Cityscape: Motorcycle noise cruises into city’s consciousness

Motorcycle noise cruises into city’s consciousness

My son was about to move into a dorm on the moon – or at least it felt that way. He was actually preparing to attend Missouri State, roughly a block from my house.

I’d been looking forward to our coffee date at Mudhouse on 323 South Ave. Drinks in hand, we sat at an outdoor table and began to talk – about the big stuff, intermingled with the smallest stuff. It was exactly what we both needed.

And then came the motorcycles.

After a forced pause in our conversation, we easily recovered from the first set of three or four motorcycles revving their way toward the city square, and talk resumed.

But then came another. And another. I watched my son tense up and then push his mug away.

“Mom,” he said, “do you mind if we go?”

My son struggles with anxiety. A noise that interrupts and annoys me in the artificial canyon of the city street has a much more profound effect on him. Those riders, who were simply enjoying a carefree moment on a gorgeous afternoon, unsettled my son and stole a special moment from me, and we were forced to leave.

In recent weeks, downtown residents and business owners have approached Springfield City Council to ask them to do something about motorcycle noise.

It would be easy to dismiss folks as cranky. After all, Route 66 runs through the heart of downtown like an aorta, and cruising is our city’s lifeblood.

But when James Wilson, who lives on Park Central Square, addressed council in August, he described a pack of 15 motorcycles roaring down St. Louis Street in the evening.

In one of the most colorful quotes in recent memory, he told council, “It’s high time that the latter-day Bald Knobber night riders lose their practically unrestricted immunity.”

Wilson suggested closing the square to motorcycles at night.

At the Sept. 9 council meeting, Cristine Thomas stepped to the mic with her own motorcycle complaint – and Thomas, with her husband, owns concert venue The Regency Live at 307 Park Central East, so she’s not someone who freaks out at a little noise.

In fact, Thomas was not there to talk about noise level at all, but about the dangers posed by cyclists popping wheelies within six feet of The Regency’s patio seating.

She offered suggestions like speed limit signs, yellow flashing lights, repainting of pedestrian crosswalks and an amped-up police presence.

“We do not want to discourage people from coming downtown,” she said. “Vehicle traffic is good for downtown business.”

Sept. 11, a Wednesday, was a relatively quiet night in the city center. I bought my younger son a shake, and we went to Pocket Park SGF at South Avenue and McDaniel Street to sit and observe. I’d downloaded a sound meter app, and as cars and motorcycles went by, I measured their output.

Most cars didn’t have much of an impact on my readings, measuring at the 55-66 decibel level. A couple of sports cars blaring music reached 85-87 dB, and a low-flying helicopter hit 77.

Then came a souped-up pickup truck, which stopped in front of me and revved its engine: 90 dB. And finally, what I was listening for: a motorcyclist pulled up to the stop sign, the familiar potato-potato exhaust possibly signaling a Harley. After a pause, the rider opened the throttle and took off, registering 112 on my meter.

A Purdue University scientist posted some comparisons. A quiet library is 40 dB – about the level of a bird call. Conversation in a restaurant or office measures 60 dB. A freight train from 15 meters is 80 dB – similar to an up-close blender or garbage disposal. A jet taking off from 25 meters away can reach 150 dB, enough to rupture an eardrum.

It turns out that the single motorcycle – amplified by the hard environs – was slightly louder than a riveting machine at 110 dB or live rock music at 108-114 dB. But I hadn’t signed on for a factory job or bought a ticket to Lollapalooza. I was just trying to enjoy the city with the people I love.

It’s a thorny issue, but I can attest to the fact that it’s a real one. Council has heard a lot of options to address it, and I’m looking forward to seeing if they do, and if so, what creative solutions they might employ.

Century dairy farm hangs on in Rogersville

Half a century ago, Greene County was home to about 400 dairy farms, by the best estimate of University of Missouri Extension officials. Today, Extension Engagement Specialist Kyle Whittaker figures there are only five or six.

Greene County Commissioners’ ninth annual Ag Tour kicked off on Sept. 6 at a historic dairy – a Rogersville century farm, where they were welcomed by siblings Emma Baxter Alexander and Keith Baxter.

In a tour for about two dozen attendees, the hosts showed off their milking barn, and the structure itself, built in 1947, reflected some of the changes in the dairy industry over the years. One example: the barn’s original gutter drain had to be covered over because the cows have grown so much larger over the decades that when positioned in their milking stalls they would be standing in it.

While cows have grown, the farms themselves have retracted, he said.

“We can get in the pickup and drive to Marshfield and we can pass 30 or 40 abandoned places similar to this,” he said. “I think everybody’s getting the picture that it’s more difficult to make ends meet.”

Emma said she regrets the loss of community education.

“If you’ve got a dairy farm in your community, hundreds of kids can drive by every day to know where their food is coming from,” she said. “When you don’t have those, that’s just a faster way to get disconnected from the farm.”

Keith laments the loss of local product.

“We all drank our own milk out of our own pasture and fed it to our children,” he said. “Now you’re having semitrucks drive it in from a 5,000-cow dairy hundreds of miles from here.”

There’s an economic impact as well.

“When I was little, there were little three-bin feed trucks driving down the road all day long delivering feed to these places,” he said, adding there were also veterinarians, breeding operations, dairy supply companies and more.

“The economic impacts of the dairy industry outside of food was huge, and all that has gone away,” he said, noting there’s now only one veterinarian available and a single dairy supply company covering a four-state region.

U.S. Department of Agriculture figures show 87,600 farms of all types operating on 27 million acres in the state of Missouri. There are 60,000 milk cows in the state, generating $189 million worth of product.