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In a recent column I wrote about a heart-tugging tragedy involving a cyclist in Marin County
who had been run over by a drunk driver. The stricken cyclist had been standing by the side of
the ride on a hill grade while waiting for a group of other riders. She was not even on her bike
when a jeep driven by 50-year-old bookkeeper plowed into her. The motorist was not alone in her
car. She was accompanied by her son. The motorist’s blood alcohol level was .20, more than
double the legal limit, more than an hour after the accident. According to the San Francisco
Examiner, she later admitted to investigators that her drinking problem went back 20 years
and that she had been an alcoholic since 1988.
In a courtroom packed with cyclists and friends of Cecy Krone, 42, the stricken cyclist and
occupational therapist, the judge sentenced the drunk driver to six years in state prison for
gross vehicular manslaughter and child endangerment.
With time already served in county jail and for “good time” in prison, the killer
could be released on parole in three years. Cecy, however, will not be paroled from her
“death” sentence: She is not only another victim of drinking and driving, but of the
carelessness motorists show towards cyclists.
This is not an utter condemnation of anyone driving a car. If so, I am a guilty party. But when
I see cyclists on a road, I slow down and give them a wide berth. I make sure that I have
plenty of room to pass. As a cyclist, I can’t count how many times I have been forced off
the road by drivers whizzing by too close, indifferent to my roadside plight of keeping a
straight line.
A few miles away from where Cecy was gunned down, I too experienced a run-in with a driver. I
was riding my bike when an SUV began to “tailgate,” honking obnoxiously for me to
scoot over to allow it to pass. But there was no shoulder, and I was already trying to keep a
squirrelly but straight line on the cracked and crumbling asphalt. The two-lane road was narrow
as it hugged Lagunitas Creek, and is one of the prettiest stretches of pavement in Marin as it
winds through groves of redwood. Yet during this roadside standoff, the beauty of the area was
replaced by anger and hostility—the driver and my own. I was becoming agitated because this
driver was in such a hurry to pass. Finally, the driver whipped around me to pass.
After only traveling several hundred yards away, the SUV made a left-hand turn into the entrance of
Samuel P. Taylor park. So how much time did this driver lose by not being allowed to pass? Maybe
30 seconds, a minute, max.
I also made a left-hand turn into the state park and slowly biked past the driver’s side
of the vehicle. The window was rolled down, as the driver was about to pay the $5 daily usage
fee. I then made my move. I lowered my head as I coasted by and yelled at the driver, who was a
woman of indeterminate age. I shouted only four words: “Was it worth it?” My voice
carried. I saw the driver flinch in fear. The park attendant in the collection booth looked up
in surprise. Without braking, I kept on pedaling.
Was my personal outburst worth it?
I knew that I hadn’t acted entirely honorably. But I couldn’t help it. A bike ride
these days is hard enough with crowded roads. But an impatient motorist makes the situation
even worse. My actions could have only had one of two effects on this wayward driver: Either
she would think twice the next time she approached a cyclist on a narrow road, or she would go
out of her way to be an even greater nuisance.
It is a sobering thought to consider that the cyclist is at the mercy of drivers. As if the
occasional road rash isn’t enough, we have road rage to contend with on a daily
basis.
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