Rochester Ride of Silence

This week was the 12^th annual national and the 4^th or 5^th  (depending on who’s talking) annual Rochester Ride of Silence. The ride originated in Dallas, to honor a bicyclist who had recently been killed by a motorist.  One ride in one location turned into a widespread movement, to honor all bikers who have been injured or killed, and to raise awareness with drivers to share the road.  The national organization’s website has a too-long list of bikers who have been killed in car accidents, and it is obviously, unfortunately, incomplete – neither the woman killed by the bus in Rochester in January nor the woman killed in 2012 in Penfield by the racing motorcyclist is listed.

I’m not good at estimating numbers of people, but it looked like about 150 showed up.   Luckily, the threatened rain didn’t materialize.  As we signed in, we were instructed to buddy up, as we’d be riding in pairs, taking an entire lane.  Bikers are generally friendly people, and especially for an event such as this, so I quickly found a partner, Brent, whose spouse also decided not to participate.  After some riding instructions by one of the organizers (including the caution that the two most dangerous parts of the ride were leaving and returning to the parking lot!), he shared their “hope that our silence will be a loud statement to those drivers who continue to not pay attention to their responsibilities,” and someone read poem in honor of those who can no longer ride.  Then we set off, in respectful silence. 

Since I usually bike alone, I am used to silence, but this was different.  The pace was deliberately slow, and contemplative – around 9 mph – so we coasted almost as much as we pedaled. It was nice not to have to be alert for cars, and their potentially distracted drivers, or to be concerned about directions; motorcycles stopped traffic for us, and all Brent and I had to do was follow the 60+ people ahead of us.  Close enough that we didn’t create a mile-long string (but we probably did stretch to a quarter-mile), and far enough apart that we didn’t risk hitting one another.  There was only one mishap, when about 50 of the bikers ahead of us made a wrong turn.  I’m not sure how the couple a dozen pairs ahead of us knew not to follow, but I was thankful for where Brent and I were positioned in the pack… 

We rode on mostly country backroads, where, at our slow speed, we could really smell the lilacs, and people grilling dinner.  Dogs and kids greeted us occasionally, but otherwise, the only sounds were the motorcycles overtaking to position for an upcoming intersection, and the occasional changing of gears.  I thought about those two women, whom I hadn't known, and the many other bikers who've been hit by careless drivers.  I always worry, when I'm on a road ride, if I will join them.  No matter how cautious you are, there's no predicting when a driver might be disracted or drunk.

We completed the 9-mile loop in just under an hour. 

It would be great if drivers were always attentive and respectful of bicyclists.  It would also be helpful if bikers reciprocated that respect, and always obeyed traffic signs and signals.  Unfortunately, neither of those is likely to happen, so it’s best to be on the lookout and proceed defensively, no matter how many wheels you’re on.