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Can a street name influence the local economy?

Recently as I stumbled across some largely unexplored corners around downtown Indianapolis, I noticed a handful of new townhome condominiums had recently been completed in an unlikely area. They comprise what is probably the first new construction in that city block in decades. My suspicion is this development will have several formidable challenges to overcome.

Pounding what little there is of the pavement.

My fascination with pedestrianism and the perspective of the walker along city streets extends to what most would consider tedious, minute details. But I have tried to follow every gesture in favor or against the pedestrian landscape that has transpired, both legislatively and from the private sector, over the past few years in Indianapolis. The

The Berlin Wall of housing tenure.

The title to this posting is an obvious exaggeration, because what you see below is hardly a wall; it is not impervious, and people who pass it do not risk being shot. But it is a barricade to a right-of-way on a road in the suburbs of Indianapolis that was formerly completely accessible but has

When a better (no, perfect) deal is only 20 feet away.

Planners and economic geographers have long dissected the negative impacts to urbanism induced by the provision of vast stretches of off-street parking in central business districts; Donald Shoup’s The High Cost of Free Parking is simply the most high-profile of many evaluations of the embedded inefficiencies created when public officials do their utmost to distort

Stairways as an unanswered question.

Urban infill at its essence tends to be one of the less controversial methods of revitalization. I say “at its essence” because the act of replacing vacant land with occupied developments may still arouse concern about compatibility with existing architectural character, depletion of green space, ability of existing infrastructure to support it, and the potential

Making right turns a bit easier—is it always a good thing?

Sometimes the most modest and unremarkable streetscape features can elicit subtly important results. A few weeks ago, I was driving through Mooresville, a small (population about 10,000) Indianapolis bedroom community, best known as the home town of folk hero/bank robber John Dillinger and, apparently, the pig from the Green Acres series. I was stopped close

Where the Canal Walk first went wrong.

Up to this point I have generally shied away from design criticism, largely because I think the blogosphere is filled with far more well-versed, better qualified voices (or keyboards) than mine, but also largely because opinions on successful design remains rooted to individual preferences. No matter the erudition or rhetorical gifts of an architecture critic,

Pedestrian hatred rears its ugly head in the humblest of ways.

One of my readers pointed out that I made some inaccurate observations in the post listed below, in which I used a picture provided by another blogger but failed to identify some of the details correctly. Specifically, the sign below refers to a surface lot and not a garage, and it is blocking a bicycle

When plural isn’t needed to describe power line(s).

City dwellers may have to take a second look at the photo below even to recognize what it is: Yes, it’s a utility pole. But while we’re used to seeing a double (or triple or quadruple) masted pole carrying an assortment of parallel electric cables, this clearly isn’t necessary in rural, sparsely populated areas. In

“What street am I on?” says the pedestrian.

In the late 1980s and early 1990s, the majority of large US cities began upgrading their street signage at major intersections, replacing smaller (approximate 18”) fixtures projecting from a corner street pole with much larger (3 to 4’) signs, which they share with the masts for stop lights or cables strung across the street. Clearly

Can a street name influence the local economy?

Recently as I stumbled across some largely unexplored corners around downtown Indianapolis, I noticed a handful of new townhome condominiums had recently been completed in an unlikely area. They comprise what is probably

Pounding what little there is of the pavement.

My fascination with pedestrianism and the perspective of the walker along city streets extends to what most would consider tedious, minute details. But I have tried to follow every gesture in favor or

The Berlin Wall of housing tenure.

The title to this posting is an obvious exaggeration, because what you see below is hardly a wall; it is not impervious, and people who pass it do not risk being shot. But

When a better (no, perfect) deal is only 20 feet away.

Planners and economic geographers have long dissected the negative impacts to urbanism induced by the provision of vast stretches of off-street parking in central business districts; Donald Shoup’s The High Cost of Free

Stairways as an unanswered question.

Urban infill at its essence tends to be one of the less controversial methods of revitalization. I say “at its essence” because the act of replacing vacant land with occupied developments may still

Making right turns a bit easier—is it always a good thing?

Sometimes the most modest and unremarkable streetscape features can elicit subtly important results. A few weeks ago, I was driving through Mooresville, a small (population about 10,000) Indianapolis bedroom community, best known as

Where the Canal Walk first went wrong.

Up to this point I have generally shied away from design criticism, largely because I think the blogosphere is filled with far more well-versed, better qualified voices (or keyboards) than mine, but also

“What street am I on?” says the pedestrian.

In the late 1980s and early 1990s, the majority of large US cities began upgrading their street signage at major intersections, replacing smaller (approximate 18”) fixtures projecting from a corner street pole with