Why Is A Cyclist More 100 Times More Likely To Be Killed In Florida Than In New Hampshire?

Once again, Florida has more cycling fatalities per million residents than any other US state. The Sunshine State has 23.3 million residents, so its rate of 10.4 translates to 242 fatalities per year.

Florida's rate is 11 percent higher than that of second-deadliest Louisiana. New Mexico, South Carolina and Arizona round out the "top" five states for cycling rate fatalities.  At the other end of the table, the five "safest" states for cyclists-- Wyoming, Vermont, Alaska, Rhode Island and New Hampshire--all have about the same rate (0.1 per million), or less than one percent of Florida's.

Do you notice some patterns?

The states with the lowest rates are in New England (Vermont, Rhode Island and New Hampshire) or are far-western (or northern) states (Wyoming and Alaska) where outdoor recreation is popular.  The deadliest states for cyclists are all car-centric and in the "Sunbelt."

To be fair, none of the "safest" states has a city comparable in size to, say, Miami, Phoenix or even New Orleans.  Then again, the New England states have small-to-medium-sized cities with significant populations of college students.  Those cities are also older cities , developed before the automobile.  

 So what, aside from geographical clustering and (to a lesser degree, demographics) do the least dangerous states have share?  And what traits do the most perilous states have in common?

From the website of Christopher G. Burns, Esq. 

According to an article in Legal Reader, the following are among the factors contribute to the relative calm or perilousness of cycling in a particular state:

--Infrastructure Deficiencies.  The authors of the article weren't talking about cycling infrastructure.  Rather, they refer to wide, high-speed roads that are common in the "deadly" states.  Perhaps more important, they also mention planning, in and out of urban areas, that is auto-centric. Thus--as I can attest from my experiences of cycling in Florida and South Carolina--it is all but impossible to go from one place to another without using a "stroad," which often have high-speed lanes connecting them to major highways.  Navigating one of those entry and exit points makes crossing Times Square seem like a stroll on a bridge over a theme-park "stream."

--Rural vs. Urban Risk Factors:  While urban areas account for 83 percent of total bike fatalities, rural areas actually have higher per-capita rates because of the factors I mentioned my previous paragraph.  One reason is that some large cities have at least a skeleton of bike infrastructure and--as I can attest from many years of cycling in New York--lower vehicle speeds make fatalities less likely:  A cyclist struck by a car traveling at 40 MPH (65 K/H) has an 85 percent chance of dying, but only 25 percent if the vehicle is going at 20 MPH (32.5 K/H). 

--Legal Frameworks:   States and other jurisdictions with lower fatality rates also tend to have laws that truly promote cycling safety, such as the Idaho Stop or its variants, and enforce other laws and policies such as those against distracted driving.  Also, some of the "safer" states have Vulnerable Road User laws, which impose stricter penalties for motorists who cause harm to cyclists and pedestrians.

In addition to better urban and suburban planning, bicycle infrastructure and better laws (and enforcement), the authors also call for, among other things, mandatory bicycle awareness education in drivers' licensing programs.  I think it's a good idea because one difference I notice between cycling in the US (even in "bicycle friendly" places) and Europe is that drivers are more conscious of, and courteous to, cyclists.  Some countries have the bicycle awareness training the authors call for, but even in the places that don't, motorists see us differently because many are also cyclists, or were in their recent pasts.

Boulevard Ochenta y Siete

 Yesterday’s rains left bright skies and brisk winds today: about as nice as can be expected this early in Spring.

So, of course, I went for a ride this afternoon. About 3.5 kilometers from my apartment I saw this:

I have passed that spot before, But today I couldn’t help but to notice how it was decorated. 

As colorful as the flowers (made of crepe paper) and ribbons were, that spot—a pocket park at the intersection of Southern Boulevard and Tremont Avenue—cannot be festive. That block of Southern is called the Boulevard Ochenta y Siete:  Boulevard 87.

And that name is the reason why that park can be decorated only in the sense that people who brave wars, disasters or other tragedies are “decorated” when medals are pinned on them. 

On this date in 1990–35 years ago—Julio Gonzalez got into an argument with his ex-girlfriend, who worked at the Happy Land Social Club, across the street from the park. Bouncers escorted him out of the club. Out on the street, he shouted, vowing to have the club shut down—which, ironically, he (or someone else) could have done, as it operated without a license.

In his rage, he went to a nearby gas station and bought a gallon of gasoline, which he would pour onto the staircase—the only way in or out of that second-story club—and light it.

In the wee hours of that morning, revelers, most of them Hondurans celebrating Carnaval, packed the darkened space. By the time firefighters put out the blaze, 87 would lose their lives.  

In a cruel irony, Gonzalez’s girlfriend, Lydia Feliciano, wasn’t there. In another terrible twist of fate, exactly 79 years earlier—25 March 1911–the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire claimed the lives of 146 workers, most of them young Italian and Jewish immigrant women. The Happy Land Fire was thus the deadliest conflagration in New York City since Triangle Shirtwaist—whose victims, like those at Happy Land, had no way out.

It wasn’t lost on me that I enjoyed an afternoon ride aboard Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear bike, during a beautiful Spring afternoon that just happened to be an anniversary of two of the worst tragedies to befall my hometown, New York, before 9/11.

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