On Tuesday of last week, Lance Armstrong came to Kalamazoo to ride with the Chain Gang, the bicycling group that the nine cyclists who were struck on North Westnedge a week earlier belonged to. Together, they led more than 700 cyclists on a 28-mile trek that they called “Finish the Ride.” It was a symbolic journey -- a completion of what the nine cyclists were unable to conclude.
It's been two and a half weeks since nine cyclists -- part of a bicycling group called the Chain Gang -- were struck by Charles Pickett, Jr.'s pickup truck on North Westnedge Avenue near Markin Glen Park. Funerals took place last week for four of the five who were killed -- Debra Bradley, Melissa Fevig-Hughes, Tony Nelson, and Larry Paulik. Suzanne Sippel's memorial service was today (Thursday, June 23). Three of the remaining four, who were all seriously injured, remain hospitalized; two survivors, Sheila Jeske and Paul Runnels have been released.
The roadside at the site of the crash is now lined with five "ghostbikes," memorializing the cyclists who lost their lives. The bikes, all painted ghost-white, are adorned with baskets, flowers, and notes. One has a cracked mirror attached to its seat. At the end of the row of bikes is a small pile of wreckage.
On the evening of the Finish the Ride event, I stood in the hot, evening sun in front of these bikes and completely lost my composure. I think I made it to the second bike before I broke down in heaving sobs. Like the rest of the cycling community, I've been deeply shaken since the night the breaking news reports started filling up our TV screens and news feeds, the night many of us starting texting friends and demanding check-in's on Facebook.
Cyclists come in lots of varieties -- from serious competitors to amateur recreational riders. But whether we jump on our bikes for recreation, sport, or as a form of transportation, we all face the now-too-real-fear of being struck by a car. Personally, I’ve been collecting these close-call cycling stories for years.
A couple of years ago I received a phone call from my partner -- the kind of phone call everyone dreads -- the ones that start with, "I'm OK...." -- an indicator that whatever is said next will be anything but OK. "I'm OK.... but I've just been hit by a car. Can you come?"
And just days before the cycling tragedy, my children and I narrowly avoided being struck in an intersection of a four-way stop by an oncoming motorist who wasn't paying attention. The driver winced an, "I'm sorry," before shrugging and driving away. This past weekend it was a driver who pulled into a driveway, cutting in between my bike and my partner's and our pedaling four-year-old. Apparently waiting that five extra seconds for the next bike to pass was just too much.
If you bicycle long enough you'll realize that it doesn't matter how closely you follow the rules of the road or what safety precautions you take, you'll accumulate more close-call stories than you ever care to acknowledge.
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Ghostbikes
The risks to bicyclists of sharing the road are statistically great. According to the most recent data from the CDC, more than 900 cyclists were killed in the United States in 2013. The Ghostbikes memorializing the Kalamazoo tragedy are an anomaly only in the number of them in one spot. They are part of a larger movement that seeks to memorialize cycling tragedies and raise awareness of cyclists' rights to safety on the roads.
Karen Dunnam, of Grand Rapids, established and moderates the
Michigan Ghostbikes Facebook group. She posts media alerts about bicyclists who've been killed by cars, and if the location is nearby, she takes care of placing some of the memorial bikes, all of which are painted completely white.
"A few recent tragedies have inspired quite a few donations and resources," she says. "There's a thrift store in Zeeland that routinely receives unusable bikes, and a volunteer there can provide one or two within a day. I've gotten them from handyman bike repair shops, and the MSU Bikes facility. I prefer frames that are unrideable as I don't want to take a useful bike out of service." Usually, she says, the bikes are placed anonymously, because, "it's not about me."
'They represent me and anyone'
The Finishing the Ride event last week was symbolic in the concrete way that it memorialized the ride of the nine who were struck. More deeply, though, Finishing the Ride speaks to the difficulty many are facing in placing their feet back on their pedals after staring down such a real fear. Many are struggling with the reality that what happened to the nine cyclists on June 7 could have happened to anybody, anywhere.
"Being from the same community, I have a feeling of familiarity. These are every cyclist. They could be anybody and everybody. In my mind, they represent me and anyone," says John Olbrot, the Vice President of the
Kalamazoo Bicycle Club.
Olbrot knows some cyclists who have taken a breather since the tragedy, who need some time to process it, emotionally. "Some feel too vulnerable," he says. "I respect that decision, as well. It's such tragic clarity. You are vulnerable out there. This is a very special circumstance."
Olbrot hasn't let that reality -- that fear -- keep him off his bike. In fact, he participated in the Finish the Ride event, and our phone conversation takes place as he calls me from the middle of a bike tour up near Traverse City, where he and hundreds of cyclists are biking more than 30 miles a day.
A very sorrowful event
The emotion in Olbrot's voice is palpable when he recalls the energy of the Finish the Ride event. Olbrot refers to the ride as a "very sorrowful event." As an observer of what was surely the most somber stretch of the ride -- passing the memorial site -- I have to agree.
When the Chain Gang members came upon the site, some pedaled silently past, with their hands over their hearts and their pain on their faces. These were not the strained faces of the determined, hard work of a cyclist climbing a steady hill. These were grimaces borne of crying and straining to stay the course. They were the reflection of the deepest kind of sadness, of a heaviness, as if these 700 cyclists were carrying the grief of an entire community in mourning.
Some members were too overcome to pedal past. They stopped, bent over their bikes, and wept, loudly, before climbing back on their bikes in stoic determination. Others, seeing Jennifer Johnson, one of the four survivors, who arrived via ambulance and was watching from a hospital gurney, yelled, "We love you, Jennifer!"
"One thing as a rider that I noticed," says Olbrot, "was the number of riders and the number of people along the route with signs, like, 'We Love You,' and 'Be Safe. It was a warm, community spirit, and it was sorrowful and comforting, too. There was comfort in that." He says it's that kindness and love and community solidarity that offers a space for healing.
Following the Finish the Ride event, Lance Armstrong, in an
article for Men's Journal, also noted the community solidarity and handmade signs, though his impressions of Kalamazoo were laced more in stereotypes and assumptions about the Midwest than in an understanding of what it's like to be part of a community that's been struck down hard this year.
"I had never been to Kalamazoo, but it was how you’d imagine what that part of America would be like," he said. "Literally 90 percent of the houses had the residents out front, the kids out there in lawn chairs in their front yard, with handmade signs -- things like Kalamazoo Strong and
#finishtheride." He went on to note, "Midwestern people are traditionally very stoic, but they were beat up."
But Kalamazoo isn't just a cute little, token town, displaying its Midwestern charm for the celebrity entourage du jour. Kalamazoo is a complex and vibrant community -- one that has experienced two episodes of random violence in as little as four months. Violence that has claimed the lives of 11 people and injured six more. Violence that affects the victims and their families first then ripples outward into a community -- into our ability to trust, and our ability to feel safe.
Kalamazoo had barely gotten back up to its knees following the shootings when the cyclist tragedy hit. So you could certainly say that Kalamazoo is shaken; you bet we're reeling. And absolutely, we're standing strong, together. Not because we're simple and Midwestern; but because, like other communities that have faced such tragedy -- communities like San Bernadino and Orlando, and an endless line of communities before and after -- we cling to each other and to our shared humanity in the aftermath of such tragedies. We find comfort in being on this Ride together.
Kathi Valeii is a freelance writer, living in Kalamazoo. You can find her at her website, kathivaleii.com.
The death of five bicyclists has received national coverage
here.