[wordup] Roads Gone Wild - More on Traffic Engineering
Adam Shand
adam at shand.net
Wed Dec 8 15:13:39 EST 2004
The older I get the weirder the things I think are exciting. I can't
believe I get all giggly about traffic engineering :-)
Adam.
From: http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/12.12/traffic.html
Roads Gone Wild
By Tom McNicholPage
Hans Monderman is a traffic engineer who hates traffic signs. Oh, he
can put up with the well-placed speed limit placard or a dangerous
curve warning on a major highway, but Monderman considers most signs to
be not only annoying but downright dangerous. To him, they are an
admission of failure, a sign - literally - that a road designer
somewhere hasn't done his job. "The trouble with traffic engineers is
that when there's a problem with a road, they always try to add
something," Monderman says. "To my mind, it's much better to remove
things."
Monderman is one of the leaders of a new breed of traffic engineer -
equal parts urban designer, social scientist, civil engineer, and
psychologist. The approach is radically counterintuitive: Build roads
that seem dangerous, and they'll be safer.
Monderman and I are tooling around the rural two-lane roads of
northern Holland, where he works as a road designer. He wants to show
me a favorite intersection he designed. It's a busy junction that
doesn't contain a single traffic signal, road sign, or directional
marker, an approach that turns eight decades of traditional traffic
thinking on its head.
Wearing a striped tie and crisp blue blazer with shiny gold buttons,
Monderman looks like the sort of stout, reliable fellow you'd see on a
package of pipe tobacco. He's worked as a civil engineer and traffic
specialist for more than 30 years and, for a time, ran his own driving
school. Droll and reserved, he's easy to underestimate - but his ideas
on road design, safety, and city planning are being adopted from
Scandinavia to the Sunshine State.
Riding in his green Saab, we glide into Drachten, a 17th-century
village that has grown into a bustling town of more than 40,000. We
pass by the performing arts center, and suddenly, there it is: the
Intersection. It's the confluence of two busy two-lane roads that
handle 20,000 cars a day, plus thousands of bicyclists and pedestrians.
Several years ago, Monderman ripped out all the traditional instruments
used by traffic engineers to influence driver behavior - traffic
lights, road markings, and some pedestrian crossings - and in their
place created a roundabout, or traffic circle. The circle is remarkable
for what it doesn't contain: signs or signals telling drivers how fast
to go, who has the right-of-way, or how to behave. There are no lane
markers or curbs separating street and sidewalk, so it's unclear
exactly where the car zone ends and the pedestrian zone begins. To an
approaching driver, the intersection is utterly ambiguous - and that's
the point.
Monderman and I stand in silence by the side of the road a few
minutes, watching the stream of motorists, cyclists, and pedestrians
make their way through the circle, a giant concrete mixing bowl of
transport. Somehow it all works. The drivers slow to gauge the
intentions of crossing bicyclists and walkers. Negotiations over
right-of-way are made through fleeting eye contact. Remarkably, traffic
moves smoothly around the circle with hardly a brake screeching, horn
honking, or obscene gesture. "I love it!" Monderman says at last.
"Pedestrians and cyclists used to avoid this place, but now, as you
see, the cars look out for the cyclists, the cyclists look out for the
pedestrians, and everyone looks out for each other. You can't expect
traffic signs and street markings to encourage that sort of behavior.
You have to build it into the design of the road."
It's no surprise that the Dutch, a people renowned for social
experimentation in practically every facet of life, have embraced new
ideas in traffic management. But variations of Monderman's less-is-more
approach to traffic engineering are spreading around the globe, showing
up in Austria, Denmark, France, Germany, Spain, Sweden, the UK, and the
US.
In Denmark, the town of Christianfield stripped the traffic signs and
signals from its major intersection and cut the number of serious or
fatal accidents a year from three to zero. In England, towns in Suffolk
and Wiltshire have removed lane lines from secondary roads in an effort
to slow traffic - experts call it "psychological traffic calming." A
dozen other towns in the UK are looking to do the same. A study of
center-line removal in Wiltshire, conducted by the Transport Research
Laboratory, a UK transportation consultancy, found that drivers with no
center line to guide them drove more safely and had a 35 percent
decrease in the number of accidents.
In the US, traffic engineers are beginning to rethink the dictum that
the car is king and pedestrians are well advised to get the hell off
the road. In West Palm Beach, Florida, planners have redesigned several
major streets, removing traffic signals and turn lanes, narrowing the
roadbed, and bringing people and cars into much closer contact. The
result: slower traffic, fewer accidents, shorter trip times. "I think
the future of transportation in our cities is slowing down the roads,"
says Ian Lockwood, the transportation manager for West Palm Beach
during the project and now a transportation and design consultant.
"When you try to speed things up, the system tends to fail, and then
you're stuck with a design that moves traffic inefficiently and is
hostile to pedestrians and human exchange."
The common thread in the new approach to traffic engineering is a
recognition that the way you build a road affects far more than the
movement of vehicles. It determines how drivers behave on it, whether
pedestrians feel safe to walk alongside it, what kinds of businesses
and housing spring up along it. "A wide road with a lot of signs is
telling a story," Monderman says. "It's saying, go ahead, don't worry,
go as fast as you want, there's no need to pay attention to your
surroundings. And that's a very dangerous message."
We drive on to another project Monderman designed, this one in the
nearby village of Oosterwolde. What was once a conventional road
junction with traffic lights has been turned into something resembling
a public square that mixes cars, pedestrians, and cyclists. About 5,000
cars pass through the square each day, with no serious accidents since
the redesign in 1999. "To my mind, there is one crucial test of a
design such as this," Monderman says. "Here, I will show you."
With that, Monderman tucks his hands behind his back and begins to
walk into the square - backward - straight into traffic, without being
able to see oncoming vehicles. A stream of motorists, bicyclists, and
pedestrians ease around him, instinctively yielding to a man with the
courage of his convictions.
From the beginning, a central premise guiding American road design was
that driving and walking were utterly incompatible modes of transport,
and that the two should be segregated as much as possible.
The planned suburban community of Radburn, New Jersey, founded in 1929
as "a town for the motor age," took the segregation principle to its
logical extreme. Radburn's key design element was the strict separation
of vehicles and people; cars were afforded their own generously
proportioned network, while pedestrians were tucked safely away in
residential "super blocks," which often terminated in quiet cul de
sacs. Parents could let kids walk to the local school without fearing
that they might be mowed down in the street. Radburn quickly became a
template for other communities in the US and Britain, and many of its
underlying assumptions were written directly into traffic codes.
The psychology of driver behavior was largely unknown. Traffic
engineers viewed vehicle movement the same way a hydraulics engineer
approaches water moving through a pipe - to increase the flow, all you
have to do is make the pipe fatter. Roads became wider and more
"forgiving" - roadside trees were cut down and other landscape elements
removed in an effort to decrease fatalities. Road signs, rather than
road architecture, became the chief way to enforce behavior.
Pedestrians, meanwhile, were kept out of the traffic network entirely
or limited to defined crossing points.
The strict segregation of cars and people turned out to have unintended
consequences on towns and cities. Wide roads sliced through residential
areas, dividing neighborhoods, discouraging pedestrian activity, and
destroying the human scale of the urban environment.
The old ways of traffic engineering - build it bigger, wider, faster -
aren't going to disappear overnight. But one look at West Palm Beach
suggests an evolution is under way. When the city of 82,000 went ahead
with its plan to convert several wide thoroughfares into narrow two-way
streets, traffic slowed so much that people felt it was safe to walk
there. The increase in pedestrian traffic attracted new shops and
apartment buildings. Property values along Clematis Street, one of the
town's main drags, have more than doubled since it was reconfigured.
"In West Palm, people were just fed up with the way things were, and
sometimes, that's what it takes," says Lockwood, the town's former
transportation manager. "What we really need is a complete paradigm
shift in traffic engineering and city planning to break away from the
conventional ideas that have got us in this mess. There's still this
notion that we should build big roads everywhere because the car
represents personal freedom. Well, that's bullshit. The truth is that
most people are prisoners of their cars."
Today some of the most car-oriented areas in the US are rethinking
their approaches to traffic, mainly because they have little choice.
"The old way doesn't work anymore," says Gary Toth, director of project
planning and development for the New Jersey Department of
Transportation. The 2004 Urban Mobility Report, published by the
respected Texas Transportation Institute, shows that traffic congestion
is growing across the nation in towns and cities of all sizes. The
study's conclusion: It's only going to get worse.
Instead of widening congested highways, New Jersey's DOT is urging
neighboring or contiguous towns to connect their secondary streets and
add smaller centers of development, creating a series of linked
minivillages with narrow roads, rather than wide, car-choked highways
strewn with malls. "The cities that continue on their conventional path
with traffic and land use will harm themselves, because people with a
choice will leave," says Lockwood. "They'll go to places where the
quality of life is better, where there's more human exchange, where the
city isn't just designed for cars. The economy is going to follow the
creative class, and they want to live in areas that have a sense of
place. That's why these new ideas have to catch on. The folly of
traditional traffic engineering is all around us."
Back in Holland, Monderman is fighting his own battle against the folly
of traditional traffic engineering, one sign at a time. "Every road
tells a story," Monderman says. "It's just that so many of our roads
tell the story poorly, or tell the wrong story."
As the new approach to traffic begins to take hold in the US, the road
ahead is unmarked and ambiguous. Hans Monderman couldn't be happier.
How to Build a Better Intersection: Chaos = Cooperation
1. Remove signs: The architecture of the road - not signs and signals -
dictates traffic flow.
2. Install art: The height of the fountain indicates how congested the
intersection is.
3. Share the spotlight: Lights illuminate not only the roadbed, but
also the pedestrian areas.
4. Do it in the road: Cafés extend to the edge of the street, further
emphasizing the idea of shared space.
5. See eye to eye: Right-of-way is negotiated by human interaction,
rather than commonly ignored signs.
6. Eliminate curbs: Instead of a raised curb, sidewalks are denoted by
texture and color.
Contributing editor Tom McNichol (mcnichol at pacbell.net) wrote about
bowling in issue 12.09.
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