A Moment Of Tragedy: Cyclists Run Down In Brooklyn And Indiana

One of my favorite films is Night On Earth.  I won't argue that it's a great film or that Jim Jarmusch is America's answer to Fellini or Truffaut.  It's not the sort of film that will teach you any great lessons or makes any grand artistic statements.  Rather, it reveals people without judging them, which is--to me--one of the best things an artist can do. 

What all of the characters share is the kinship of the night and the confines of taxicabs.  The film shows us what happens inside cabs on a particular night in five different cities:  Los Angeles, New York, Paris, Rome and Helsinki.  Some of the actions and interactions are very, very funny--especially in the New York sequence.  But all of them reveal hopes, vulnerabilities, resentments and so much more.

I've often thought that if I were a filmmaker, I'd want to do something similar with cyclists.  Perhaps I could show a messenger in New York or London or San Francisco, for example, and, say, someone riding to or from work (or to shop) in Paris or Amsterdam and other kinds of cyclists in other places.  Of course, the point of such a film--if indeed there was one--would be to show what it means to be a member of the family of two wheels, if you will.

But there would be a terrible flip-side to such a narrative:  Cyclists who are on the losing end of encounters with motorists, or who are involved in some other kind of mishap.  I was reminded of this when I learned of two tragedies that occurred at around the same time, in two different parts of the United States.

One unfolded in my own backyard, more or less.  Thomas Groarke--suspected of driving drunk--ran down 17-year-old cyclist Sean Ryan near Marine Park, at the far southern end of Brooklyn.  Ryan was pedaling along Gerritsen Avenue, where I have ridden many times.  As the street is long and flat, and the streets that feed into it see little traffic--and even less from people who don't live in the neighborhood--some drivers seem to see it as a local version of the Daytona Speedway.  And, because the area is relatively remote, on the edge of Jamaica Bay, it is not as well-patrolled as some more central areas of Brooklyn.

The impact of the crash severed the bicycle in half.  I shudder to think of what it did to Sean Ryan's body!

Police investigate the scene where Sean Ryan was run  down.

A few hours after that tragedy unfolded on the East Coast, in the middle of Indiana, 36-year-old Theresa Corey Burris was riding to work, on US 40, just east of Hancock County Road 250W.  An 18-wheeler driven carrying an oversize load--a huge concrete slab that protruded onto the shoulder of the road--struck her.  Its driver, 55-year-old Reed Thompson, apparently was unaware he'd run her over until police stopped him half a mile from the scene.  

At the scene where Theresa Corey Burris was run down

Sean Ryan and Theresa Corey Burris were both riding at around the same time.  That unites them; so, unfortunately, is the way they met their endings.  I would prefer that we, as cyclists, share different bonds and that our fates are not similarly bound in a tragic moment.

Suspension Across State Lines

Another clear, hot, humid day.  There wasn't much traffic, and everyone seemed in a good mood, or at least not-quite-awake.  Given all that's going on in the world--what with the tragedy of Nice, the attempted coup in Turkey and the police officers slain in Baton Rouge (of which I would learn when I got home), the streets of the South Bronx seemed almost idyllic--ironically enough, even more so than Greenwich, Connecticut.

I saw very little traffic all the way from my place, through the Bronx and Westchester County, not even at The Hub or in the downtown areas of New Rochelle or Port Chester.  However, I found myself pedaling in the three feet or so between a traffic jam and the curb literally the moment I crossed the state line.

When I rode to Greenwich on Tuesday (and bumped into George), I saw signs announcing the sidewalk sales that, as it turned out, were in progress today.  Of course, I didn't pay attention (or, at least, remember) those signs.  Had I remembered, would I have come prepared?  Perhaps:  I could have brought my backpack (and, maybe, my American Express Centurion Card ;-)).  A few things I saw under the tents tempted me, particularly some batik-printed tops, shorts and skirts  that were surprisingly affordable.  I suppose I could have bought a drawstring knapsack somewhere and bought a few things, but decided I didn't want to haul stuff home.

Anyway...there seemed no way to escape the traffic in Greenwich, not even on the way out. Were people driving in circles (squares)?  As soon as I crossed the line back into the Empire State, the streams of cars and minivans disappeared.  I thought some of them would pass me in Port Chester or Rye or Harrison, but they seemed to be swallowed by some black hole at the end of Putnam Avenue.

Maybe the laws of physics were suspended in Greenwich.  What else could explain this?

Now, sometimes Arielle seems to defy gravity when I'm pedaling her on a day like today.  But this is something I've never seen her do, until now:  She's not propped against that tree, or anything else.  Nor--as you can see--is the pedal serving as a "kickstand".   I was going to lean her against the trunk when I accidentally let go for a split-second, and she stood on her own. The tires just happened to fit between the roots of that old tree in just the right way.

Hmm...I wonder if it had anything to do with the traffic or sidewalk sales.  Or maybe the laws of physics just work differently when you cross state lines.

Everything I Need

For today's ride, I brought some things I usually take with me:  spare inner tube, tire levers, Park Tool MT-1 and a patch kit. But I didn't need any of them, thankfully.

I did bring two things I definitely needed:  water and sunscreen.  During the course of  my ride, the temperature rose from 27C (81F) to 33C (92F) and I pedaled under bright sunshine, at least until the last half-hour or so of my ride.  Also, I spent much of my ride by the ocean or bay, which intensified the sun--and the wind.  Fortunately, for most of the ride out, I was pedaling into the wind, which meant that it blew at my back for most of the way home. That's especially nice when you're riding a fixed gear--Tosca, my Mercian fixie, of course-- as I did today.

OK, so everything sounds good, right?  In fact, my ride was very, very nice:  I felt good, the bike felt great and as hot as the day became, it didn't feel oppressively so.  And the rain waited until half an hour after I got home. (You didn't know I had the power to so influence precipitation, did you? ;-))  When I got home, I gulped down some seltzer as Marlee and Max curled up with me.  I cooked some pasta to use up the last of a batch of pesto I made a while ago. (I don't know how much longer it would have kept.  Besides, I think there's some nice fresh basil on the way!)  I dozed off, awakened about an hour later by a friend who called "just because."

You might say I lived a privileged life today.  I wouldn't dispute that.  Still, I'm going to complain about something.  (Aren't privileged people the first to do that?)  Here goes:  I had everything I needed, and almost everything I could have wanted.  Notice I said "almost":  I forgot to bring my camera, or even my cell phone, with me.  

Funny how, even at this late date, I can recall having spent the majority of my cycling life without a cell phone.  And I have done many other rides without a camera.  As it turned out, I didn't need the phone:  I had no emergencies and, when I got home, I saw that no one had tried to call me.  But there is something I would have liked to record with my camera, or even my cell phone.

Today I rode to Point Lookout.  I followed the same basic route I've taken for most of my PL rides over the years.  I didn't see anything out of the normal or meet anyone new, so, perhaps, there was nothing to record.  However, when I arrived at PL, I noticed that it was fenced off behind the ballfield and playground.  

Actually, it looked as if only the parking area was blocked.  So I did what the German Army did to the Maginot Line:  I marched (OK, walked my bike around) it.  Although I didn't see anyone else on the rocks or sand by the water, and I didn't see anyone walking their dogs or significant others on the sandbar (The tide was out.), I didn't think I was anywhere I wasn't supposed to be.

Tosca

Then I heard a whistle behind me.  No, someone wasn't admiring my physique.  It was that unmistakably shrill tweet--almost a shriek, really--of an "official" whistle, perhaps one of the police or the military.  Turns out, the guy who blew the whistle was connected with the latter:  the Army Corps of Engineers.

I must say, he was friendly and polite when I asked him why he was chasing me away from the beach.  The folks at ACE decided that there was a lot of damage--some from Superstorm Sandy, and some that preceded it--to the beaches, rocks and habitats.  To be fair, even before Sandy, I had noticed erosion and other kinds of damage to the environment over the years (more than 20) I've been riding there.  

Certainly, I was disappointed that I wouldn't get to spend some time propped up on the rocks, feasting on the reflection of the water and  and reveling in the sun and wind against my skin.  But, I reasoned, it would be nice for all of it to still be there when I ride to it again:  something I may do soon, even if I can't walk on the sandbar when the tide is out.  After all, the ride is still great.  And I have everything I need.