A few days ago, I wrote about the fight to re-open Mount Tamalpais to cyclists. In it, I mentioned my experience of pedaling up l’Alpe d’Huez, with its 21 virages (hairpin turns). I have also cycled in other mountainous areas in Europe and the US.
Mountain areas tend to be sparsely populated which, of course, is part of their appeal: It’s possible to enjoy peace and beautiful scenery without intrusions of noise and clutter. The relative abundance of human habitation, however, means that there are fewer roads: In some places, there’s only one route from one city or town to the next. And those roads might be narrow and, like the one up the Alpe d’Huez, full of twists and turns.
Such a trajectory means that it’s often difficult, or even impossible, to see an oncoming vehicle. Also, many such roads, whether they’re two- or four-lane, were built at a time when people drove smaller vehicles, or even before the advent of motorized transportation. So, even on a road with a “shoulder,” there’s barely a mountain goat hair’s breadth between a cyclist and a passing SUV.
Or one that’s coming from the opposite direction. I couldn’t help but to wonder whether that was the scenario that led to Kevin Carter’s death in what was described as a “head on collision.” The comments that followed the YouTube video included some of the usual victim-blaming that follows such a tragedy: Some believed that Carter riding on the center line or in the wrong lane; others blamed him, an experienced cyclist, for taking too many risks or not enough precautions. Still others wondered why he was cycling in the first place.
Even with the challenges of driving and cycling I enumerated at the beginning of this post, I can’t help but to wonder how much the crash had to do with law enforcement and planners’ disregard for cyclists’ safety—and their assumption that drivers have more rights than anyone else on the road.
