Saturday, June 16, 2012

Ride of Silence

 (Photos courtesy of Paul Halicki)
The colorful and eclectic group of cyclists gathered around Trinity Park near downtown Fort Worth. From roadies to fat tire enthusiasts and every kind of two-wheeler in between, all 217 had come to pay their respects to riders who were killed or injured while on the roads. After some instructions and a moment of silence and prayer, the long train took to the city streets.



Since 2003, when Chris Phelan spearheaded the first Ride of Silence in Dallas after rider Larry Schwartz was hit by the mirror of a passing bus and killed, groups all over North America and beyond rally together on the third Wednesday in May to honor fallen cyclists and help raise awareness for the rights of bicyclers on the road. In only a decade, the memorial event has spread to over 300 locations, including 20 countries worldwide.

As the Fort Worth ride commenced, the friendly noise lowered to merely the harmony of clipping pedals. A somber sense of pride and reverence could be felt by all who shared the route that went throughout downtown, down Magnolia Street, past the zoo, up University, and eventually back to Trinity Park. Every avenue the caravan of silent cyclists travelled on, people not on bikes seemed to take notice. Sometimes motorists or patio diners would wave, and riders would wave back. Many curious onlookers took pictures or videoed with their outstretched phones. Others shouted or honked, but all the same, the rolling community kept on going without a word spoken.

The ride itself took around an hour. Even though many of the cycling advocates had never met, the unity of the diverse group was present. Among the group, several tandems rolled along with husband and wife pedaling in unison. Two small boys wove their way through the moving crowd, their bright orange shirts easy to spot. One young man sported dreadlocks and blue jeans. Some riders looked like serious racers, others appeared to be everyday citizens who were out to show their support. Several clubs were present in large number, and a handful of college-aged commuters cruised along as well.

Although the Ride of Silence is in honor of all fallen riders, this year one young lady in particular was on the hearts and minds of many of the North Texans. Pink jerseys with the smiling face as big as Dallas could be seen everywhere. In fact, 43 riders were proudly donning a Megan Baab memorial jersey. The unforgettable, undying spirit of Megan was alive in every rider who proudly wore her legacy.

The silence of the riders was finally broken when the route turned back to Trinity Park, and everyone lightheartedly and mischievously fetched a spare water bottle. Just like Megan was in the habit of doing, everyone reached out and squirted someone with love.

As the memory of Larry, Megan, and numerous others is still celebrated, hopefully the growing event will continue to speak volumes in the way of making the road a safer place for those who choose to go by bike. Fellow Ride of Silence participant Nicky Stevens shares the unanticipated, poignant message that was heard by at least one affected bystander:

"While blocking traffic at the intersection of Rosedale and Pennsylvania, a rather large and rough looking guy in a truck rolled down his window and asked, 'Hey, is this a ride for cancer or something?' (I guess because of the pink jerseys.) I inched up to his window and softly said, 'It's the Ride Of Silence. We're riding to honor those who have been injured or killed while riding a bike. This is happening in cities all over the US, right now.' A tear instantly formed in his eye. He commended us and wished us a safe ride. I hope we had this effect on more, but even if he was the only one, I'd say it was worth it."

And just maybe the riders in the sky who were looking down on the long, silent train agreed and smiled once more.



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