Memorializing Lance

 Family, friends, bike riders and activists showed up at Flavel Park to memorialize Lance Hart, the gentleman cyclist killed by a drunk driver on June 24th.  It happened just 20 blocks from my front door - too far away to hear it - but I did get up suddenly that night to run to the window, thinking I'd heard a scream.

A lady spoke about how her son was killed while riding a bike, years ago, also on June 24th.  A man from a politician's office spoke about prioritizing safety improvements on the streets in my neighborhood.  Another couple of men spoke about their work with local activist groups, and the importance of Vision Zero.

The streets in my neighborhood don't seem any more unsafe than any other streets.  I do understand the importance of improving infrastructure, as a tool to influence the perception that cyclists are present and allowed on the roadways.  In my view, the real problem is with the hegemony of car culture. I'm aware I live on the fringe, outside much of our society because of my unwillingness to participate in this car culture.  Sentences like "everyone needs to drive", "you need a car", "free street parking is important" and the like, are not ones you'll hear me uttering.  But I hear them often.

The group of 20 or so riders departed eastbound on Flavel Street for a silent ride.  Each bike carried a bouquet of flowers and had several white streamers tied on.  We solemnly took the lane.  These streets belong to people, not just to motorists, and fatality should not be a price of admission for mobility.

Soon after we started off, we saw a man on a bike going the other way.  He said, over and over, "I'm a ghost".  He wore a white t-shirt.  I have no idea what in the heck made him say that but it was effectively haunting.

We stopped at the light at the corner of Flavel and 82nd, the same spot where Lydia Johnson was right hooked and killed by a truck.  A ghost bike appeared after her death, then quickly disappeared.  It's a rough corner.  There are new sidewalk ramps there now, along with a new utility box.  I'm making it my mission to get a ghost bike painted on that utility box.  Stay tuned for more on that.

We continued a couple more blocks, then u-turned at the cross walk.  Our white streamers blew around us, marking us as a memorial procession to drivers, most of whom were respectful.  We arrived at the sight of Lance's death and each rider kneeled in turn to tie flowers to the white ghost bike locked there.  I tied mine to the chain and cried at this unnecessary and tragic loss of life.

An angry driver, annoyed we'd been in her way, and claiming that one of us had been aggressive, stopped, parked illegally and jumped out of her vehicle to confront us.  I ran over to her, told her this was not the time, informed her this was a memorial and asked her to leave. She didn't seem to care and continued to accuse us of being aggressive.  I was bewildered by the lack of compassion and the apparent obliviousness to the difference between road rage and grief.  This confrontation served as a bleak reminder of the difference between an angry cyclist and an angry driver.  An angry cyclist annoys, an angry driver kills.   

Lance's best friend met us at the corner.  He started to tell us about the details of the crash and I just couldn't take any more, so I headed down the block slowly.  A few minutes later the rest of the group rolled out together.  We passed a home made "SLOW" sign on the way to the community center.  It made me wonder about the family that made and posted such a sign on this tiny residential street, and how these hand made signs are a sign of the dark times we live in.