles. On y voit aussi les chantiers de pavillons qui viennent

reconquérir le paysage des barres et des tours démolies pour générer un

paysage reconnaissable de lotissement.

Les grands ensembles, ce sont des paysages en métamorphose. C’est

énorme, c’est grand, c’est solide, c’est en béton, mais c’est aussi très

fragile. On les a construit, on les a réhabilité, on les a re-réhabilité, on les

a partiellement démoli, on y a reconstruit d’autres logements, …

Cette fragilité est aujourd’hui inscrite dans le paysage et la culture de

la banlieue. Depuis les

grandes démolitions à

l’explosif des années

80-90, tout le monde

sait que les grands

ensembles sont en

sursis, qu’ils peuvent

disparaître à tout

moment.

Un univers d’idées reçues

Les œuvres de Mohamed Bourouissa rassemblent, dans des mises en

scène soigneuses, les signifiants de la culture des cités : squat de hall,

regroupement en pied d’immeubles, destruction de voiture sur parking,

affrontement entre jeunes sur trottoir...

En faisant appel au vocabulaire noble des tableaux maniéristes

(composition, lumière, pose, cadrage), l’artiste-photographe hisse

les idées reçues au rang de mythe. Parce que la banlieue et les grands

ensembles, c’est aussi ces regards, ces gestes, ces manières d’être en

groupe, ou simplement les uns avec les autres dans des espaces très petits

alors que, juste à côté, il y a des étendues immenses.

Cette chorégraphie des corps, des gestes et des regards – inquiétante pour

certains – est bien sûr liée à l’architecture des grands ensembles. On ne

peut l’ignorer lorsqu’il s’agit de penser aujourd’hui leur devenir.

Entre solitude et promiscuité

Le photographe Cyrus Cornut ne pose pas simplement son regard sur les

grands ensembles, mais sur l’ensemble de la banlieue parisienne.

Ses photographies nous montrent un rapport très particulier des indivi

-

dus aux grands espaces, à l’horizon. Les personnages paraissent petits et

isolés au milieu d’un paysage de fenêtres anonymes et de blocs gigan

-

tesques, au sein desquels on vit très près les uns des autres.

Cette disproportion entre solitude et promiscuité, ce sont bien sûr les

grands ensembles qui l’ont installé. Mais elle s’est étendu depuis à l’en

-

semble des territoires sub- et péri-urbains.

C’est extrêmement important de considérer que cette affaire des grands

ensembles ne se limite pas simplement aux périmètres dit « ZUS », qu’ils

ne se distinguent pas de ce vaste paysage qu’est devenu la ville, la ville

dès que l’on s’éloigne de son centre historique.

Que nous apprennent ces photographies ?

La promesse égalitaire qui fonde l’origine des grands ensembles a-t-elle

entièrement disparue ? L’intensité de la vie collective s’est-elle substituée

à la seule violence des rapports humains ? Peut-on réduire les barres et les

tours aux seuls stigmates du colonialisme et du communautarisme iden

-

titaire ? Ces photographies montrent que l’histoire des grands ensembles

est bien plus complexe et qu’ils disposent de bien d’autres atouts. Car le

propre des grands ensembles est qu’ils restent les héritiers de la politique

étatique, planificatrice et égalitaire des Trente Glorieuses tout en étant

devenus poreux au territoire qui les entoure. Et c’est justement ce carac

-

tère double qui fait des grands ensembles des terres d’avenir : des terres

mieux adaptées aux conditions économiques et sociétales d’aujourd’hui,

des terres également propices au renouvellement des pratiques de projet.

Le potentiel des espaces verts

Les grandes étendues des espaces verts qui caractérisent la plupart de

ces quartiers témoignent de cette ambigüité. À l’origine, les grands en

-

sembles reposaient sur un certain nombre de principes affirmés. Le pre

-

mier consistait à implanter les constructions au milieu de vastes étendues

paysagères, apportant ainsi l’air, la lumière et la nature au plus près des

logements. François Parfait, ingénieur des Ponts-et-Chaussées, avait alors

déclaré que ces espaces verts devaient relever d’un statut particulier :

celui de service public. Ce statut à part, qui ne relevait ni du domaine

public ni du domaine privé, n’a jamais vu le jour. Les espaces verts n’ont

jamais trouvé leurs usages et sont restés des lieux d’interdiction, difficiles

à gérer. Des lieux d’inquiétude mais aussi des lieux coûteux en entretien

pour les locataires, les copropriétaires et les collectivités locales.

À partir des années 1980-90, on a commencé à introduire un autre modèle

en aménageant des rues et en distinguant l’espace public de l’espace privé. De

fait, on a simplifié un certain nombre de questions posées depuis l’origine. Les

espaces verts ont été découpés en parcelles. Puis on a mis des clôtures. Et ces

espaces verts, très généreux au départ, que sont-ils devenus ? Essentiellement

des jardins de vue. On a créé des espaces verts privés, morcelés, plus petits, gérés

par les bailleurs sociaux mais toujours sans usage. On a gagné un espace public,

clairement délimité – le plus souvent, les clôtures servent davantage à délimiter

la rue qu’une entité résidentielle – mais, là encore, celui-ci a rarement trouvé

d’autres usages que ceux de la circulation et du stationnement.

Avec les opérations de rénovation urbaine, nous avons découvert que les grands

ensembles pouvaient accueillir un foncier privé, dédié à de nouveaux types

d’habitats privés, générant ainsi une certaine mixité sociale. Pour autant, les

espaces verts résidentiels sont restés des jardins de vue tandis que les espaces

publics sont demeurés des rues circulantes. Est-ce le seul avenir pour ces espaces

verts ? N’y a-t-il pas d’autres hypothèses à envisager ? En élargissant la focale,

on découvre d’autres vocations possibles. Je pense par exemple à des pratiques

solidaires et locales ou à des filières économiques courtes pouvant associer

les habitants ou les actifs logés à proximité. Car ce qui caractérise les grands

ensembles, et que l’on oublie bien souvent, c’est leur ancrage dans le territoire.

De par les liens fusionnels qu’ils entretiennent avec la banlieue, comme évoquée

plus haut. Mais aussi du fait du chômage qui touche souvent plus leurs habitants.

Car si la vocation première des grands ensembles consistait à loger une population

salariée, celle-ci est aujourd’hui d’accueillir des résidents qui font bien plus qu’y

habiter.

Les habitants ont pris de l’avance

Dans de nombreux quartiers périphériques, les habitants exploitent les espaces

libres dont ils disposent pour inventer de nouveaux usages, parfois collectives ainsi

que de nouvelles activités économiques, qualifiées le plus souvent d’informelles (à

ne pas confondre avec souterraines qui désignent le commerce de biens illicites).

C’est le cas tout particulièrement des résidents de nombreux pavillons qui ont

su exploiter les potentiels de leurs garages, de leurs jardins ou d’une partie de

leurs rez-de-chaussée. Ne peut-on imaginer un tel potentiel de « capacitation »

(empowerment) dans les espaces verts des grands ensembles ? Ces surfaces de

pleine terre qui s’étendent au pied des barres et des tours, encombrantes pour

les gestionnaires et les pouvoirs publics, ne pourraient-il pas profiter aujourd’hui

pleinement aux habitants ? Les espaces verts contribueraient alors à faire advenir

de nouvelles modalités de travail, dans l’esprit de ce que Jeremy Rifkin a appelé

la « Troisième révolution industrielle ». En ces temps incertains, où se prépare

une probable pénurie énergétique, les grands ensembles auraient alors toutes les

chances de devenir les porteurs d’une nouvelle promesse. Créer un parc d’initiatives à Toulouse

À Toulouse, dans le quartier de Bagatelle, nous travaillons sur un grand territoire

de 365 hectares, aussi grand que le centre-ville. Celui-ci est bordé par la rocade, la

Garonne et un boulevard de ceinture du centre-ville. Il comprend notamment cinq

quartiers d’habitat social : Bagatelle, La Faourette, Papus, Tabar et Bordelongue.

Sur ce projet de renouvellement urbain, nous abordons plusieurs échelles,

plusieurs temporalités. Nous élaborons un schéma directeur, aménageons un

certain nombre d’espaces publics et accompagnons, en tant qu’urbaniste-conseil,

toutes les opérations.

Ce territoire est constitué de petites « poches » de quelques centaines de logements

sociaux, de pavillons et de copropriétés construits, pour l’essentiel dans les années

1950 et 1960. Chaque « poche » s’est implantée sur une assiette foncière provenant

de la réunion de plusieurs parcelles maraîchères. On a des isolats, des sortes de

successions de petites unités placées les unes à côté des autres. Pour l’architecte

Candilis, auteur du Mirail, l’aménagement de ces quartiers juxtaposés, c’est l’antimodèle.

Est-ce que c’est l’anti-modèle ? Je n’en suis pas si sûr. Parce que la proximité

de toutes ces « poches » est d’une grande richesse. Une des choses les plus

frappantes, c’est le contraste entre les secteurs de grands ensembles et les secteurs

pavillonnaires. Bien que disposant de très vastes espaces verts, les abords des

premiers restent peu investis par les habitants tandis que les maisons débordent

d’usages économiques et associatifs.

Ce contraste nous a beaucoup interrogés. Nous pensions naïvement, avant d’explorer le site, que les secteurs pavillonnaires

n’avaient d’autres fonctions que résidentielles, que leur capacité d’évolution

restait, de fait, très limité. Nous avons découvert des quartiers très vivants, les

activités dans et aux abords des maisons ne cessant de changer, de se transformer.

Et on a commencé à imaginer des choses.

Il se trouve que ce territoire est entièrement soumis à un impératif majeur, le plan

d’exposition au bruit, celui-ci se trouvant dans l’axe des pistes de l’aéroport. La

stratégie de densification n’était donc pas de mise. Les vides n’ayant pas de valeur

foncière, ils pouvaient être mis à profit pour offrir aux habitants des avantages

comparables à ceux des pavillons.

Ainsi, plutôt que de diviser, comme ailleurs, les espaces verts, nous avons choisi

de les amplifier, de les réunir. Dans le quartier de Bagatelle en particulier, nous

avons constitué une entité large et généreuse de 4 hectares, la reconstruction

de l’offre de logements étant reportée de

part et d’autre.

Mais quelle affectation proposer à ce

parc sans alourdir encore les charges

des locataires et de la collectivité ?

Cet enjeu était d’autant plus crucial

que la proportion était d’espaces verts

était devenue, dans ce quartier, très

importante. Un calcul nous a paru éloquent. Il s’agit du nombre de mères carrés par

logement. Si on compare le quartier de Bagatelle avec le centre-ville de Toulouse,

ce ratio était multiplié par quatre.

Mais dès lors que ce parc s’ouvrait aux initiatives des habitants, ce ratio pouvait

diminuer. Au vu de ce qui se passe dans les pavillons, on n’a pas souhaité se

cantonner aux jardins familiaux ou partagés. Ce parc est devenu le parc des

possibles, un parc capable accueillir les initiatives économiques, énergétiques,

agricoles, alimentaires, culturelles, ludiques et sportives des habitants. Les

porteurs de projets disposent d’un morceau de terrain, d’une parcelle, pour une

durée déterminée. Le sol reste propriété de la collectivité, mais il devient, pour

une bonne part, autogéré.

La constitution d’une trame facilite ensuite les connexions à des systèmes de

partage et de coproduction.

Cette hypothèse n’est pas tout à fait nouvelle. Nous pensons notamment à Andrea

Branzi qui a poursuivi, depuis les utopies d’Archizoom dans les années 1960,

une réflexion sur « l’urbanisation faible ». Le dessein de la ville n’étant plus en

mesure d’être planifié, la trame constitue un système ouvert, capable de mettre

en relation des noyaux d’activités éparses, extensifs ou graduels. Nous sommes

loin du modèle de la ZAC. Parole à...

Pierre Vandenbrouck et Julia Golovanoff

Créer, par la trame urbaine, des pages de liberté

Dans le quartier de Bagatelle, il y a eu beaucoup de démolitions, qui ont eu pour

effet de créer du vide.

Nous avons commencé notre travail sur cette question.

Que pouvions nous en faire ? Que faire de tous ces petits espaces, souvent sans

affectation, sans fonction ? Résidentialiser ? Créer des jardins de copropriété ?

Plutôt que de faire des jardins de copropriété surdimensionnés, nous avons

proposé de regrouper, de rassembler tous ces fragments de terrains libres pour

faire un ensemble sur lequel on puisse imaginer des choses et créer un projet.

Nous avons saisi l’opportunité d’utiliser l’espace laissé par les démolitions pour

relier deux espaces verts existants, actuellement enclavés, pour créer un grand

parc qui ferait quatre hectares et permettrait de renouveler l’image du quartier

de Bagatelle.

Mais on ne voulait pas seulement proposer un parc, public et entièrement géré par

la collectivité où toutes les activités seraient assurées et encadrées par le service

public. On pensait qu’il y avait matière à proposer autre chose, plus adapté aux

besoins du quartier. L’idée que l’on a proposée était d’apposer sur ce grand espace

une trame, structure capable d’accueillir des espaces de liberté.

Cette trame, c’était aussi l’occasion de caractériser très fortement l’espace et

de créer une sorte de structure suffisamment forte pour qu’elle puisse, tout en

existant, accueillir une grande variété d’usages.

L’idée n’était pas d’imposer quelque chose de rigide, mais de voir toute la liberté

qu’offre une trame et tout ce qu’elle peut accueillir de différent.

Des jardins plus ouverts

Tout le parc a été divisé par cette trame, en parcelles.

Le mot parcelle nous convenait bien, parce que la parcelle, c’est la petite partie

d’un tout. Et on imagine que tout y est possible, en fait. Et puis on aimait

bien aussi le mot parcelle qui désignait au Moyen-âge un petit morceau d’une

demeure seigneuriale, mise à la disposition d’un serf, et que celui-ci cultivait,

entretenait et dont il se nourrissait. Ici, il ne s’agit pas d’un seigneur ou d’un

serf, mais d’une collectivité et d’une sorte de sous-locataire qui serait un usager

ou une association. Alors on imagine que cela pourrait s’organiser un peu comme

les jardins partagés, mais de façon plus ouverte car l’idée est que les parcelles ne

soient pas forcément des jardins. Elles peuvent être autre chose. Quoi ? On ne le sait pas, mais on se doute bien que les futurs usagers auront beaucoup d’idées

à proposer. On imagine que pour obtenir une parcelle, un habitant, un groupe

d’habitants ou une association puissent proposer un usage et que cette initiative

soit choisie pour son intérêt, pour ce qu’elle peut apporter aux habitants, pour ce

qu’elle peut apporter au quartier en général.

Tout le parc est divisé en parcelles de 200 mètres carrés, surface qui a été choisie

parce que dans 200 mètres carrés, on peut faire des choses très variées.

On ne sait pas ce qu’il y aura dans ces parcelles. On imagine. On peut imaginer

mille choses. Ces parcelles ne sont pas toutes privatisées. Il y a aussi des parcelles

publiques parce que si la ville ne gère pas tout, n’entretient pas tout, il y a aussi

l’idée que la collectivité ne se désintéresse pas de son sol. Et une part de l’espace

public doit rester porteuse de tous les usages possibles, sans appropriation possible.

Dans le cadre d’une préfiguration du futur parc, on a planté des espaces qui

permettent aussi de tester spatialement la taille des parcelles, de voir ce que

ça veut dire d’avoir des parcelles de cette surface sur ces terrains. L’idée est

qu’on prépare le futur. Les habitants, les associations peuvent commencer à se

demander : « Mais, qu’est-ce que j’aimerais faire si j’avais un sol disponible en

extérieur ? ». C’est une chose importante, car les habitants des pavillons ont un

jardin, un garage, alors que les habitants des immeubles collectifs n’ont que leurs

logements. Ils n’ont peut être jamais espéré pouvoir bénéficier d’un sol, prêté par

la collectivité.

Nous, on trace une trame qui peut accueillir les idées de tous les habitants, du

quartier comme d’ailleurs.

Car généralement plus on aménage un espace, moins on a le droit d’y faire de

choses, moins on a confiance dans l’usager et finalement tous les usages qui

s’écartent de ce qui a été prévu sont considérés comme déviants.

C’est finalement dommage de voir que la générosité des pouvoirs publics ou

l’attention portée par les concepteurs sur les espaces publics soient à ce point

réduits une fois les aménagements réalisés.

Ce parc de Toulouse avec ses parcelles, parle aussi de l’usager et de sa place dans

l’espace. Si on synthétise, dans l’histoire des parcs, on a les Tuileries où l’usager

est spectateur d’une nature mathématique, ordonnancée et parfaite. Les Buttes

Chaumont ensuite, c’est la même chose, sauf que c’est un bout de nature qui

est importé à l’intérieur de la ville. On s’isole de la ville et on admire la nature.

C’est dans le Parc de la Villette qu’on a commencé à s’asseoir dans l’herbe, ce

qui paraissait encore un sacrilège dans beaucoup de jardins parisiens. En fait, on

imagine qu’avec ces parcelles, nous allons passer à une autre phase, où on pourrait

s’emparer du sol et en faire quelque chose. Parole à...

Eric Amanou

Je vais vous raconter, comment chargé de la dimension sociale du projet, nous

avons mis en œuvre toute la dimension participative autour de ces intentions.

Au début du projet, nous avions deux intuitions. La première, celle d’un grand parc

de quatre hectares devant relier trois secteurs de Bagatelle, aujourd’hui repliés sur

eux-mêmes. Notre deuxième intuition, c’était de ne pas faire un parc d’agrément,

comme il en existe déjà à Toulouse, notamment dans le quartier voisin de La

Faourette.

On arrive avec quelques idées comme l’agriculture urbaine ou des initiatives

culturelles. On n’en sait pas plus que ça. Cela suffit pour organiser des rencontres

avec les habitants et recueillir leurs réactions.

Nous décidons d’aller vers les habitants, pas par une réunion publique, mais là où

ils sont. Et sur une semaine, on organise une quinzaine de temps de rencontres.

On discute, on demande aux bailleurs de nous organiser des rencontres en pied

d’immeuble avec des locataires, on va voir les personnes âgées, on va sur le marché,

à la brocante, à la sortie des écoles. On rencontre des jeunes enfants dans les

centres d’animation. En tout, c’est une quinzaine de rencontres, au cours desquels

on a dialogué avec 350 habitants, commerçants, associatifs qui nourrissent les

intentions du parc.

De ces libres discussions, où la tendance qui s’exprimait était un parc conciliant

fonction d’agrément, nature en ville et activités

partagées, on a réussi à dégager certains

éléments de fonctionnement et des éléments

programmatiques.

On a aussi voulu identifier les ressources dans

une logique de recensement des initiatives et des

prédispositions à venir. Sur l’idée du grand parc

on a réussi à dégager un élément-clé. Cet espace

vert, il doit finalement être le trait d’union entre trois sous-ensembles et trois

fonctionnements résidentiels. Tout ce travail et le travail sur le fonctionnement

social qui avait été mené en amont par Fanny Martel, nous a permis de tricoter et

de mieux assurer nos intentions, nos intuitions, nos éléments programmatiques.

Dans le même temps cela a permis aux concepteurs, atelier Landauer et atelier

Jours, d’y voir un peu plus clair sur cette idée de trame et de parcellaire.

Aujourd’hui on se demande aussi si ce n’est pas aussi notre métier d’aller vers les

habitants, parce que la démarche compte tout autant que ce qui va être proposé.

Le fait d’aller vers les habitants, avec nos panneaux, d’engager des discussions

libres, tout cela crée des conditions d’adhésion plus favorables.

Je voudrais maintenant aborder quatre difficultés auxquelles nous avons été

confrontées.

La première concerne la gouvernance des projets.

De telles intentions, un tel processus de projet, réinterrogent tous les métiers de

la direction de projet, chez les bailleurs et au

sein des différents services de la collectivité.

Culturellement cela suppose de sortir de toute

standardisation de l’espace public et de tous

les modèles. Cela questionne les logiques de

propriété, de fermeture, de séparation, de

distinction des fonctions... Culturellement

c’est difficile quand on n’a pas un modèle

précis à substituer à celui que l’on propose

d’abandonner.

Finalement, on propose de réfléchir et d’agir

comme des développeurs sociaux. C’est-àdire que l’initiative qui va sortir va devenir

le premier élément de projet, sur lequel on

appuiera un deuxième. Mais rien n’est connu

ni maîtrisé d’avance. C’est une logique de

développement sans outils, hors maquette financière.

Par exemple, une des difficultés qu’on avait avec ce parc, c’est un bâtiment qui

peut gêner son déploiement. On nous demande immédiatement ce qu’on va en

faire. Et on ne sait pas leur répondre. L’écrêter, le réhabiliter, le démolir ? Et les

incertitudes ne rentrent pas dans la maquette financière, il faut faire inscrire le

devenir de ce bâtiment. On l’inscrit donc, en faisant le pari que dans 3-4 ans les

lignes seront fongibles.

La deuxième limite, est celle de la participation traditionnelle, connue.

Avec ce projet, on dépasse les figures habituelles de la concertation et de la

participation, du « faire pour » ou du « faire avec ».

Sur cette logique de coproduction, de reconnaissance d’expertise et surtout

d’incitation aux initiatives, on va mobiliser une autre figure, celle du « faire par

». Il va falloir inventer d’autres figures de la concertation et de la participation.

Savoir solliciter, mobiliser un prestataire qui va animer le territoire, aller à la

rencontre et accompagner les porteurs de projets. On ne sait pas bien qui va

répondre. Mais il va falloir repousser les limites pour inventer un nouveau métier

que celui de la concertation ou de la participation.La troisième limite, c’est celle de la tranquillité publique, de la régulation de

l’espace public. Dans notre concertation et en règle générale, la question des

détournements d’usage, du non respect des espaces et des équipements et de

la dégradation volontaire bride l’imagination. Au travers de ce projet, je pense

qu’il faudra faire naître d’autres métiers de la régulation publique. Les jardins

partagés, d’une certaine manière, sont aussi des petits miracles, un peu partout

dans le pays. Partout où ils existent et où ils sont bien faits, ils sont extrêmement

respectés, y compris dans des contextes de grande tension. Les associations

gestionnaires de ces jardins-là, parce qu’ils ont d’autres modes de faire, parce qu’ils

travaillent autrement avec des habitants, parce que c’est une valorisation aussi de

la ressource, produisent des formes de respect, de régulation.

Pour obtenir une régulation de l’espace public afin que toutes ces initiatives se

fassent, il va falloir inventer des nouvelles figures de la régulation, à l’image

des gestionnaires de ces jardins partagés ou des collectifs de jeunes architectes

ou paysagistes qui fabriquent avec les publics qu’ils rencontrent et dont les

productions tiennent et sont respectées par tous, ou presque. Ces gens ont une

capacité, dans une approche nouvelle envers les habitants, dans leur aptitude à

être acceptés, à réussir là où l’action publique traditionnelle échoue.

La quatrième limite tient à notre approche républicaine. On se fixe des limites

idéologiques, républicaines. Si on n’accepte pas d’encourager « l’activité de la

débrouille », on ne voit pas comment ça va se faire. On connaît ces activités on

voit bien que ce n’est pas très légal, que la République ne peut pas cautionner ça

et doit fixer une limite. Mais a-t-on vraiment le choix ? Il y a peut-être une logique

de pragmatisme de l’action publique qui va devoir permettre de détendre un peu

ces grands principes républicains.

Un chiffre nous a vraiment surpris. Depuis que le statut existe, c’est dans le

quartier habitat social du Mirail qu’il y a le plus d’auto-entrepreneur. Cela rend

compte de la fermeture du marché traditionnel et de la capacité des gens à

entreprendre, innover, tenter des activités. Lorsqu’il y a cadre légal, les habitants

y adhérent. Mais si cela doit passer par de la « débrouille », ils iront aussi. Nous,

savons que sur ce genre de projet, il va falloir aussi qu’on repousse ces limites de

l’action publique républicaine.Histoire de projet

Fosses : le grand ensemble devient le centre-ville

Cela fait dix ans que nous travaillons sur le projet de Fosses. Nous avons développé

un projet urbain. Aujourd’hui nous avons la maîtrise d’œuvre des espaces publics

et une mission de coordination. On en est à peu près à mi-parcours.

Fosses, est une commune de 10 000 habitants dans le Val d’Oise, en limite de l’Ile

de France, bordée par les grandes plaines agricoles de l’Oise. C’est une ville qui n’a

jamais eu de centre. Une ville périurbaine qui s’est développée à partir des années

1960-70 à proximité de la gare, à plusieurs kilomètres du village d’origine. Elle

comprend des pavillons, un grand ensemble (avec son centre commercial et son

centre social), un lotissement fait de maisons en bandes dites « chalandonnettes

» (elles ont été financées dans le cadre d’une loi du ministre Albin Chalandon),

un réseau d’étroites venelles piétonnes et quelques gros équipements (gymnase,

piscine, poste).

Comme la ville disposait d’une densité plus importante au niveau du grand

ensemble, la ville y a disposé la mairie dans un bâtiment préfabriqué. Puis,

dans les années 1980-90, elle y a construit une église, une halle de marché et

quelques immeubles collectifs aux façades régionalistes. Cela forme un ensemble

très disparate, une juxtaposition de fragments urbains qui relèvent chacun d’une

conception urbaine particulière, sans aucun lien ni articulation, une juxtaposition

de machines solitaires séparées par des vides indistincts, remplis de stationnements

ou de buttes de terre.

Du fait de cette situation, le projet de renouvellement urbain qui nous a été confié

est vite devenu un projet de centre-ville. Il y avait une attente forte des habitants

dans ce sens. Les choses qui nous ont été dites, au tout début, c’était des choses

simples: « Quand on fait une photo pour un mariage, on aimerait bien que le décor

soit autre chose qu’un préfabriqué ! ». Il y avait donc un besoin de symbolique.

Mais en même temps, il y avait un paradoxe. Parce que rien ne justifiait a priori

que le quartier du Plateau, où se trouvait le grand ensemble devienne, plus qu’un

autre, le centre-ville.

C’est très particulier une ville qui se développe sans centre. Cela peut générer un

repli des habitants au sein de leurs logements ou de leurs unités de voisinage.

A Fosses, cela a généré, à l’inverse, une solidarité incroyable. Ici, tout le monde

semble se connaître et s’entraider. Durant la canicule de l’été 2003, tous les

habitants se sont organisés pour porter secours aux personnes les plus âgées ou

les plus immobiles. Et Fosses n’a pas connu le nombre de décès des autres villes

françaises. D’où provient cette fraternité ? Peut-être du fait qu’aucun habitant

n’est ici plus légitime qu’un autre. Pas d’habitant du cœur qui dédaignerait celui

de la périphérie : la ville n’a pas de centre ! Pas d’habitant plus ancien pour rejeter

le dernier arrivé : l’urbanisation y est à la fois trop improvisée et trop récente !

Toutes les étapes du projet que nous avons élaboré depuis dix ans se sont faites

avec les habitants. Chaque option a été discutée le soir, dans des ateliers urbains,

des réunions au centre social, au collège ou à la mairie. Mais aussi les samedis

matin devant le centre commercial. Les habitants ont toujours répondu présents.

La principale difficulté était d’installer une nouvelle identité urbaine sans détruire

ce qui fait, paradoxalement, la force et la spécificité de Fosses : celles d’une ville

à peu près égalitaire. Nous nous sommes dit qu’il fallait intervenir sur les vides,

les organiser sans forcément les délimiter par du plein. Parmi ces vides, il y aurait

une place. Mais une place traversée par les voies de circulation qui soit davantage

une juxtaposition de parvis qu’une place principale. Il ne s’agissait pas d’établir de

hiérarchie. Nous avons juste densifié un peu.

Ces parvis s’installent dans la continuité de l’actuelle placette du marché qui forme

une première équerre. Trois autres équerres viennent compléter ce dispositif.

Pourquoi d’autres équerres ? Par respect du déjà-là mais aussi pour faire que ce

nouveau morceau de ville fasse le lien entre ceux qui l’ont précédé. Prolonger

l’existant et non s’y substituer. Dialoguer et non ajouter un monologue de plus.

Jusqu’à présent, aucune génération n’avait cherché à poursuivre l’œuvre de la

génération précédente.

D’autres outils sont venus a posteriori. Il s’agit du poché. Si on regarde le plan de

Rome fait par Nolli au XVIIIème siècle, on voit que l’espace public, les places, ce

sont des blancs dans le « poché » noir du bâti. A Fosses, dans cette ville périurbaine,

quand on noircit sur un plan le bâti, il reste une gigantesque proportion de blanc.

Comment dès lors faire exister une place, par essence vide, au milieu du vide ? Si

on regarde d’un peu plus près ce même plan de Nolli, on voit qu’il a laissé en blanc tous les espaces accessibles au public, comme l’intérieur des églises ou de certains

palais. Ce n’est pas simplement le blanc dans le plein du bâti, c’est aussi le bâti

accessible au public. Et cela dit beaucoup de choses de la ville. Si on applique ce

principe au plan de Fosses on voit que finalement, la disparité, la difficulté de

cette ville, relève des registres d’accessibilité. Ce que le seul poché des bâtis ne dit

pas forcément. Nous avons proposé de remédier à cette difficulté en créant des

connexions avec les circulations existantes. Cela a permis de développer un vrai

réseau piéton, de renforcer cette identité piétonne très forte de la ville, issue des

conceptions urbaines des années 60-70 et qui fonctionnent aujourd’hui très bien.

Le premier bâtiment construit relève du symbolique. Il s’agit du pôle civique,

qui comprend la mairie et quelques équipements. C’est un très beau bâtiment

construit par Pierre-Louis Faloci. Il forme la deuxième équerre de la place. Ce

faisant, il introduit un phénomène inattendu, une relation très surprenante avec

les constructions existantes. Cette confrontation est très stimulante. Le vide entre

ces constructions de plusieurs âges, de plusieurs styles, apparaît d’ores et déjà

comme un lieu à investir et non plus un interstice sans valeur. Il devient porteur

de nouveaux imaginaires et, pourquoi pas, de nouvelles initiatives.

Une question reste. Dans un reportage réalisé sur la ville de Fosses par le collectif

Fusion, un jeune homme part de son regret de voir 3 des 6 tours démolis dans le

cadre de ce projet. Ces démolitions, c’était une demande de l’ANRU. « De quoi vat-on avoir l’air avec tous ces immeubles plus bas, à la même hauteur ? » s’interroget-il. On comprend vite que sa référence de ville se situe du côté des autres grands

ensembles – Sarcelles ou Garges-Lès-Gonesse – situés à proximité et que ces grands

ensembles, également sans hiérarchie, incarnent pour lui la vie métropolitaine.

Comment dès lors préserver ce qui, du grand ensemble, participe de cette identité

? C’est une vraie question pour l’avenir du renouvellement urbain. Il est clair, qu’à

Fosses, on aurait pu faire sans démolir ces trois tours…Besançon : “ un urbanisme de la vie privée”

Ce projet porte sur un grand ensemble de la banlieue de Besançon. Nous avons

fait un projet urbain qui prévoyait la réhabilitation de certaines barres et la

démolition-reconstruction de certaines autres. Nous avons ensuite réalisé, comme

architecte, une soixantaine de logements.

À Besançon, l’origine de la ville se trouve dans la boucle du Doubs. C’est une

ville magnifique, entourée par les fortifications de Vauban. Mais dès qu’on est à

l’extérieur, tout est déconnecté, avec un relief extrêmement complexe. Les zones

pavillonnaires et d’activités sont entièrement privatisés et greffé sur des voies de

desserte. Les seuls espaces qui restent complètement ouverts sont ceux des grands

ensembles. Il s’ensuit une situation très contrastée entre des secteurs qui n’offrent

aucun espace de rencontre en dehors des enclos et des secteurs très ouverts, mais

qui n’autorisent aucune liberté d’action en dehors du logement.

Il y a un très beau texte d’Émile Aillaud qui s’appelle « Un urbanisme de la vie

privée » et qui explique que ce qu’il manque aux grands ensembles ce ne sont

pas tant des espaces collectifs que des espaces où on peut être seul, où on peut

se mouvoir librement en dehors des logements. Des lieux où les enfants peuvent

construire leurs personnalités, à l’écart des groupes et de leurs familles. J’ajouterai

aujourd’hui : et où les adultes peuvent initier de nouvelles activités.

Aujourd’hui encore, on insiste beaucoup sur l’intimité du logement et les relations

de voisinage mais très peu sur cette dimension de solitude et de capacitation.

Dans ce quartier de La Bouloie, nous avons superposé à la trame ouverte du

grand ensemble une nouvelle trame plus privée. De cette superposition émerge

une diversité de lieux et de situations qui, nous l’espérons, favorisent la solitude

et l’autonomie. Cette diversité provient notamment de la manière dont nous

avons travaillé le terrain et implanté les constructions dans la pente. Les barres

n’entretenaient aucun rapport avec le sol.

Cette opération a été réalisée avec un budget extrêmement réduit. Une contrainte

intéressante qui nous a permis de

placer l’architecture ailleurs que

dans l’effet plastique et de montrer

combien les grands ensembles ne

souffrent pas tant de la monotonie de

leurs façades que de leurs difficultés

à établir une relation féconde avec

leur sol. Repenser ce rapport permet

d’offrir aux habitants la capacité de

réinventer un quotidien en dehors

de leurs logements. Châlons-en-Champagne : un grand ensemble face à

la campagne

À Châlons-en-Champagne, nous avons réalisé un projet urbain qui portait sur le

devenir du quartier Vallée-Saint-Pierre, situé en entrée de ville.

Ce qui nous a frappés, c’est le rapport qu’entretenait ce quartier avec la campagne

environnante. Campagne dont elle n’était séparée que par une voie rapide.

C’est une question vraiment intéressante que ce rapport d’échelle entre le

grand ensemble et la grande étendue de la campagne. Dans l’histoire des grands

ensembles, il y a deux grands modèles. Le modèle de l’unité de voisinage et un

autre modèle qui consiste à mettre directement en relation l’intimité du logement

avec le territoire, sans échelle intermédiaire.

C’est ce rapport là que nous avons tenté de mettre en valeur. Il se trouve qu’il y a

toute une tradition française du rapport entre l’intimité et la campagne. Il s’agit

de la tradition des Jardins à la Française. La plupart de ces jardins mettent en scène

l’horizon avec un premier plan composé, une géométrie affirmée et entièrement

maîtrisée. Ce dispositif permet, en quelque sorte, de faire entrer la campagne à

l’intérieur d’espaces plus intimes. C’est de là que nous sommes partis pour élaborer

ce projet. Nous avons établi une trame qui établit un lien avec le paysage qui se

déploie au-delà de la voie rapide.

Ce projet a été réalisé il y a quelques années mais j’y retrouve des choses qu’on

essaie de faire maintenant, de manière beaucoup plus consciente et précise,

notamment à Toulouse : l’installation d’une trame géométrique à l’intérieur de

laquelle plusieurs programmes peuvent venir s’installer. Une trame sans axe ni

hiérarchie car la ville aujourd’hui n’est plus le fait du prince. Strasbourg : accompagner le temps de l’entre deux

Nous avons réalisé une étude sur le quartier du Port du Rhin à Strasbourg. Cette

étude s’inscrivait dans le cadre d’un programme du PUCA intitulé « Qualité et sûreté

des espaces urbains ». Il s’agissait d’apporter les modifications ou les compléments

nécessaires à l’acceptation sociale d’un projet conçu par la paysagiste Marion

Talagrand, dans le cadre d’un schéma directeur élaboré par l’équipe Reichen et

Robert. Nous avons travaillé ici avec l’équipe REP (« Réussir l’espace public »), en

particulier avec Anne Wyvekens.

Le site en question accueillait, jusqu’à Schengen, le poste-frontière. Il est

aujourd’hui déserté. On y trouve aujourd’hui un ensemble de 520 logements,

une école, deux églises – une catholique, une protestante – ainsi qu’un parc

métropolitain, le parc des Deux Rives.

Le projet de développement de la ville de Strasbourg sur ces rives du Rhin

s’accompagne d’une nouvelle ligne de tramway qui va jusqu’à Kehl, en Allemagne.

C’est un projet très ambitieux, très emblématique. Il prévoit la construction de

1 500 logements, ainsi que de nombreux commerces, bureaux et équipements.

Jusqu’à présent, ce quartier était plus proche du centre de Kehl que du centre de

Strasbourg. La plupart des gens faisaient leurs courses dans la ville allemande, de

l’autre côté du Rhin, sur un axe de déplacement est-ouest. Avec l’installation d’une

esplanade nord-sud, parallèle au fleuve, autour de laquelle se déploient les îlots de

construction, c’est une nouvelle organisation qui s’installe.

De nombreux habitants ont exprimé le sentiment d’être exclus du projet.

Nous avons donc réfléchi aux moyens d’accompagner la transformation radicale du

site pour faciliter cette mutation, prévue sur quinze ans. Nos moyens restaient toutefois limités pour atteindre cet objectif. Le phasage du projet était déjà établi.

Un phasage tenait ainsi compte du calendrier prévisionnel des opérations à venir

sur les parcelles bordant l’esplanade ainsi que de l’arrivée du tramway.

Nous avons donc fait le choix de ne pas interférer dans un processus de projet déjà

largement engagé. Notre étude n’allait pas porter sur des « mesures correctives

» mais sur des compléments d’aménagements et des installations portant sur les

parties du site en attente de transformation.

Ces installations provisoires permettent d’accompagner « en douceur » les

transformations d’usage du site. L’objectif est d’intégrer les pratiques des habitants

dans ce passage progressif d’une organisation est-ouest à une organisation nordsud. Ils concernent tout à la fois des aménagements temporaires d’allées ou de

parvis, l’installation de jardins familiaux et partagés, de la mise en œuvre d’objets

évènementiels permettant de voir le site depuis un point haut et de la mise en

place de dispositifs d’information sur le projet. Ces aménagements et installations

provisoires seront remplacés, au fur et à mesure, par des aménagements plus

permanents. Une telle démarche permet d’explorer quelques leviers d’action du

côté de la transformation. En effet, le passage entre l’état existant et l’état projeté

est rarement pensé en tant que tel dans l’urbanisme courant. On privilégie les

images avant-après, sans s’inquiéter de ce qui se passe entre les deux. Ce que l’on

appelle le phasage est généralement déterminé par un ensemble de contraintes

techniques, économiques, voire politiques. Les potentiels de certains lieux,

les pratiques, parfois ténues, des habitants, échappent le plus souvent à cette

planification. Or le fait de tirer parti des situations existantes et des situations

intermédiaires qui peuvent surgir à certaines étapes de la transformation, permet

d’ouvrir le champ des possibles.

En abordant le phasage sous un angle qui ne serait plus exclusivement technique,

mais tout à la fois social, culturel et artistique, on s’offre la possibilité de générer

de nouvelles proximités, de nouveaux échanges. C’est une condition indispensable

pour permettre aux habitants de faire face aux transformations de leurs quartiers.

Mais aussi de la planète. Car les mutations en cours sont imprévisibles. Il est

nécessaire aujourd’hui d’être très attentifs aux initiatives micro-économiques

et aux évolutions imperceptibles qui font, par exemple, que l’habitat se mêle au

travail ou que les frontières s’effacent entre approvisionnement, production et

distribution.

Repères biographiques

• 1990 : Obtention de son diplôme d’architecte DPLG à l’Ecole Nationale

Supérieure d’Architecture de Nancy.

• 1996-2004 : Chercheur au Laboratoire d’histoire de l’architecture

contemporaine (LHAC) à l’Ecole Nationale Supérieure d’Architecture de

Nancy.

• 2002 : Ouverture de son agence « atelier Landauer architecture +

urbanisme » dans le 14ème arrondissement de Paris.

• 2004 : Obtention de son doctorat en histoire de l’architecture à l’Université

de Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne.

• Depuis 2007 : Enseignant titulaire à l’Ecole d’architecture, de la ville et des

territoires à Marne-la-Vallée et chercheur à l’Observatoire de la condition

suburbaine.

• 2009 : Parution de son ouvrage « L’architecte, la ville et la sécurité » aux

éditions PUF.

• 2010 : Parution de son ouvrage « L’invention du grand ensemble » aux

éditions Picard.

• 2011 : Parution de son ouvrage, coécrit avec Dominique Lefrançois, « Emile

Aillaud, carnet d’architectes » aux éditions du Patrimoine.

• Depuis 2013 : Dirige l’Observatoire de la condition suburbaine à l’Ecole

d’architecture, de la ville et des territoires à Marne-la-Vallée.

Les grands ensembles sont des terres d’avenir ! Sans interrogation mais avec

affirmation, Paul Landauer souhaite nous montrer, à partir de son expérience,

comment les grands ensembles ont pris, depuis leur construction, toute leur place

dans la fabrique de la ville et comment ils peuvent devenir les pionniers d’une

nouvelle façon de transformer la ville.

Pour cet architecte, docteur en histoire de l’architecture, pas de rupture entre

la recherche, l’enseignement et la conception de projets urbains. De Toulouse à

Strasbourg, en passant par Fosses, Besançon, Brest, Nemours, Mourenx ou Chalonsen Champagne, il lie tous ces registres.

Au commencement de toute pratique, un regard sur les territoires mais aussi sur

les hommes et les femmes qui l’habitent... Ce regard, Paul Landauer va l’exercer sur

de nombreux territoires, comme historien, comme architecte-urbaniste, mais aussi

comme animateur d’ateliers urbains, un exercice qu’il affectionne particulièrement.

C’est cette qualité dans les expertises croisées et multiples qui le conduit à être

reconnu comme un des spécialistes des grands ensembles. C’est porté par sa

conviction que le savoir doit se transmettre, qu’il va être l’auteur de plusieurs livres

et expositions dans le domaine de l’histoire de l’habitat et de la perception des

territoires de la banlieue par les photographes.

Il s’engage également contre la place grandissante qu’a prise la sécurité dans les

projets urbains. Il s’attache, dans plusieurs ouvrages, à dénoncer les incidences des

dispositifs de contrôle, de surveillance et d’évitement dans la conception de la ville

et à revendiquer le maintien d’un espace public favorisant la rencontre et l’initiative.

Il réalise notamment une place publique – avec des bancs ! – dans le quartier réputé

insécure de Lambezellec à Brest et démontre ainsi comment l’aménagement de lieux

ouverts, sans a priori sur ce qu’ils vont accueillir, peut constituer une alternative

aux grilles et aux contrôles d’accès pour rassurer les habitants. En 2008, le Forum

français de la sécurité urbaine et l’Acsé lui décernent un prix pour cette réalisation.

Paul Landauer, c’est une manière unique de regarder la diversité des territoires,

dans leur globalité, dans leurs résonnances les uns avec les autres, mais surtout

de les interpréter avec humanisme, replaçant la question de la valorisation et de

la transformation des situations existantes comme fonction essentielle du projet.

Ni critique ni nostalgique en retraçant l’histoire des grands ensembles. Mais une

mise en perspective de tous les potentiels humains et urbains qui les composent.

Ce qu’il nous propose, c’est une autre manière de concevoir la place de l’habitant

dans la ville, pour que celui-ci soit toujours en capacité d’interaction et d’autodétermination pour faire face aux enjeux de notre époque. Urbanisme - l'Apres 1945 @ 2 millions de logements a créer en urgençe..45 pour cent du parc locatif bombardé.. « Ginny » vu par l’urbaniste Nicolas Monnot @ les grands-ensembles www.arte.tv/fr/videos/082309-000-A/ginny-vu-par-l-urbanis...

sig.ville.gouv.fr/atlas/ZUS/ La matrice des G.E. s'est développée au lendemain de la guerre, lors de la reconstruction, mais ses origines de 1930, en France (Cité de la Muette à Drancy, quartier des Gratte-ciel à Villeurbanne).Gilles Ragot, historien de l'art, maître de recherche içi www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEBfg4vXNOM …Dès la fin de la seconde guerre mondiale, Eugène Claudius-Petit, éminent ministre de la reconstruction (1948-1952) déclare qu'il faut avoir une politique de "construction et non seulement de reconstruction". Nourri des thèses du Mouvement Moderne (la Charte d'Athènes est publiée en 1943), Claudius-Petit plaide pour une politique ambitieuse de logement social qu'il ne peut dissocier d'une réforme complète de la ville traditionnelle. www.citedelarchitecture.fr/fr/video/de-la-reconstruction-... Les 30 Glorieuses . com et la carte postale.l'UNION SOCIALE POUR L HABITAT fete ses 90 ans "TOUT savoir tout voir, tout connaitre, sur le LOGEMENT SOCIAL des HLM aux HBM avec le Musée HLM" en ligne sur le WEB içi www.banquedesterritoires.fr/lunion-sociale-pour-lhabitat-... … De grandes barres d’immeubles, appelées les grands ensembles, sont le symbole de nos banlieues. Entrée Libre revient sur le phénomène de destruction de ces bâtiments qui reflètent aujourd’hui la misere www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCqHBP5SBiM

Fantastic exposure of mesozoic rocks in Kilve. A good exercise: try to spot faults and fault-related folds. This outcrop is pretty much similar to a time slice section in a 3D seismic cube. See people on the right-bottom side for a scale.

Fault!!

 

9 x 11 in

paint marker on handmade collage

56127 has come to grief departing the WRD area

Fault!!

8 stitched images

This is right out of central-casting for an earthquake movie. The fissure was made as a result of several seismic events during the eruption of the Inyo Craters just 2000-3000 years ago.