the 941

Photos by Christin Neisler and Joel Rozen

At his biker rally, Andrew Nouné can’t promise bikini babes, tattoos, leather or even a plenitude of chest hair. But one thing’s pretty much guaranteed:
There will be pedaling. A whole lot of it.
“We’ve spread the word like crazy,” he says. It’s Monday, and Nouné has spent all afternoon prepping for tonight’s “Fruitville For Everyone” assembly, where he and roughly 50 other bicyclists will take to the streets and show local commissioners that a remodeled Fruitville Road without bike lanes is not worth citizen tax money. “We feel they should hold off on their project and do it right,” Nouné says.
The Detroit native faults the current version of the city’s Master Plan 2020, a New Urbanist restoration scheme that, among other things, will allot between $4 and $6 million to line the traffic-heavy stretch of Fruitville between 301 and 41 with safety features for pedestrians, wider sidewalks, green landscaping and enhanced crosswalks.
The Plan also calls for the removal of bike lanes, however, a move Nouné and members of his Alliance for Responsible Transportation (ART) claim will endanger them. (A 1994 study for the Transportation Engineers Journal estimated that bike collisions are two to five times more likely to occur on sidewalks.)
For the past four months, the former New College student — and current organic food stand employee — has strived to get the commission on board with his proposal for a revised plan. So far, “things are looking forward.”
“Based on our presentation,” Nouné says of ART’s May 21 appearance at City Hall, “commissioners asked the project team to put some alternatives on the table.”
Still, there’s no harm in a little visual reinforcement to speed things up.

They meet behind the Hollywood 20 at 6 p.m. to sign a petition and receive their instructions.
While for most, a bicycle rally might generate hempen visions of burlap tunics and goatskin windbreakers, these advocates are in fact much more diverse. Along with the requisite big-calved New College contingent, there are elderly cyclists, buzz-cutted soldier types, confused-looking men who could pass for your dad, feminine specimens with a full face of makeup, deadbeats, former alkies, tie-dyed peaceniks flashing the two-fingered salute, diehards in neon “Share The Road” pennies.
Foreigners. “In Brazil,” says Gustavo, a New College biker who now mostly drives, “most people can’t afford a good bike.” But boy, do they honor those who can: This year’s Pan-American games were held in Rio, and Gustavo says it was “like a national tragedy” when one Brazilian cyclist was suspended for doping.
Middle-aged Anna works on Siesta Key and bikes the whole way from her home in downtown. “It’s the only way to go,” she says, grasping her handlebars. “I guess.”
Nouné is easy to spot: He’s the tan guy in sandals who runs around delivering the game plan.
Participants will follow a two-mile course along Fruitville, which will shuttle them between 301 and 41 and land them at City Hall in time to voice their concerns at the commission meeting.
If some have specific protest chants in mind — “Hell no, these lanes won’t go,” offers one — their ideas are quickly put aside. “We just want to show support,” says Nouné, “and show the commission that if they change the [Master Plan] project design, that’s okay with most people.”

On the road, passing motorists are treated to a strangely silent demonstration, as activists trade in their battle cries for smiles and some concerted pedaling. Making a U-Turn at 41 and whizzing eastward on Fruitville, many flash peace signs; some clap. It doesn’t exactly stop traffic, but their two-mile campaign is a speedy sight to behold.
Back at US-301, they cut south, down to Main Street, up Lemon.
Soon they’ve dismounted on the green before City Hall. “What time is public input, anyway?” Nouné asks, panting and removing his helmet.
Dammit, he miscalculated: Apparently they have a two-hour wait.
At first, Nouné has trouble regaining control of his fleet, a large proportion of which would rather gad about under the large oak tree than participate in his time-killing game of “True or False.” But the lure of a potential prize — an air pump — captures everyone’s attention.
Guessing the true importance of a helmet can win you a rearview mirror. Understanding the false security of biking on a sidewalk might get you a nifty set of reflectors.
Or at least the gumption to address a commission table.
A little shy of 8 p.m., earlier than expected, 30 concerned citizens huddle outside the central chambers, waiting in spandex for their chance to be heard.
“Andrew’s revision to [the plan] is as smart, well-thought-out and fair as it can get,” asserts Kate, a sunny New College graduate who “bikes as much as [she] can.”
At her side, fellow alum Alex Krieg prepares to lobby. “I think I might say something,” he says, his youthful face solemn, or maybe a little nervous. Not many will speak, he guesses, “it’s more a strength in numbers approach.”
A heavy wooden door shields the policy makers from the noisy excitement in the lobby. They pass an amendment to the ordinance on historical buildings without a stir.
Then, a loud THUMP! of the door — and the chamber is suddenly twice as full.
Nouné strides to the table and rehashes their bike ride, the need for cyclist support on Fruitville, and ART’s proposed edits to the Master Plan. “It can be done,” he assures them.
A few commissioners smile; bike enthusiasts clap.
“I urge you to take a look at these options that have been laid out,” he says, on a roll. “The [proposed Master Plan] budget is six to seven million [dollars] without bike lanes. We think that’s a lot of money to take cyclists off the road.”
Krieg echoes the sentiment, adding that the Master Plan puts those in danger who can’t afford a car.
A former Sarasota firefighter from the Midwest bemoans the treacherous driving he’s encountered. “No where have I experienced road rage like the road rage in Sarasota,” he says. “When the bike lanes aren’t there, it’s dangerous for both the bicyclist and the motorist.”
As they kick out their kickstands and disappear into the dusk, it’s all these activists can hope that their pleas will be heard.

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