On a Saturday in April last year, Hilary Near and her neighbors on Ninth Street in Berkeley, California, pulled off an act of gentle street revolution disguised as a potluck. They had obtained a permit for a block party, but when residents arrived that morning, they found something far more transformative than hot dishes and folding chairs: a two-way bike lane, rubber speed humps, and traffic cones that would keep speeding drivers out of their neighborhood—at least for one afternoon.
For years, Ninth Street has been a corridor for speeders cutting through a leafy residential neighborhood. The street itself invites it: unusual width, a legacy of the early 1900s when an electric trolley once ran there. While painted bike markings and signage theoretically designate space for cyclists, the broad asphalt tempts drivers to accelerate, and parked cars occupy the lanes anyway. Near, who had cycled along Ninth Street for years before moving into a house there, recognized the potential. "It could be so much better," she says. That conviction led her to attend a Bike East Bay meeting at a curry restaurant on her corner, where she learned the organization was eager to transform her street—even if just for a day.
The pop-up, organized by Bike East Bay and coordinated by Near and more than 50 volunteers, was brilliantly humble in ambition but powerful in intent. Alongside the bike lanes and speed humps sat a free repair station staffed by a local bike shop, a potluck, and volunteers surveying residents about how they felt riding and living on the newly reconfigured street. The whole operation proved something essential: that ordinary people and grassroots organizations can use small, temporary interventions to imagine and test safer, slower, human-centered streets.
Robert Prinz, Bike East Bay's advocacy director, sees pop-ups as a democratic way to overcome the biggest barrier to safer streets: that people struggle to imagine alternatives to what already exists. "People get really used to how a street looks and operates," he says. "It's sometimes hard to think about what else could be there." A pop-up is a chance to "try before you buy"—and the data gathered during these experiments can transform how cities advocate for funding and support for permanent change.
This matters in a moment when cycling has surged. Between 2019 and 2022, during the pandemic, Americans' daily bicycle trips increased by 37 percent. Yet nearly 1,000 cyclists are still killed annually in crashes involving motor vehicles. Research is clear: infrastructure—not just individual choice—is what makes cycling safer and more popular. Protected bike lanes and traffic-calming measures benefit not just cyclists but everyone on the road.
Bike East Bay's history proves the model works. A temporary bike lane the organization staged on Telegraph Avenue in Oakland evolved into a permanent bikeway now separated from traffic by concrete barriers. Prinz's advice for others starting out is refreshingly accessible: think small, focus on a single neighborhood street or intersection, collaborate with local groups including unexpected allies like business associations, and recruit volunteers with the skills you need. The Ninth Street pop-up, he notes, didn't require a massive budget.
What Near experienced that April afternoon—seeing her street transformed, imagining a safer future for cyclists and drivers alike—has ripple effects. When residents taste what a different street could be, they become advocates themselves. Temporary becomes permanent in their hearts first, and sometimes, with data and determination, on the pavement too.