A Problem That Grates On Us

The Villages is, as the name suggests, a complex of communities in north-central Florida, about an hours' drive from Orlando.

It's been described, both affectionately and derisively, as "Disney World for Boomers."  In reality, it's a planned community for retirees that seems, like others in the Sunshine State, to be built around golf courses.

According to a story that circulated in the media about a decade ago, The Villages had the highest rate of STDs in the USA.  While public health policy experts and health care professionals who have worked there and in other places have debunked that narrative, another stereotype about The Villages seems to hold true: In both the 2016 and 2020 Presidential elections,  Probably no other place voted as overwhelmingly for Donald Trump.

And, from a couple of accounts that have crossed my desk, I would infer that The Villages are like too many other jurisdictions, especially in so car-friendly Florida:  the safety of cyclists  doesn't seem to be a priority.

The area's auto-centricity has something to do with that.  So, I suspect do The Villages Operating Company and Sumter Landing Community Development District which, respectively, operate the complex and Collier, one of the Villages.

They are challenging a suit filed by James Heizer.  Two years ago, he says, he flipped over his handlebars when his bicycle tire was lodged in a sewer grate.

It's exactly the sort of accident I fear whenever I see sewer grates with slats that run parallel to the curb--or ones that have large gaps between them and the pavement.  I don't know whether the Villages uses either sort of grate, but they are the only ones in which I can imagine a bicycle tire becoming "lodged."

If that is the case, one can only hope that, in addition to reimbursing Heizer for his medical bills and other losses, that the sewer grates are replaced.  

The Firefighters Got It Right, But The Reporter Didn't

Bike mishaps leave their riders in all sorts of predicaments.  Some, unfortunately, are tragic:  I have recounted a few on this blog. Others leave their riders in various states of incapacitation for varying periods of time.  The crash and "dooring" incident I suffered two years ago, within four months of each other, fall into that category:  Injuries and shock kept me off my bikes for a while.

Some predicaments are less dire--at least, if there is timely intervention.  So it was for a four-year-old boy in Madison, Wisconsin.  Firefighters found him with his foot entangled in spokes, which they cut.  The boy is fine but, of course, the bike wasn't rideable.  Kudos to the firefighters bought the necessary parts and fixed the kid's machine.

Now, you might have noticed something about the way I worded this post.  It has to do with the news account, which was obviously written by someone who isn't a cyclist.  The boy's foot was "caught in the spokes of one of his bicycle tires," according to the report.  After freeing the boy, the firefighters bought him " a new rim" and installed it.

I don't mean to nit-pick, but there is no such thing as the spokes of a bicycle tire.  The tire, usually made of some rubber compound, is the shoe, if you will, to the foot of a rim:  the round metal (or carbon fiber) part of a wheel that is attached to the hub (at the center of a wheel) by spokes.  The article got that right:  the spokes on that bike were, as they are on most bikes, wires.

The article noted, however, that the firefighters "bought a new rim" and "installed it for him."  Now, unless one of those firefighters is a wheelbuilder, he or she wouldn't have installed a rim:  It would have to be laced to the hub with spokes.  My guess is that the firefighters--bless their hearts--bought a whole wheel, with or without a tire, and installed it for him.  Most people, whatever their level of bike mechanic skills, can do that.

Anyway, I congratulate and thank the firefighters of Engine Company Number 10 in Madison, Wisconsin for what they did for that boy--whether or not a reporter got it right. 

A Chain Of Neglect

Police barricade tapes are bright yellow.  Construction-site cones are orange.  The bollards used to separate bike lanes from the street are finished in similar hues, or white.

Those color choices are not just fashion statements:  They are made for visibility.  It's pretty difficult for most people to claim they didn't see those tapes, cones or bollards.  

On the other hand, you don't have to be color-blind to miss chains--which are almost always dull gray-- drawn across roadways or bike lanes.  This is especially true in low-light conditions, such as night, the beginning or end of day, inclement weather, and under aqueducts, railroad trestles and highway overpasses. 

Such  chains are used to temporarily block off streets or paths for events like street fairs or for construction.  Unfortunately, cities and other jurisdictions that place them often forget to remove them when the event is done or construction work is finished.  Worse, an unsuspecting cyclist or scooter-rider who is paying attention to other road hazards can easily miss them.

The chain that entangled a cyclist--and his bike after the crash. Photo sent by reader of Bike Portland. 

That is what happened to one unfortunate cyclist in Portland, Oregon.  He was riding along North Holladay Street when he passed under the Interstate-5 overpass when he was suddenly entangled in a chain and thrown over his handlebars. He suffered significant injuries to his arm and both wrists.  He also incurred a minor impact to his head that, probably, could have been worse had he not been wearing his helmet.  

The street where he had his mishap, while not as popular for cycling as another nearby street, is nonetheless part of a designated bicycle route. The intersection is adjacent to the Oregon Convention Center. So, according to Bike Portland editor Jonathan Maus, the chain may have been installed to cordon off the street for an event. But, as he points out, that event was long over by the time the unlucky cyclist crashed.

I think that the neglect that led to the cyclist's injuries may have been a result of the auto-centric mentality of city planners.  A chain, debris or some other obstruction--like a sewer grate with wide slats that parallel the curb or divider-- might be mere inconveniences to cars, trucks or buses, but can snag bike tires--or cyclists themselves

I hope that cyclist has a swift and thorough recovery--and, as Maus recommends, city or other government agencies in charge of roadways, bike lanes and other infrastructure pay more attention to seemingly-small details--and basic maintenance.

Held To Different Standards

What is your name?  What is today's date?  Who is the President?

I passed the test: I answered all three questions correctly, as much as it pained me to utter Donald Trump's name in response to the third.  

So who administered that exam?  A doctor in Westchester Medical Center, after the worst crash I've suffered in half a century (!) of cycling.  My mishap, which "totaled" Arielle, my first Mercian bike, also included a face-plant.  So that doctor was testing my cognition as a first step to determining whether I'd suffered any brain damage.  

I thought about that after hearing that President Joe Biden fell off his bike while speding the weekend at his family's retreat in Delaware.  According to reports, the President when he came to a stop, his foot got caught in a toe clip, which caused him to tumble.  

President Biden, after falling off his bike.  Photo by Sarah Silbiger, for the New York Times.

He didn't appear to suffer any injuries or require medical attention.  Instead of doctors and nurses, reporters surrounded him as he picked himself up.  So, their "test" was a bit different from the one I "passed."  Before continuing his ride, he answered questions about--are you ready for this?--tariffs on Chinese goods and gun control legislation.

Hmm...If my doctor had asked those questions, I wonder how he would've assessed my condition.

Man Falls Off Bike--And Is Bitten By Alligator

 If you fall while riding your bike, how and where you land--which may or may not be in your control--has much to do with whether, or how severely, you are injured.  (Wear your helmet!) 

Whatever you do, try not to land on an alligator!

That is what happened to a cyclist in Stuart, Florida, a town near Port St. Lucie.  The man, described by Scott Lorraine of the Airborne Mountain Bike Club as an "experienced" cyclist, lost a tire while rounding a curve in Halpatiokee Regional Park and slid into the water, where he landed atop an 8-foot female gator.

The spot where the man fell of his bike and was attacked.  Photo by Charlie Shannon

Charlie Shannon was walking his dog when he encountered the man.  "He was hanging on roots like five feet below," Shannon recalled.  He used his dog's leash as a makeshift tourniquet, which he and others used to lift the man out.  "It was hard to get him out," Shannon said.

The gator, not surprisingly, wasn't happy.  But, according to John Davidson, who trapped the animal, gators can be "extra aggressive" at this time of year.  That might explain the severity of the bites all over the man's leg.

John Davidson, with the gator he captured.

I have seen alligators while cycling in Florida.  I hope I never have an encounter closer than the ones I've had!

Permission To Roam

My orthopedic doctor and the Texas governor said, basically, the same thing yesterday.

Now, I don't  know much about my doctor's politics, but he probably has never thought about Greg Abbott in his life. So how could they have echoed each other?

Well, the Governor told businesses in his state that, starting next week, restaurants and other businesses can open fully.  "People want to go back to living," he said.  He's declared that they can.  

My doctor gave me the same permission.  He confirmed what I suspected:  My injuries from getting "doored" are healed, save for two still-visible scars.  They'll take "about a year" to disappear, he said.  In the meantime, I could use a skin ointment, but if I should I should "be careful" because I have sensitive skin.  Looking at my helmet, he grinned and crooned, "Enjoy."

It's been more than a month since I did two of my regular long rides (Connecticut and Point Lookout).  The reason is not my injuries:  rather, it's the snow and ice that's covered many of the roads.  Also, Marlee seems to be guided by her animal instinct to hibernate and takes any chance she can to curl up on me and doze.  She's so cute, and calms me as much as a meditation or therapy session, that I want to stay with her.

I want to get out because, even on rides I've done dozens of times before, I notice something or another that previously escaped my attention--or wasn't there. During my ride to the doctor's office, a traffic light stop at Third Avenue and 17th Street brought this into my view:

I hadn't been inside that building in years--or looked at its exterior.  Whenever I entered, I listened to music or poetry.  I don't know whether its architectural details were covered, or perhaps I just hadn't noticed them because I always arrived at night, when throngs of people fronted and filled it.

Perhaps I will always think of that building--as long as it's still there--Fat Tuesday's, the jazz club/performance space that occupied it for years.  It closed around 15 years ago, when the changes I've witnessed in this city accelerated.  After that, it was occupied by a variety of venues, including a yoga and Pilates studio.

But, as you can see, the designers and builders of the edifice probably didn't envision any of the venues I--or most people living today--associate with it. Constructed in 1894-95, it originally served as a restaurant and beer garden.  The latter is not surprising when you realize that the surrounding neighborhood--Gramercy Park/Irving Place--was, at the time, said to be the home of more Germans than any place outside of Europe.  

The building would later host the German-American Athletic club and the German-American Rathskeller.  Given this history, it's makes sense that it's named for Joseph Viktor von Scheffel, a German poet and novelist.  

I don't know what "Allaires" refers to.  Ironically, when I first saw that name, I thought of a village in Brittany, France (through which I've biked) and a park in New Jersey where I biked, hiked and camped as a teenager.  That park was named for James Allaire, who owned an ironworks and village on the site.  The metal produced there was shipped to Allaire's factory in this city, where parts for steam ships were made.  He had a home on Cherry Street, about a mile from Scheffel Hall, so it's possible that his family owned all or part of the building or businesses that were in it.

One more thing:  Given the building's literary and artistic associations, it's not surprising that O.Henry wrote some of his stories--and set one of them, "The Halberdier of the Little Rheinschloss" in Scheffel Hall.

Anyway, as you can see, I didn't need permission from a doctor or governor to go back to doing the things I normally do:  cycling and learning about whatever I see along the way.  Marlee doesn't always approve, but, hey, nobody's perfect!

It "Did Not Appear As Stable"

"An iguana got caught in my wheel."

Now that would have been something to tell the folks at Montefiore-New Rochelle or Westchester Medical Center--not to mention the New Rochelle Police Department.

Of course, they wouldn't have believed it.  At least, that's what I think:  After all, the long green creatures aren't nature to this part of the world.

Then again, I once took a tumble so a cat wouldn't be entangled in my wheel. (If you've been reading this blog a while, you know how I feel about cats!)  And a big dog--a German Shepherd, if I recall correctly--knocked me off my Schwinn Continental when I was delivering newspapers.

If someone's feline or canine could make a beeline into my path, who's to say that a someone's pet lizard, in New Rochelle or anywhere else, couldn't escape and dart into a cyclist's wheel?

All right, I admit, that seems less likely than the dog or cat scenarios.  But when I've cycled in Florida, I've had a near-miss with an armadillo and, it seems, cute little green lizards seem to make a sport of seeing how close people can ride or run before they make their "escapes."

I've seen iguanas during my trips to the Sunshine State.  Fortunately for me, they kept a respectful distance.  A cyclist in Marathon, however, learned the hard way that, perhaps, iguanas don't always know how they'll get entangled--or how they can entangle people's lives.  

From Monroe County (FL) Sheriff's Office

The cyclist ended up in the hospital.  It seems that his injuries aren't serious.  However, according to Monroe County Sheriff's Office spokesman Adam Linhardt, "The condition of the iguana did not appear as stable."

As a recent accident victim, I wish a speedy and full recovery to all.

This Isn't An Experiment

Some people simply cannot abide any toe-clip overlap.  Me, I can stand a little, depending on the bike and how I'm riding it.  But this is, shall we say, a bit out of my range.

What's worse is the way it was achieved, if you will:

I'm thinking now of Rigi bikes from about 40 years ago. Its creators made the wheelbase shorter by splitting the seat tube in two--rather like the top tube on a mixte frame--and running the wheel between the smaller tubes:



I've heard of a bike that does the same thing with the down tube:  The front wheel runs through it.  I don't know how one steer such a machine.  The only possible use I can see for it is a motor-paced time trial.

Now I'll dispense with the levity:  As you probably have surmised, I didn't try to alter Arielle's geometry. Rather, it happened--in front of a nondescript tenement on Bonnefoy Avenue in New Rochelle.

I was pedaling, at a pretty good pace, home from Connecticut.  Well, I thought I was going home:  I hit something and, the next thing I knew, I was getting stitched up.   Then someone in the New Rochelle hospital decided I should be observed in a trauma unit, to which I was sent. 

Poor Arielle.  As for me, I still feel pain on the sides of my neck down to my shoulders.  Oh, and I have a headache and have been tired.  A trip to the drugstore felt like a century or a marathon.

When I got home, my face looked as if someone had superimposed a railroad map over a satellite image of the Martian surface.  It's a little better now, but I don't think I'll be modeling for Raphia any time soon.

I hate asking for money, but I think the real pain will begin when I see what my insurance doesn't cover.  So, I've set up a GoFundMe page.

I hope, more than anything, to be back in the saddle soon.  Until then, I'm going to catch up on some reading, writing and a project.  And Marlee is going to catch up with, well, the cuddles she misses when I'm out of the house!

Thank you!

He Survived Combat. Then His Bike Blew Up.

Once upon a time, before X-boxes and I-phones roamed the Earth, kids actually wanted--and sometimes got--bikes for Christmas.  So, after my first bike shop laid me off early in the Fall, the owner asked whether I could come back for a few weeks in December and early January.  

I was surprised that he would want me, even for a few days, in the New Year.  I would learn that some of the bikes we sold for Christmas would be brought in for adjustments, as promised by the shop.  But other kids brought in bikes their parents hadn't bought from us.  Some of those machines were really twisted.  Even more serpentine were the stories they told us.  My favorite came from the parent of a kid whose wheels had folded into the shape of a certain Bachman's snack.  

According to that kid's supposed role model, the wheel assumed its form when the kid "turned the corner" and "the rim bent."

Now, I admit that my knowledge of physics was, at best, rudimentary.  So perhaps you, dear reader, can forgive me for not understanding how something made from two layers of steel could just fold over when a 65-pound kid turned it at a 45 degree angle.

Oh, and that kid's parent wanted us to replace the wheel--for free--on that bike, which wasn't purchased in our shop or, as best as I could tell, any bike shop.

Perhaps you can thus understand my skepticism when anyone claims that a bike fell apart as he or she rode it.  I know, well, that some bikes aren't very well-made, but very few are so shoddy that they will disintegrate under you as you ride.  I mean, I've heard of Lambert's "death forks" snapping when their riders hit bumps, and of various parts failing in one way or another under normal use.  But I don't recall any bike snapping at its frame joints during the course of a routine ride.

That is, until I came across the story of Ronnie Woodall.  

The Austin, Texas resident was riding along 4th street when the welds broke on his $1600 All City bicycle and sent him flying face-first into a construction fence.

The head and down tubes separated from the steer tube.  The result that Mr. Woodall's nose all but separated from his face.  It was "barely hanging on by this left side of my nostril, across the top," he recalls. The impact, which pushed his head back and twisted his neck,  "blew out out all of the vertebrae in my neck," he explains.

His doctor estimates that it will take $2 million to care of him medically in the future.  All City is a brand from Quality Bicycle Products.  According to a company statement,  QBP has  inspected the bicycle and claims to "have not found evidence" that "the bicycle spontaneously came apart," which is "something that, in our experience, bicycles simply do not do."

Whether or not the bike fell apart at faulty welds, or whether there was some other mitigating circumstance, there is another part of this story that is ironic, almost to the point of being incredible: Ronnie Woodall, a retired 30-year Army veteran, suffered his worst injuries, not on a nameless hill in some distant, forlorn country, but on a bike that cost more than most people in some of those distant, forlorn countries make in a year.  And it happened in the middle of the 11th-largest city in the United States.

Murder Charges Against Driver Who Ran Down Cyclists Near Kalamazoo

Five counts of second-degree felony murder have been authorized against 50-year-old Charles E. Pickett of Battle Creek, Michigan.

He's the driver of the blue Chevrolet pickup truck that plowed into a group of cyclists near Kalamazoo.  Debra Ann Bradley, Melissa Ann Fevig-Hughes, Fred Anton (Tony) Nelson, Lorenz John (Larry) Paulik and Suzanne Joan Sippel died in the carnage.  Jennifer Lynn Johnson, Paul Douglas Gobble, Sheila Diane Jeske and Paul Lewis Runnels are still hospitalized.

Authorities aren't yet saying what might've caused Pickett to drive into the group of cyclists, who had been riding together every Tuesday night for more than a decade. 


According to eyewitness testimony and other reports, the truck had been moving erratically half an hour before the tragedy.  That, and other factors, have caused speculation that Pickett might have been intoxicated.  He has no history of traffic violations, or any criminal history, in the state of Michigan.  However, a Facebook page for "Charles E. Pickett" shows a number of sexually provocative messages as well as a profile picture with a skull and revolvers that reads, "Never water yourself down just because someone can't handle you at 100 proof."


When a news crew from a local television station went to his home, a family member threatened to chase them with a front-end loader and followed them in a car before a brief verbal exchange ensued.

Whatever might have caused Pickett to run down the cyclists, I am gratified that the authorities are taking the case seriously.   The victims were parents, grandparents, siblings, friends and beloved members of their communities, not just "cyclists".  There seems to be a real attempt to achieve justice.  However, justice is all that can be achieved. It is not a substitute for a life--or, more specifically, the lives of parents, grandparents, siblings, friends and beloved members of their communities who were out for a ride when, to paraphrase Albert Camus in The Plague, death descended upon them from the clear blue sky.

Five Cyclists Mowed Down In Michigan

Yesterday, I wrote a post-mortem for Jocelyn Lovell, whose career was cut short when a dump truck ran him down and broke his neck.  He would live the second half of his life, which ended last Friday, as a quadriplegic.  The trauma nurse who helped to airlift him to Toronto Sunnybrook Hospital immediately recognized him when he returned 18 months later for a round of rehabilitation.  She rushed to his side, grasped his hand and tearfully exclaimed, "Jocelyn, we thought you were going to die!"

Whatever miracles, whatever interventions, kept him in this world for the next 32 years weren't forthcoming for five cyclists near Kalamazoo, Michigan.  Debra Ann ("Debbie") Bradley, Melissa Ann Fevig-Hughes, Fred Anton (Tony) Nelson, Lorenz John (Larry) Paulik and Suzanne Joan Sippel were all run down from behind by a blue Chevy pickup truck.

Melissa Fevig-Hughes

In the minutes before the tragedy, police were seeking that vehicle after receiving three separate calls saying that it was being driven erratically.  The driver, a 50-year-old area resident, is in custody while authorities decide on what charges should be filed against him.  Among them might be one for DWI, according to the latest reports available as of this writing.

 

Suzanne Sippel

One very notable aspect of this story is that the victims were all experienced cyclists who had been riding with each other weekly for more than a decade.  Ms. Fevig-Hughes, age 42, was the youngest of them, while Mr. Paulik, 74, was the oldest. Another disturbing aspect of this tragedy is that it struck in daylight, on a street in a residential area.  At least one witness tried to alert the cyclists and the driver, to no avail.

Debbie Bradley

Four other area cyclists were injured and are hospitalized.  Jennifer Lynn Johnson is in fair condition, while Paul Douglas Gobble, Sheila Diane Jeske and Paul Lewis Runnels are in serious condition.

 

Tony Nelson

According to witnesses, these cyclists were a familiar sight to many in the area and were known to abide by all laws, regulations and accepted safety practices.  Thus, according to Paul Seiden, "The tragedy underscores the need for increased awareness and re-dedication on the part of the community as a whole to the safety of bicyclists when they're on the road."  Seiden, the director of road safety for the Kalamazoo Cycle Club, added, "In an accident like this, everybody loses."

Larry Paulik

 Truer words have never been said.  As a fellow cyclist and human, my thoughts are with Debbie Bradley, Melissa Fevig-Hughes, Tony Nelson, Larry Paulik and Suzanne Sippel and their families and friends.  I can only be thankful that I have not met a fate like theirs, and hopeful that I never will.

Jan, We Want To See You Back On Your Bike--Real Soon!

Talking about another person's misfortune is always difficult, especially at this time of year.  It's especially difficult when that person has provided us with companionship, knowledge or adds pure-and-simple joy to something we already love.

Jan Heine is one such person.  Even people who will never become randonneurs or randonneuses, or have no interest in classic touring and trekking bikes, enjoy Bicycle Quarterly, in which he shares his experiences of rides and equipment, illustrated with some wonderful photographs.  He has written and edited books about bikes and riding, all of which are as interesting and informative as they are attractive on a coffee table.

His most recent adventure, in Asia, ended prematurely during his descent of Hehuanshan Pass, the highest road in Southeast Asia.  A car travelling in the opposite direction turned left, in front of him--too quickly for him to steer out of a crash. 

He writes, "I was lucky to escape without life-changing injuries."  Still, "the impact was hard enough to break my shoulder, my arm, one or two vertebrae, and a few ribs."

Ouch!

Here's to wishing Jan a speedy recovery ... and that he rides again soon.  After all, we want to read more about his adventures and the bikes he rides, don't we?

"The Retrogrouch" posted a nice "get well" message to him yesterday!
 

Jill Tarlov, R.I.P.

Sad news:  Jill Tarlov, the Connecticut woman who was struck by a cyclist in Central Park, has died.

As of this writing, no charges have been filed against the cyclist.  That he remained at the scene, I think, shows that he isn't a scofflaw.

 

And, as I said in an earlier post, I don't want to place blame anywhere.  There are indeed reckless cyclists.  Perhaps I was one in my youth; I don't think I'm one now.  I try not to be, anyway.  I think the same could be said for most cyclists.  At the same time, most pedestrians are careful, as Ms. Tarlov probably was, but sometimes they let their guard down.

Anyway, after this incident, I don't think I'll be riding in Central Park any time soon.  I very rarely ride there, as I said the other day.  I simply cannot enjoy a ride when I have to dodge pedestrians, skaters, skateboarders, horses and carriages and food vendors' carts.   I think the park is actually more congested than the streets and the hazards are less predictable.  I actually feel safer on most streets than I do in Central Park.

How And Why A Cyclist Struck A Pedestrian In Central Park

I very rarely ride in Central Park.

Perhaps that makes me a jaded, cynical New Yorker—you know, the kind who think “only tourists” go to the Statue of Liberty, take in a Rockettes show or go to the Village and expect to see musicians, artists and writers living “bohemian” lives.

To tell you the truth, I’ve never been to the Statue or Radio City Music Hall.  And I can’t remember the last time I walked around in the Village.  

I also don’t go into the Park very often for any reason.  Don’t get me wrong: It’s a lovely place, a masterpiece of urban landscape architecture.  And a couple of laps in it can give you a good mini-workout.

Something that happened yesterday reminded of why I so seldom pedal into, or around, the Park.  A 31-year-old man was riding at a good clip when a woman nearly twice his age crossed into the lane.  He shouted for her to get out of the way.  Neither he nor she had time to get out of each other’s paths.  Even if they had, they probably wouldn’t have had any room to maneuver:  On a clear, mild day, the bike lanes are full of cyclists of all kinds:  racers, wannabes, other athletes-in-training on bikes, those who are riding to unwind, the ones (usually tourists on rental bikes) who want to take in the sun and a leaf-fluttering breeze with the skyline as their backdrop and those who want to be seen in the latest team kit and the most expensive bike they could find.

In other words, the bike lanes are clogged with cyclists of varying abilities, pedaling at various speeds and with even more disparate levels of awareness of their surroundings. 

Even the least alert cyclist is probably paying more attention than some people who are strolling across the meadows and around the lake.  I don’t mean to impugn all pedestrians in the park; I am simply saying that those on foot—especially tourists—are more likely to let their guard down while walking through the park than cyclists are while rounding the turns.

That is not to say that neither the woman who was struck—or, for that matter, the cyclist—is to blame.  Rather, the incident should serve as a cautionary tale for everyone who goes to the Park.   That is also not to say the Park can’t be enjoyed by all: Those who ride, walk, run, skate, skateboard or otherwise venture into, around or through the park simply need to act more or less as if they all were motor vehicles on the streets.

As for me, I probably won’t be riding in Central Park any time soon because it’s become so crowded.  I actually feel as though I have more space on most streets.  And the traffic is more predictable.

The woman--Jill Tarlov of Fairfield, Connecticut--has been declared brain-dead.  The cyclist--identified as Jason Marshall--has not been charged, though the NYPD says they're still investigating the incident.