The News Journal/GINGER WALL Thom Remington of Graylyn Crest rides his recumbent bicycle recently over the Tyler McConnell Bridge, near Rockland, on his way home from work at DuPont's Barley Mill Plaza near Greenville. The trip is 7.25 miles. He logs several thousand miles a year in commutes, leisure rides and special trips.

By BETH MILLER
Staff reporter
03/20/2000

But then, what choice did those officers have? His parents had stiffed the ferryman in their haste across the Delaware River from Carneys Point, N.J., and now they were screaming along New Castle Avenue with the speedometer's needle pointing to the right of 75.

"Which hospital?" one officer hollered to his father, William.

"Delaware!"

"Follow me!"

Desperate driving, corner cutting, lights flashing, sirens wailing. And just 10 minutes after the family's green '47 Hudson arrived, screeching, Thom Remington did the same.

From that day to this, Remington, now 51, has traveled in a fairly constant state of what he and a few unabridged dictionaries call "conspicuity" -- which, being interpreted, means "obvious to all, easily seen." Out there, even.

He is all that and then some. He has marched with the Mummers (without the feathers, thank you), sung bass in barbershop quartets and taken his tuba to a musicians' "petting zoo," where kids could check it -- and him -- out.

No, he doesn't mind the limelight.

But these days, his desire to be noticed has as much to do with life and death as it does with the showman within.

Conspicuity makes all the difference to a guy who rides a bicycle to work, pedaling along some of Delaware's highest-volume, highest-intensity roadways.

He must be seen to be missed.

He's a memorable sight, certainly. He rides a recumbent bicycle -- called a 'bent, for short -- that looks something like a rolling recliner. He sits with his legs extended in front of the handlebars and the rest of him leaning back into the seat, rather than bending over the handlebars as most other bike riders do.

It's an eye-catching contraption, all right, but Remington doesn't stop there in his quest for conspicuity.

He wears a neon green jacket, flies an orange flag from a long pole on the seat-back and keeps a headlight burning at all times.

He's a common sight during rush hour on Del. 141 between Graylyn Crest in Brandywine Hundred, where he lives, and the DuPont Co.'s Barley Mill Plaza near Greenville, where he is a technical writer. More folks probably will join that traffic stream in the near future as they venture onto side roads looking for ways to escape the massive construction project that is expected to snarl Interstate 95.

But no matter the congestion, if Remington is astride his recumbent, he'll be the jolliest one on the road. The rush-hour commute simply does not fill him with dread. Not even a flat tire -- a 10-minute delay -- robs him of the joy of the journey.

Getting there, for Remington, is always more than half the fun.

"I get a tremendous feeling of satisfaction when I get to work -- over 7 miles away -- and say, 'I did this under my own power,' " he said.

On his 50th birthday, his average speed was 18.3 mph, a mighty respectable cruising speed. If it sounds painfully slow to those who put the rush in rush hour, consider this: It takes Remington only 10 minutes longer to get to work by bike than by car.

For some commuters, cycling actually could be faster than driving.

A few years ago, in a "Bike-to-Work" promotion by the state, Don Connolly of North Hills was paired with Remington in a rush-hour race from Brandywine Hundred to downtown Wilmington. The winner had to arrive at a set location first with his vehicle parked safely and be ready to work.

Connolly drove a car. Remington rode his recumbent. He beat Connolly by five minutes.

The roots of Remington's two-wheel commuting career extend to 1984, when he started riding to a friend's house to carpool into town. The first few times he did it, he had to stop along the road to catch his breath.

These days, he's in far better shape -- riding several thousand miles a year, including the commute; recreational jaunts with his wife, Margaret Love, and 16-year-old son, Eric; and special trips such as the 150-mile Bike to the Bay, which he has done 11 times, most with his pal, Hank Hoinowski.

He rides for the enjoyment, the exercise and the environment. He believes any time people can refrain from starting an automobile engine, they should make the effort to do so.

He follows that creed faithfully. Remington has driven to work alone fewer than 50 times in the past five years -- only once in 1998.

He keeps meticulous records of his commuting habits, recording them all on a spreadsheet and using it to calculate his APO (average passenger occupancy) rating. That rating, based on a U.S. Environmental Protection Agency formula, shows the average number of people transported per car. The higher the number, the fewer the cars used.

The average resident in this area has an APO rating of 1.2, Remington said. More often than not, they get to work alone in a car. Remington's rating last year was 25.11.

If he had his druthers, he would bike to work far more often. Poor weather, the need to travel during the workday and rehearsal schedules with the Diamond State Concert Band or the choruses he sings with sometimes force Remington to leave his recumbent in the garage. On those days, he sometimes car-pools to work with his brother-in-law, Brian Hanson.

It takes nerves of steel, careful strategy and serious attention to detail every day.

He's up to that. He's an educated man, with a master's degree in clinical psychology. But he still invested the time and effort in an "Effective Cycling" class to sharpen his skills.

"Cyclists fare best when they act like drivers of vehicles," said Paul Stevenson, one of the course instructors. "... That way, cars are going to know how to deal with you. And because you're more predictable, you're actually safe on the roads out there."

There are some folks, though, who could care less about safety.

"Commuting is one of the worst times -- especially in the afternoon," Stevenson said. "People are more frustrated after the pressures of their day. They just want to get home. It's the biggest time for road rage."

Remington said motorists rarely express road rage toward cyclists. The road itself, though, sometimes betrays him -- with potholes or vanishing shoulders. At times like that, Remington sometimes must ride smack in the travel lane.

That annoys some drivers, but most will be more respectful of cyclists if cyclists are respectful of them, said Elizabeth Holloway of the state Department of Transportation. "If you position yourself correctly in the lane and you're clear about your intentions to other drivers, for the most part, people are very respectful of your space," she said.

Sometimes there's precious little space, though.

Take the intersection at Concord Pike and Del. 141. There is no shoulder, bike lane or margin of error between Concord Pike and Foulk Road -- an area Remington considers a "sprint for his life."

To get past that perilous point, he waits for traffic to go ahead of him, then sprints in the right lane all the way to Foulk Road.

Delaware law gives Remington's recumbent as much right to the road as a turbo Porsche, a minivan or a tractor-trailer. He has to obey the rules of the road, including the speed limit, which is seldom an issue, unless he is headed down the hill next to the Du Pont Co.'s Experimental Station in Rockland.

There, he can close in on 40 mph. Sometimes that kind of speed is essential -- as his parents proved back in 1948. And sometimes cargo space is essential -- when passengers or tubas must be moved.

But cars are not nearly as necessary as Americans make them out to be, Remington says.

Most days, Remington is content to plug along and let the frantic masses zoom past, hurrying to the next red light or the next car's bumper.

Tandem bikes can move passengers.

And tubas?

Well, that's a tough one. But Remington tackled it once in Philadelphia, when he rode in a Fourth of July parade with a group called Bicycle Bands International. He rode an adult-sized tricycle from the Art Museum to Independence Hall. Playing the tuba. In the rain.

That's conspicuity. That's Thom Remington.

Reach Beth Miller at 324-2784, bmiller@delawareonline.com or Box 15505, Wilmington, DE 19850.
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