On The Road
by: Bill Oetinger 7/1/2012
The Messy Month of Mayhem
I was on the Wright Road, but it must have been the wrong time.
At the conclusion of last month’s column--The Merry Month of May--I said there was one more exciting adventure to report in that busy month, but that I would wait to discuss it until the next month, which is now. By the header at the top, you may surmise that this exciting adventure was not quite as merry or as fun as all those other May events.
To cut to the chase: on May 16, I was hit from behind by a BMW. Also, during an approximately one-month span, from mid-May to mid-June, five other cyclists in the North Bay were hit from behind by motor vehicles. All of the others were killed. Why I wasn't killed and am still here to be telling the tale is one of those capricious little quirks of fate that can't be entirely understood or explained. I'll do my best to recount my own adventure, then pass on to some observations about the other incidents.
I was rolling out the last miles of a pleasant, solo Wednesday afternoon ride, heading west from Santa Rosa to Sebastopol along the Joe Rodota Trail. When the trail tees into Wright Road at the western edge of Santa Rosa, riders have to jog south for a block along Wright to pick up the rest of the trail, heading west off of Sebastopol Road. (I created a graphic depiction of the incident to help me and my wife understand what happened. I will include it here, and it may help to illustrate my story. I'll also add a Google StreetView image of the road.)
Some riders--typically cautious adults or families with kids--will ride down the east sidewalk to the signal. But most experienced riders cross here just as I did and just as I have done hundreds of times before. (When I sent out a note about my crash to all of my local bike pals, every single one of them said they cross Wright Road exactly as I had been doing it in this case.)
At the end of the trail, I put a foot down and waited for the two lanes of northbound traffic to clear, then went as far as the center buffer lane. Riding in that lane at about 3 mph, I looked back and waited for the southbound lanes to lear. After four cars had gone by, I saw a big gap, with one black car way far off up the road. The gap looked plenty big enough, so I proceeded diagonally across the two southbound lanes, heading for the bike lane on the shoulder.
There are a number of things that appear abundantly obvious about this incident in hindsight. One of them is that, while I saw that little black car off in the distance, I did not see it well enough, in the sense of observing how fast it was going. As one of my engineer friends said "You didn't perform an adequate vector analysis." How true.
In trying to understand it all afterward, I've discovered this stretch of road is a bit of a muddle regarding speed limit. At the north end of the block, it crosses State Route 12. On the north side of 12, it becomes Fulton Road, a busy, divided boulevard with a 45-mph limit. At the south end of the block, it narrows from five lanes to two and, passing in front of a school, the posted speed drops to 25. Past the school and out into rural residential country, it's set at 40. But in this transition block, there are no posted speed signs at all. Anyone coming south, across Rte 12 from Fulton, would be going 45 but preparing to slow to 25 at the end of the block. I have always assumed the limit in this block would be 35, as a transition from 45 to 25…but how can you tell?
In the case of my crash, the driver said she was going between 40 and 45. My half-baked calculation of the car's speed, when I decided the gap was big enough, was around 35.
Anyway, I had crossed the left-hand, southbound lane and was about halfway across the right-hand lane when the car slammed into me. The driver failed to see me far enough in advance to brake or take avoiding action, at least to the point of avoiding a collision. But I think she did see me at the last second and did brake and swerve just enough to save my life. Instead of taking a straight-on hit at 40+, I got whacked at about 30-35 and with the left-hand fender, rather than the front of the car. The fact that it was a midsize BMW and not a lumbering SUV or pick-up undoubtedly helped as well.
I took the impact on the back of my right thigh, or on my butt, if you prefer. It was like getting kicked in the ass by a very large boot. I did a big front somersault and went straight into the pavement headfirst, crushing the left front quarter of my helmet. Then, within that same second of impact, I slammed down hard on my right side. Left side of head…right side of body: try to figure that out. What happened was that I looked hard right just as the car hit me on that side, and then when I hit the pavement, my head was already twisted to the right. Picture your chin pinned to your right shoulder and you will have a good idea of it. As a consequence, my neck was severely twisted. There was an awful cracking, grinding sensation from my neck, followed immediately by all the other blunt trauma down my right side…shoulder, elbow, ribs, pelvis, etc. I didn't slide--next to no road rash--and I didn't tumble. I just slammed in headfirst and stayed where I landed. All over in two seconds.
The driver stopped and ran back to me. She thought I was dead. Another cyclist came on the scene and stopped to lend aid. I lay there, not moving, fully awake, taking an inventory of my body parts…trying to determine how badly hurt I was.
Now…this is where you can pass whatever judgment on me you think is warranted. Because at this point, I did some things that seem pretty dumb in hindsight. I won't try to excuse them, except to say my wits must have been a bit addled by the slamming I'd just endured. Perhaps it can serve as a cautionary tale for anyone else unfortunate enough to find themselves in the same circumstance.
The first thing I did that you may think is dumb was: I got back up. After I decided that I wasn't paralyzed and didn't have any of my limbs or organs hanging out at grotesque angles, and that I felt approximately whole, I had the other cyclist help me to stand up. She pointed out that my helmet was all smashed in. I took it off and agreed that it was toast. Then we looked at my bike and discovered that it was almost entirely undamaged. The handlebars had been bent a bit askew, but I quickly muscled them back into line.
Then I turned to the driver. A young woman of perhaps 20, completely shook up by the collision, in fact shaking like the proverbial leaf, just about ready to burst into tears. So, here I am, just done with this massive body slam, with what will eventually turn out to be a fairly long list of injuries, and my first concern is for the driver. I take both of her shaking hands in mine and I try to comfort her, telling her that it's all okay and not to worry; that I'm fine.
I've been over and over those few minutes in my mind since then, trying to analyze how my mind was working. Although my helmet was crushed, I did not suffer a concussion. (The helmet did its job, and I will keep it forever to remember: that those deep cracks and punctures and depressions in the shell of the helmet were there and not in a corresponding area of my skull.) I was not completely brain-fogged. I could have passed those head-trauma tests the paramedics try out on you. But at the same time, I wasn't thinking clearly and responsibly. That's an important lesson to learn here: that although you may feel as if you have all your wits about you, you may not. With all that adrenalin and post-trauma-shock suffusing your system, you may not be capable of making intelligent decisions. In my case, I just wanted everything to be normal and everyday-okay again. I wanted to hit Rewind and go back to five minutes ago, when I was happily riding my bike, without a care or a pain in the world.
So I indulged in a little round of denial: this is not happening, or at least, if it is happening, it's not a big deal. The driver asked me if I wanted an ambulance. I said no. Then she offered to drive me home. Again, I said no. I said I was going to ride home. I looked at her car and determined there wasn't a mark on it. The only contact had been between her fender and my butt, and both our vehicles came out of it essentially clean. So I said to her: look, I'm fine; I'm going to ride home. And then I patted her on the back, saw her back into her car, and rode off. Dumb, right? Maybe. But if you really want dumb, consider that I never even thought to get the driver's ID, nor to give her mine. It simply never occurred to me.
Believe me, I've second-guessed that one a thousand times since then. How could I have been so stupid? I am normally the most responsible, conscientious citizen. I do everything by the book. Swapping insurance docs and ID after an accident is standard operating procedure for me. All I can say is that I wasn't all there. Although I was awake and--in some respects--alert, there was some portion of my brain that was out to lunch.
I did ride home. Five miles, four flat, along the trail, and one uphill at the end. The other cyclist was heading the same way and said she would ride along with me. We rolled along together easily, as if it were any old afternoon ride, chatting about other stuff…about a recent mountain lion sighting on the trail…but not about the collision. We parted in Sebastopol and I rode up the hill to home and took my usual after-ride shower.
About halfway through my shower, the adrenalin started to wear off, and I began to appreciate how hammered I really was. I got dressed and was standing in the kitchen, thinking about cooking dinner--still making a valiant effort at pretending things were normal--when my wife came home from the gym, took one look at me, and said: "Did you crash?" A few minutes later, she had me in the car, headed for Kaiser ER and an evening-long marathon of x-rays and exams and bandages and all that fun stuff. (First thing the ER doctor says to me: "I know you; you're the Terrible Two guy!")
In the end, my injuries were extensive but not too drastic. The neck was severely wrenched…sort of a world-class case of whiplash. How close it came to being a severed spinal column, we just don't know. It could have been a very near thing. But I can't obsess over could-have-been. All I know is: I'm alive. My shoulder and elbow took hard whacks. The elbow got ground up a bit, but no worse than the average bike wreck. The big elbow joint slammed the ribs, fracturing two of them. Somehow, I picked up a compression fracture in my spine. Sounds bad and I guess it can be, in some cases. But in my case, it is apparently not a big deal, except for being quite painful. My pelvis took a real hammering but didn't break. It was quite painful and swollen and, over the next few days, developed into the most extravagant bruising I've ever seen. Most of the skin, from my navel to my knee, turned the color of dried blood…solid, wall-to-wall maroon.
It was all painful--miserably so for awhile--but none of it was catastrophic and all of it has healed well. The doctors, including a spinal specialist, said I could start riding again as soon as my body told me it was ready to do so. My first, slow, short ride was three weeks after the crash. In the three weeks since then, I've logged about 400 miles. I haven't got much power and I tire easily, but then, I'm 65. Most 65-year-olds tire easily and haven't got much power. I can accept that. The main thing is…I'm alive, more-or-less healthy, with less pain every day, and still rolling down the road. Still here to enjoy what the world has to offer.
Sadly, the same cannot be said for five other cyclists who have died after being hit by cars along the roads of Sonoma and Napa Counties these past few weeks. There are incidental variations amongst the five fatalities, and those details have of course mattered a great deal to those immediately involved in them, and to a lesser degree to all of the rest of us in the local cycling community.
The first was a man named Alfredo Pedroza, a regular, recreational rider over in Napa County. He was killed while on a training ride on Silverado Trail, a popular cycling road in Napa Valley, ridden by thousands of cyclists every year. He was struck from behind by a car that drifted onto the shoulder. The driver claims to have fallen asleep. I did not know Alfredo, but I asked my friend Gabby, who works in a bike shop in Napa, if she did: "Yes indeed. He was a customer at Bicycle Works. I got to know him well. He always asked me about the next wonderful century he ought to try, such as the Wine Country Century, etc."
As it happens, I also know someone who knew the driver. According to my friend, the driver is a good guy, a normal, upstanding fellow, husband, father, etc. Does it make it any better to know that the driver is not some low-life bum? Not really. If anything, it makes it all the more tragic, knowing one good person is dead and the other good person's life will never be right again.
Next was one of those classic, sad cases of a homeless man, out after dark, cycling into the path of a car. I don't know anything more about that one. The report in the paper seems to indicate it was mostly, if not entirely, the rider's fault.
Next was an 85-year old cyclist from Orange County, up here on a cycling tour. According to the report in the paper, he suddenly, inexplicably veered into the path of a car, out on Hwy 1, near Bodega Bay. In this case too, it appears the driver was not to blame. It happened so suddenly, there was nothing he could have done to avoid it.
The next collision was not at all like that, and it has galvanized the cycling community as few incidents have in recent years. Two retired Sonoma State professors were cycling along Petaluma Hill Road when a Dodge Ram pick-up drifted off the road at high speed and drilled one of them. According to many witnesses, the driver never even slowed down.
The victim was Steve Norwick, 68 years old. I did not know Steve, but many people I know did, and all describe him as a wonderful man and superb teacher. He was described as "beloved" and "the best teacher I ever had" and so forth. He lingered in a coma, with grave head trauma, for several days, with his family gathered round, before finally succumbing.
Meanwhile, the driver was apprehended. He seemed almost oblivious to what he had done. He parked his damaged truck in plain sight at his home, which happened to be next door to the homes of two police officers. When the cops dropped by to quiz him about the damage to his truck, he freely admitted he'd hit the rider. When they asked him why he left the scene, he said he didn't stop because he was late for work. And yet, as we learned later, he had time to stop at a mini-mart and pick up a carton of milk after the hit-and-run and before getting to work.
This has all been widely reported in the local press, and the seemingly callous disregard of the driver has outraged the entire community. About 60 cyclists held a vigil, then rode to his arraignment. There, the driver was wheeled into court in a wheelchair and appeared dazed and confused, and his lawyer is claiming that he has recently suffered a stroke and may not be fit to stand trial. Opinion is divided as to whether he is really incapacitated or whether this is just a cynical ruse to dodge justice. If he's competent, then he's going to be looking at some serious hard time…not only for felony hit-and-run, but also vehicular manslaughter. If he's judged to be incompetent, that begs the question: what was he doing driving a jumbo-sized pick-up? If he had suffered an incapacitating stroke, why hadn't his family members relieved him of the keys to his truck? He does have a supportive family. They were all with him in court. One wonders whether they are now wishing they had done something about Dad before things spiraled out of control.
The final fatality happened yesterday. A rider attempting a left turn from the right-hand shoulder turned in front of a truck. The truck driver says he did what he could to stop and avoid the rider, but the distance was too close. It happened near the town of Sonoma, at the corner of 8th and Denmark. That's all I know about that one, so far. This one too appears to be more the cyclist's fault than otherwise, but we only have the truck driver's version of the incident to go by. The cyclist isn't here to make his case.
So, we are left with five dead bicyclists. Three of them may have been the proximate cause of their own demises. We can mourn their passing and honor their memories in whatever ways seem fit, and we can reflect on the paper thin line between just another bike ride and forever. And of course we can relearn, for the umpteenth time, that tired old truism that when cars and bikes collide, the bikes usually lose.
In the other two cases--those of Alfredo Pedroza and Steve Norwick--the take-away from the incidents is more troubling, and it has to do with distracted drivers. If you've read my columns in the past, you've probably seen me ranting about drivers who are not paying attention to the job of driving, who are otherwise occupied with texting or cell phones or dashboard navigation systems or CD players or radios or lunch or coffee…or who are driving with a dog in their lap or a laptop on the passenger seat, open and busy…
I have not heard that the driver in the Pedroza case is going to be charged with anything. Apparently, falling asleep is just another of those, "Oops, sorry about that!" moments. In the Norwick case, the initial charge was going to be simply felony hit-and-run. When Norwich died, they added the manslaughter charge. (At least I believe they intend to add it; I'm not sure that it has actually been done yet.) But what if Norwick had lingered for years in a coma? Would there then have been no charge?
There would be the charge for fleeing the scene, but nothing for the act that began the catastrophe…the drifting off the road and wiping out the rider. This is what is becoming more and more of an issue for me and for many others, cyclists and non-cyclists alike. My friend Bill Carroll wrote a letter to the local paper regarding the Pedroza case, and it expresses what many of us are thinking...
"Justice requires the Napa County prosecutor to pursue the maximum criminal charges possible against the driver who crashed after reportedly falling asleep at the wheel, killing a cyclist on Silverado Trail. It is past the time when we can dismiss egregious driving mistakes as “accidents.” Driving is inherently dangerous, and requires the undivided attention of the driver. If you are too tired to drive, don’t.
"If prosecuting a driver who fell asleep seems too harsh, consider how you would feel if a commercial airline pilot fell asleep on take off, causing a crash that killed many passengers. I doubt the excuse “I just fell asleep” would resonate.
"Distracted driving is an increasingly serious public health issue, causing 448,000 injuries and 5,400 deaths annually, according to the Centers for Disease Control. Until the 1970s we had a national tolerance for drunken driving. We now rightly think of it as criminal and prosecute impaired drivers. It is time for us to acknowledge the intrinsic danger in driving a vehicle. If you crash while driving distracted, or were otherwise giving it less than your full attention, you should be prosecuted for a crime. We owe at least that much to the victims."
I wondered what the charge might be in a case like this one or the Norwick case. I'm no lawyer, but I thought the charge of criminal negligence might be appropriate. I looked it up and found this short definition: "careless, inattentive, neglectful, willfully blind…" There is of course a great deal more under this heading. We would expect nothing less of legal language and process. But reading through it all, I don't see where it is not a good fit with the act of doing things while driving your vehicle that you know ahead of time will distract you or impair your ability to operate that vehicle, and yet doing them anyway and causing some grievous harm to others.
But we as a society don’t seem inclined to treat these terrible "accidents" as any sort of simple negligence, let alone criminal negligence. Why is that? Is it because we know we are all guilty, to some degree? I know I've been a distracted driver on any number of occasions. I'm trying hard to eliminate those opportunities for being a loose cannon. As Bill Carroll says, we need to change our behavior and our whole mindset about it: to make the same progress on this that we have made on drunken driving. Not that drunken driving has been eliminated. Far from it. But at least now we treat it as seriously as it deserves. Can we get there with texting and phones and all the rest of the mind-messing clutter that gets in the way of driving?
In partial answer to that, I offer one little anecdote. I went back to the scene of my accident a week later, with my wife. We were trying to understand what happened. Among other things, I was looking for any skid marks. I didn't find any. What I did see was a truck parked along the road there. It was a big 18-wheeler serving the McDonald's fast-food chain. On the back was a big graphic of two whipped-cream topped confections, with chocolate drizzled over the whipped-cream. I'm not sure if they were lattés or sundaes. My wife thought they were sundaes. (Always hard to tell what sort of food item you're getting with McDonald's.) But what jumped out at me was the slogan plastered above these frothy treats: "Whip through traffic!" Excuse me? Are we really sending a message to the public that we want them to be eating a chocolate sundae while driving, or even dealing with a foamy latté? It's absolutely absurd.
In my own car-bike collision, because of the clueless way I handled the aftermath, I have no way now of ever finding out if that young woman driver was texting or juggling a latté or otherwise not paying attention. But it's hard to imagine how she could not have seen me well in advance of our coming together, had she been focused on the job of driving. As you can see from the photo of Wright Road, it's wide open, with ample sight lines. After those assorted cars had moved along, I was the only, lonely object on the road, a large man wearing a bright blue and yellow jersey. There were at least a hundred feet of empty road between us when I initiated my merge across the two southbound lanes. I don't know how I could have been much more visible. I am immensely grateful that she did see me at the last second. Her little swerve may be all that stands between me and the big peloton in the sky. But I have to wonder if the whole, painful mash-up could have been avoided if she had been looking at the road ahead of her just a little bit more.
I've been riding a road bike for 46 years…around 250,000 miles…and in all that time, I have never before had a collision with a car. Cyclists often say it's the one thing they fear the most, and yet it actually happens very rarely. I've had plenty of close calls, some of which were my fault and some of which were down to clueless or even malicious drivers. Now, finally, I've gone from close calls to the real deal. It's not much fun. But at least I was more fortunate--for whatever reasons--than some riders who get drilled by cars. I'm still here and still mostly functional. I did a century yesterday, almost as a celebration of my survival; a grateful affirmation that I am not yet a statistic. The accident doesn't seem to have affected my bike skills or enthusiasm. I am a bit more alert--even maybe jumpy--about cars sneaking up on me, but overall, it's business as usual for me and my bike. One up-close encounter with a car in 46 years is not going to make me quit doing what I love.
Bill can be reached at srccride@sonic.net