Danger In My Backyard

As I've mentioned in other posts, for several years running, Florida is the US state where a cyclist is in the most danger of being killed by a motorist.  No other state comes close in that category.

Of course, that doesn't mean the Sunshine State has a monopoly on intoxicated or distracted drivers, supersized diesel-powered pickup trucks with bodies customized to take up an entire roadway, drag racers (though the state is home to Daytona) or inherently dangerous roads.

As for the last item on that list:  The single most dangerous road (excluding Interstates and other highways where bicycles are prohibited) for cyclists in the United States is in my home state of New York.  In fact, it's in my backyard.

All right, since I'm an apartment dweller, I don't have a backyard.  What I mean is that said thoroughfare is near me.  In fact, I've crossed, though not ridden, on it a number of times.

According to the Nassau County and Hempstead Police Departments, drivers struck 320 cyclists and pedestrians on the 16 mile-long Hempstead Turnpike (a.k.a. New York State Route 24) between 2011 and 2021. Mind you, that is only the number of such incidents the constables know about through 911 calls.  Of said victims, 13 died.  Another six were killed just during the past year.  The road is so dangerous for cyclists and pedestrians, in fact, that most of the fatalities were cyclists or pedestrians trying to cross the road so they could continue along one of the many streets that intersect with it.  

The most impatient and hot-tempered drivers I've ever encountered, anywhere were along that road.  When the light turns green, it's like a dam opening: a torrent of vehicles rushes through.  Woe be to a cyclist or pedestrian, even one in a wheelchair, who happens to be in the path of that storm surge.

OK, so I mixed my metaphors a bit. But I think you have at least a partial picture of what I'm talking about.  The drivers are indeed in a hurry to get to the store or through the next red light, but if someone wanted to design a traffic conduit that would bring out the worst in such drivers, he or she could hardly come up something that better fits the purpose than the Hempstead Turnpike.

Photo by Levi Mandel

One problem is that, in some stretches, it's even wider than an Interstate (like an Autobahn or Autoroute).  Through most of its length, it has eight lanes of traffic, with dividers that are low to the ground or nothing more than lines painted on the asphalt.  Also in keeping with the worst in highway design, it has no bike or pedestrian lane or, for most of its length, sidewalks.  

But unlike superhighways, it's not elevated or in a trench:  It's at the same level as other streets.  And, as it passes through residential and suburban residential neighborhoods, many two-lane and one-way streets cross it.  That means many people must cross in order to get to work or school or go home.

What exacerbates all of these deficiencies is that the Hempstead Turnpike begins in an area of southeastern Queens that has one of the highest population densities in the United States but almost no mass transportation.  That means people are car-dependent.  That part of Queens is also relatively low-income and has few stores besides bodegas and small grocery stores.  Thus, residents of that area frequently drive to the Nassau section of the highway, with its abundant stores (including supermarkets and chain stores), which offer more variety and lower prices.  

Also, many residents work in those stores and in other area businesses.  Meanwhile, the fact that on its Queens end, the highway connects with the Grand Central Parkway--a major artery to western Queens and Manhattan--also guarantees that many Nassau County residents drive their daily commutes on it.

When the Hempstead Turnpike isn't clogged with traffic--on most days, only from about 2 to 4 in the morning--it becomes our local version of Daytona.  Sometimes the wannabe racers even test the limits of their machines, in speed and maneuverability, when there's traffic.  The worst part is that they're not the only ones exceeding the 30- to- 40 mph speed limit.  In fact, according to a grim joke or local folk wisdom (depending on whom you believe), police officers give tickets to drivers who don't speed because they're the ones the cops can catch .

Having crossed the Hempstead Turnpike many times, I'm not surprised to learn that it's officially the most dangerous road in this region, and probably the nation.  Ironically, when I was "doored" nearly two years ago, I had just crossed the Hempstead Turnpike.  It wouldn't surprise me if the driver who opened her door into my path--or the drivers who honked their horns out of frustration over having to stop for a cyclist lying in their path--had just turned off the Turnpike.

Intoxicated Driver Kills Two Cyclists On Charity Ride

Six years after one of the most horrific incidents of a motorist mowing down cyclists I've ever heard of, another such incident--if on a smaller scale--has taken place in Michigan.  Aside from taking place in the Wolverine State, the two tragedies have this in common:  an intoxicated driver. 

On Saturday morning, cyclists were in the middle of a Make-A-Wish charity ride that spanned the weekend and state.  Around 11:15 am, the driver of an SUV crossed the highway center line to pass another vehicle. The driver, whose name has not been released, struck five cyclists.  One was pronounced dead at the scene; another was airlifted to Grand Rapids hospital, where he died.  The other three cyclists suffered critical injuries.

The driver was arrested. Authorities are seeking two felony counts of operating while intoxicated, causing death.

Saturday's crash recalls, sadly, the one that killed Debra Ann Bradley, Melissa Ann Fevig-Hughes, Tony Nelson, Larry Paulik and Suzanne Sippel when they were out for a late-day summer ride six years ago.  The driver plowed into them, and other riders (some of whom were injured) while under the influence.  Four years ago, the driver--Charles Pickett, then 52 years old, was sentenced to 40 to 75 years in prison.

What We Lost With Them

 It’s always tragic when someone loses his or her life in a cycling-related incident. Today I write, not to rant or assign blame.  Rather, I want to talk about a particular dimension of such losses.

Just as people ride bikes for a variety of reasons, cyclists come from nearly social and economic background. Some ride dilapidated machines rescued from dumpsters because they can’t afford to drive or even take mass transit; others pedal to well-paying jobs to stay fit or have some time to themselves, or simply because they enjoy it.  Still others ride just for fun, whatever that means to them.

And, just as some who ride out of necessity because they lack the education or skills (including, in some cases, language), I suspect that people with advanced educations may be more represented among cyclists than in the general population.

They included Allen Hunter II and Swati Tiyagi. Hunter was an Air Force Academy alumnus who earned a PhD in Physics.  After leaving the Air Force, he worked for Los Alamos National Laboratory and a tech company from which he retired. Tyagi, four decades younger than Hunter, was “one of the smartest postdocs I’ve ever had in my lab,” according to Martin Hetzer, Vice President and Chief Science Officer at the Salk Institute.

They were known in the San Diego area’s large scientific community.  And, unfortunately, both were cut down by drivers while cycling on San Diego County Roads.

While Hunter was retired, his contributions in laser development and other areas have proved valuable in and out of the military.  And Tyagi, who had just been promoted to a staff scientist position at Salk, was studying the human genome. “Her work is relevant for cancer, but also aging and neurogenetive diseases,” Hetzer said.

Tyagi and Hunter were both very smart, talented people. Moreover, Hunter’s children and grandchildren are mourning his loss. Likewise, Tyagi’s husband is grieving her—and is now the single father to their 11-month-old son.

Must More Riding Mean More Fatalities?

In a coincidence that, perhaps, isn't such a coincidence, I chanced upon an item about an increase in the number of cyclists killed on Texas roads at the same time a local radio news program mentioned that pedestrian fatalities here in New York City have increased during the past year.

I have also seen and heard reports of increases in the number of cyclists killed and injured on New York City streets.  So, hearing about pedestrian fatalities here and cyclists killed in the Lone Star State did not surprise me because cyclist and pedestrian casualties tend to rise or fall in tandem.

The reports point to a dramatic increase in the number of cyclists as a reason for more crashes and fatalities.  The same isn't said for pedestrians, though I have seen more people walking around as pandemic-induced restrictions are eased or lifted.  But I think that there is a related, and more relevant, reason for the increase in deaths and injuries among cyclists and pedestrians.

During the first few months of the pandemic, there was little traffic on the roads.  I can recall riding to Connecticut and back last spring and being able to count, on both hands, the number of motorized vehicles I saw along the way, not counting the ones that crossed the RFK Memorial Bridge.  Until last spring, I never could have imagined such an occurence on a 140 kilometer road ride that takes me through the Bronx and Westchester County before crossing the state line.

As spring turned into summer, traffic was still light, but I noticed faster and more aggressive driving, including some drag racing and other flouting of traffic laws.  Those things were annoying, but I didn't feel I was in danger because the still-light traffic afforded a wide berth between me and the drivers.

During the past few months, though, I've seen more traffic.  Some people, I guess, are returning to their workplaces and old routines, while others started driving and bought cars (for the first time, in some instances) because they didn't want to use mass transit.

But the folks who got used to driving fast and aggressively, or even carelessly, aren't adjusting to the new reality.  They still want to drive as if they have the streets to themselves.  And, in my own unscientific observation, it seems that police aren't enforcing traffic laws as much as they were before the pandemic--if, indeed, they were enforcing them against any but the lowest-hanging fruit (i.e., cyclists and pedestrians).

Having done a fair amount of cycling in other cities, states and countries, I can make this observation:  Building bike lanes and lecturing cyclists about safety--which most of us practice to the best degree we can--does little to prevent tragic encounters between motorists and cyclists and pedestrians.  

What will  make life better for everyone involved are sensible laws and policies (like the Idaho Stop) crafted by people who understand what it's like to ride a city's streets--and a culture rather than a mere lifestyle of cycling.  The culture of which I speak is one in which cycling is seen as a viable mode of transportation rather than just a form of recreation for privileged young people. Such a culture exists in some European countries; that is why there is more respect between drivers and cyclists and pedestrians.

Otherwise, cities and other jurisdictions can continue to build poorly-designed and constructed bike lanes that lead from nowhere to nowhere, and cyclists--or pedestrians or motorists--won't be any safer.

The Ride He Didn’t Take

The laments were punctuated by more “what if’s” than on any other day in the history of New York City, my hometown.

That day, some experienced transit delays, vehicular breakdowns or other emergencies.  Others called in sick.  Still others changed or cancelled other routines for all sorts of reasons.

That morning, they didn’t go to their offices, shops, kitchens or other workplaces.  Some missed a day’s pay; others worried—only a for a while, as fate would have it—about their reputations, or even their jobs.  But only for a while, a short while.

Erik Timbol may have had a smaller worry, but his “what if” resonates just as much as those of the people who didn’t go to work—or who, for what other reasons, weren’t in the World Trade Center at 8:46 a.m. on 11 September 2001.

Erin Michelle Ray

He often joined Erin Michelle Ray—one of Nevada’s top triathletes—for a ride.  He’d planned on doing that, along with four other friends, last Thursday.  But he had to work a shift at Las Vegas Cyclery.

Thomas Chamberlin Trauger

Ms. Ray went for that ride, along with fellow Las Vegas residents Gerard Suarez Nieva, Michael Todd Murray, Aksoy Ahmet and Thomas Chamberlin Trauger.  

Michael Todd Murray 

They will not ride with Mr. Timbol—or anyone else, or by themselves—again.  A truck struck and killed them. 

Gerard Suarez Nieva

Aksoy Ahmet

The crash was ruled an accident.  Erik Timbol, however, was saved by fate-or a schedule-making decision.  In any event, I am sure he is grieving the loss of his training partners and friends: Erin Michelle Ray, Gerard Suarez Nieva, Michael Todd Murray, Akhsoy Ahmet and Thomas Chamberlin Trauger.

He Could Not Escape Injustice

In earlier posts, I've mentioned that Florida, in spite of its climate and many communities with bike lanes, is terrible for bicycling in at least one way.  The Sunshine State is beclouded with the distinction of being the deadliest state for cyclists.  For about as long as I've been writing this blog, Florida has had the highest death rate for riders, and it's not even close.

More than a few reasons have been posited.  One is the state's car-centric culture.  Another is that because it's America's leading state for retirees (a.k.a. God's Waiting Room), there are lots of old drivers, some of whom shouldn't be driving anymore.  I think that characterization is only somewhat fair:  While riding in Florida, I've encountered any number of hot-rodding, or simply careless, young drivers.  Again, to be fair, their state doesn't have very stringent requirements for a driver's license.

Whatever the causes, the dangers (and pleasures) encountered by cyclists do not discriminate:  Accidents injure the young and the old, the rich and the poor.

And the famous as well as the anonymous.

The latest cycling fatality in Florida was a familiar face for many people.   He covered a number of major events, including the September 11 terrorist attacks.  For his contributions to CNN's coverage of that event, he won an Emmy. Another highlight of his career, "Escape from Justice," was one of the first exposes of Nazi war criminals living in the USA.

In addition to CNN, he covered the Supreme Court and other legal issues for 22 years at ABC.  An attorney by training, he was able to lend depth, as well as explain proceedings,  in terms comprehensible to folks like me.

Upon his retirement, he moved to northeastern Florida, near Jacksonville.  Like many before him, he relished the chance to spend days following one of his passions:  cycling.

My guess is that Tim O'Brien was a careful cyclist and, for a 77-year-old, his reflexes were still good.  They weren't enough, however, to avoid the fate that befell him.

According to police, a pickup truck traveling northbound on Route A1A turned left to Mickler Road in Ponte Vedra Beach.  The truck collided with a car traveling southbound on A1A.  

The force of the crash sent the car ricocheting to the sidewalk--where O'Brien was pedaling.  

Both drivers remained at the scene.  Police have not said whether either would be charged.  

Whatever their fate, it won't change the fact that someone they might've watched on their television screens is the latest cyclist casualty in Florida.

Am I Worth Half?

Nobody likes it when somebody gets away with murder.

At least, that is my belief. Too often, though, it's put to the test when the dead person is a cyclist.  It seems that too many police officers are unwilling to arrest intoxicated or negligent drivers who run down people on bicycles.  And, if the cops do their jobs, too many jurors and judges are willing to let such drivers go with a "slap on the wrist."

In fact, hostility is directed toward the cyclist in much the same way it was, not so long ago, directed at rape victims:  Somehow, in the minds of some people, the cyclist or rape victim brought it on him/her self.

So, it catches my attention when a hit-and-run driver who kills a cyclist is actually brought to account for her actions.

I used the female pronoun because, in this case, the perpetrator is indeed female.  Lacey Jade Jordan of Oakdale, Louisiana was driving a Chevrolet Silverado south on U.S. 165 when she struck Taurus McQuarn, who was cycling in the same direction.  She struck him and fled the scene.

Lacey Jade Jordan

Notice that I said "her actions."  You see, it's not the first time Ms. Jordan has done something like that.  In November 2012, she struck and killed another cyclist along the very same road.  Then, she and the cyclist were both traveling on the northbound side.

So, it took two cyclists' deaths before a negligent driver was arrested and charged.  Does it mean that, in the eyes of Louisiana law enforcement, each of our lives is worth half of a non-cyclist's life?

 

How Many More?

This year is only half-over.  Here in New York City, more cyclists have already been killed by motorists than met such a fate in all of 2018.

The fifteenth and latest such victim is 28-year-old artist Devra Freelander.  A week ago, she was riding on Bushwick Avenue when a cement truck hit her.  

Devra Freelander

I am very familiar with Bushwick Avenue, a 10 kilometer long thoroughfare that cuts through the center of Brooklyn, from Greenpoint in the northwest to East New York in the southeast.  It is perhaps most famous for being part of Robert F. Kennedy's walking tour, which is said to have changed his politics prior to his 1968 Presidential campaign.  Today, it serves as a conduit for hundreds, if not thousands, of people--mostly young--who pedal to their jobs or clients in Manhattan.  

It also is, unfortunately, a prime route for trucks like the one that struck Devra Freelander.  While gentrification, in one degree or another, has taken hold in the neighborhoods (with the exception of Brownsville) along Bushwick Avenue, there are still industrial areas near the ends of the avenue--in East New York and East Williamsburg, where Ms. Freelander met her unfortunate fate.

Bushwick Avenue, for most of its length, has two lanes in each direction.  Because it's a major thoroughfare, traffic is usually heavy and there isn't much room to maneuver--especially for vehicles as large as cement trucks.  Worse yet, most trucks don't offer their drivers good sight lines, especially on narrow city streets.

What exacerbates the problem is that the city does little to enforce regulations on trucks or other commercial vehicles.  As a result, truck drivers frequently hurtle along at well above the speed limit--as the driver of the truck that struck Devra Freelander did.  Also, trucks are often operated outside of their legally-designated routes.  The NYPD's 90th Precinct, which covers the area where Ms. Freelander was killed, has issued only five tickets in 2019 to truckers operating outside their legal routes:  something--you guessed it--the driver was doing at the time he struck Ms. Freelander.

I don't want to make light of this situation, but there is a "You can't make this up!" aspect of the story.  Devra Freelander, the artist, made sculptures and video art that examined climate change, geological time and technocapitalism.  And she was killed by a cement truck while riding her bicycle.  

The year is only half-over, and more cyclists have been killed by motorists than in all of 2018. Devra Freelander is the latest.  How many more must meet her fate before my city gets serious about enforcing its regulations on trucks?

Motorist Who Mowed Down Cyclist Arrested

On this blog, I have often decried the lackadaisical or even hostile response from law enforcement officials when a cyclist is maimed or killed by a motorist who was speeding, driving while impaired or operating the vehicle in some other illegal manner.

I also try to bring attention to law enforcement officials who are diligent in pursuing those who endanger or destroy lives by hurtling down the road inside two tons of steel.  In Michigan's Macomb County, just outside of Detroit, such work by the constables has led to the arrest of a man who blew through an intersection at 70 MPH, mowed down a cyclist who happened to be crossing the road, and didn't stop or even slow down.

Randy Menendez  

Randy Menendez, a 60-year-old father,  was riding his bike home from a friend's house at 6:27 pm on 3 February.  He'd planned to watch the Super Bowl with his family, according to his sister Roseanne Menendez.  He was crossing Groesbeck Highway in Warren when a gray Dodge Charger with a temporary tag in the rear window, and tinted side windows, struck him.  

He didn't make it. His clothes and mangled bike were scattered across the road.  



Some time after the crash, the driver had the Charger towed to a house in Detroit, where police found it under a tarp.  

The car, it turned out, had been leased.  That no doubt helped police in finding the driver, a 24-year-old man whose name hasn't yet been released.  He faces a charge of leaving the scene of a fatal crash, a felony that carries a 15-year sentence.

Although I commend the police officers' work, I have to wonder whether other charges will be brought against him.  At the risk of seeming vengeful, I'd like to be sure that someone who took a cyclist's--and father's--life with such seeming disregard won't get out for "good behavior" after, say, five years.

The Sidewalk Was The Path To His Death

One thing I've learned during my trips to Florida is that many sidewalks are de facto bike lanes.  

More precisely, there are ribbons of concrete that wind and wend alongside multilane roads where the speed limit is 45 MPH (70 KPH)--which, in Florida, means 65 MPH.  One rarely sees a pedestrian on those "sidewalks", so there are no prohibitions against cycling on them.  

The good thing about them is that they are usually separated by at least a meter of something--usually grass or other vegetation--from the roadway.  Interestingly, I almost never see motorists pulling into them. I don't know whether there's a law against doing so.  My theory is that the drivers know some of those little "lawns" might actually be mini-swamps, and their vehicles could get stuck in them.

Riding on the "sidewalks" isn't bad:  Most are well-maintained and rather spacious.  But there are two major hazards I've found, both of which might be reasons why Florida has, by far, the highest death rate for cyclists in the US.

One is crossing traffic intersections.  Nearly all of those sidewalks lead cyclists and pedestrians into the path of right-turning vehicles, who are often going fast.  To make things worse, sightlines are often poor, so even the most conscientious of drivers could hit a cyclist who's clad head-to-toe in safety yellow.

Another is that, sometimes, parts of those sidewalks are blocked, without warning.  So, if you are moseying along and suddenly you find a crew from the power or water company drilling into your path, you have nowhere to go--except the roadway which, as often as not, doesn't have a shoulder.

Dr. Robert Dalton Jr.

Dr. Robert Dalton Jr. encountered such a scenario while pedaling from his home to the Maitland Sun Rail station where, on a normal day, he'd catch the train that would take him to Orlando Health, where he practiced his profession as a cardiologist.

His work no doubt saved more than a few lives.  But nobody could save his on 17 December, when he was struck by a driver.

The sidewalk was blocked for construction of an apartment complex.  This has led to some finger-pointing between the local officials--who say that the construction company should have erected scaffolding that would have allowed cyclists and pedestrians to pass underneath--and the construction company, who say that the city or county or whomever should have put out blinking lights or other warnings for drivers to slow down.

Of course, the scaffolding would have been the better alternative.  But even that would not have addressed other problems, like the ones I've mentioned, that are found on Florida sidewalks-cum-bike lanes.  And, of course, nothing will bring back a well-regarded doctor and beloved member of his family and community.

My Kingdom For--Three Feet?

How is this so complicated?  Just like when a slower vehicle is in front of you, wait until there is no oncoming traffic and pass them.

Give credit to Shaun Jordan for exhibiting common sense (Some would argue that phrase is an oxymoron!) in assessing a new law.

That law is commonly called the "three feet rule", for the berth motorists have to give cyclists when passing them.  This law was passed in Michigan, partly in response to the horrific crash that, two years ago, took the lives of Debbie Bradley, Melissa Fevig-Hughes, Tony Nelson, Larry Paulik and Suzanne Sippel near Kalamazoo.  

(I must say that even though I've never been to Kalamazoo or knew the victims, and have written about them before, I still find it difficult to write about them!)

After that crash, politicians as well as everyday citizens spoke of the need to make the state's roads safer for cyclists and pedestrians.  But the backlash against the new law is widespread, as it always is when motorists "lose" their "rights."  As one Debbie Brown Donaldson whined, "This is sooo stupid!  We need to slow down to practically nothing for a NON-motorized vehicle that isn't registered or licensed.  Who the (fill in the blank) makes these rules?"

Well, Ms. Donaldson, what if that "NON-motorized vehicle that isn't registered or licensed" were a horse?  Or what about any other animal--or pedestrian?  Would it trouble you to slow down for them?  Or would you run them over?

At least other commenters had more sense--and less of a sense of entitlement--than Ms. Donaldson. "Everybody that is up in arms about three feet.  Honestly?" wondered another.

Terrorists Attack Cyclists In Tajikistan

When I was a student, I often worked the "lobster shift".  This meant riding my bike home in the wee hours of morning through a couple of dangerous neighborhoods.  

Friends and family members worried about my safety. I didn't. Feigning bravado, I'd say, "I can pedal faster than trouble."

That actually was true.  It still is--well, most of the time.  But back then, in my youthful stupidity, I thought no harm could come my way when I was in the saddle.

If I still had such a belief, it would have been shattered last Halloween, when terrorists plowed a pickup truck into a crowd of cyclists on the Hudson River Greenway, near the World Trade Center.  That hit close to home for me, as I have ridden that lane many times.  Even if the site weren't so familiar to me, I think I would have felt more vulnerable after such a horrible attack.

I was reminded of it yesterday, when I heard news reports of a similar attack in Tajikistan.  As in the Manhattan attack, the driver in the Central Asian republic claimed to be acting in the name of Allah.  

 A woman helps a cyclist wounded in the Tajikistan attack on Sunday.  AP photo by Zuly Rahmatova

But there was a further, even more gruesome twist:  In Tajikistan, after the car rammed the cyclists, the driver and passengers poured out and attacked the cyclists with knives.  

The result:  four dead cyclists. Two were American, one Dutch and the other Swiss.  In a way, it parallels the carnage in New York last fall, when all of the victims were foreign tourists--who, like those who died in Tajikistan, almost surely had no inkling of the terrible fate that would befall them.