Jason Slaughter delivers a devastating indictment not of American roads, but of the ideology that kept them that way. While many blame car-centric design for the danger cyclists face, Slaughter argues that a single man's refusal to accept separation between bikes and cars set the movement back by decades. This is a story about how a philosophy born from racing elitism nearly killed the possibility of safe, everyday cycling in North America.
The Dutch Blueprint and the American Rejection
Slaughter begins by painting a picture of a missed opportunity. In the early 1970s, the United States was on the cusp of a cycling revolution, with bicycle sales briefly outpacing cars. Cities like Davis, California, were inspired by Dutch models to build protected infrastructure. The author notes that a 1972 UCLA document proposed designs based on Dutch research, including protected intersections that remain rare in the US today. "To say that this document was ahead of its time would be a massive understatement," Slaughter writes. The potential was there for a fundamental shift in how American cities functioned.
However, this progress was halted not by a lack of engineering, but by a specific group of cyclists who felt threatened. Slaughter explains that existing cycling clubs, focused on high-speed racing, viewed these new safety measures as a marginalization of their rights. The catalyst for this backlash was John Forester, an industrial engineer who became the face of the opposition. "When I read it, I was appalled," Forester wrote of the UCLA guidelines, claiming they "embodied everything that I already knew was dangerous in cycling." Slaughter's analysis here is sharp: he identifies that the resistance wasn't about safety data, but about a cultural identity that equated cycling with vehicular traffic.
He set back cycling adoption in North America by at least 30 years.
The Doctrine of Vehicular Cycling
The core of Slaughter's argument targets Forester's philosophy, known as "vehicular cycling." This doctrine posits that cyclists should act exactly like drivers, sharing the road and ignoring dedicated bike lanes. Slaughter traces how Forester fought against laws that required cyclists to use sidewalks or stay to the right, often winning legal battles that resulted in dangerous outcomes. In Palo Alto, for instance, a law forcing cyclists onto sidewalks was eventually reversed after the city realized it was unsafe, yet Forester used these failures to argue against any infrastructure.
Slaughter describes the resulting infrastructure as "painted bicycle gutters," where cyclists were forced to ride next to trash and opening car doors. He offers a nuanced take here, acknowledging that in the absence of real protection, Forester's advice to "take the lane" was a necessary survival tactic. "If your choice is between vehicular cycling or riding in the gutter of a street while two-ton SUVs with blind spots big enough to hide an elephant are whizzing past you at double the speed limit, then yeah, it's probably safer to take the lane just to stay visible," Slaughter writes. This distinction is crucial; it validates the cyclist's immediate need for safety while condemning the long-term policy that created the danger.
Critics might argue that Forester's focus on rider education was a valid attempt to empower individuals in a hostile environment. However, Slaughter dismantles this by showing how the philosophy was used to block all infrastructure, even when better designs were available. The argument holds weight because it demonstrates that the problem wasn't just bad roads, but an active campaign to prevent the construction of good ones.
The Elite Roots of the Philosophy
Perhaps the most damning section of Slaughter's commentary is his examination of Forester's book, which he describes as an 800-page manifesto of cycling elitism. Slaughter reveals that Forester didn't just advocate for a riding style; he dictated a lifestyle, dismissing utility bikes as "childish" and insisting that only road bikes with dropped handlebars were legitimate. "The core thesis is very clear. There is exactly one way to properly ride a bicycle," Slaughter summarizes. "It's like this. And anybody who doesn't ride a bicycle this way is a worthless amateur."
The author details how Forester's instructions were tailored to a specific demographic: middle-aged men in Lycra. He notes that Forester even provided instructions for women to saw their seats to fit their anatomy, while dismissing comfort features like chain guards as unnecessary. Slaughter points out the irony that this philosophy, which claimed to be about safety, actually made cycling inaccessible to the vast majority of the population. "If the only things I knew about riding a bicycle came from this book, I would never want to do it because it sounds like a giant pain in the ass," Slaughter observes. This personal reflection grounds the historical analysis, showing how the ideology directly discouraged the author from cycling for decades.
Nobody should ever read this book.
Slaughter contrasts this with the Dutch approach, which distinguishes between racing cyclists and utility cyclists, embracing both. The American model, driven by Forester, effectively told the average person that their mode of transport was inferior unless they adopted the gear and posture of a racer. This cultural barrier, Slaughter argues, was just as damaging as the physical lack of bike lanes.
Bottom Line
Jason Slaughter's coverage is a masterclass in connecting historical policy decisions to present-day realities, proving that the danger of American cycling is not an accident of design but a consequence of ideology. The strongest part of the argument is the revelation that the "vehicular cycling" movement was less about safety and more about preserving a niche racing culture at the expense of public infrastructure. The biggest vulnerability in the historical narrative is the lack of detailed counter-arguments from Forester's supporters, though Slaughter makes a compelling case that their philosophy was objectively wrong by modern safety standards. Readers should watch for how this historical context influences current debates over bike lane construction, where the ghost of Forester's influence still lingers in the form of resistance to protected infrastructure.