Anatomy of an Accident

by Emory Bundy

I almost didn't make it to my 75th birthday this week.

On June 28th a nightmare event for a bicyclist unfolded before me: an oncoming car turned across my lane, right in front of me, much too close for me to stop. From that instant the best I could hope for was a life-threatening injury. Several Seattlites have been killed recently in exactly that fashion, including Paul Douglas Ratliffe, age 56, who was killed in southeast Seattle; Susanne Neil Scaringi, age 27, killed in West Seattle; and Mike Wang, age 44, killed last week on Dexter Avenue, across the street from King Broadcasting Company. Each was an experienced cyclist, properly equipped, riding lawfully and in a correct place. In each instance the motorist somehow missed seeing them, though they were right in plain sight, and turned left right in front of or into them. Suzanne Scarlingi and Mike Wang were killed in full daylight; Paul Ratliffe, commuting to work on a December morning, had lights, reflectors, and was wearing a bright yellow reflective jacket.

In a span less than three seconds in duration, my encounter incorporated two near-misses with death. My travel was north on Lake Washington Boulevard, a downhill run between Madison Street and an intended turn onto Interlaken Boulevard . The oncoming red Subaru Forester, without signaling, started to turn left. How could the driver not see me, large as life, right in front of him, with a silver and red helmet and a bright red bicycle, in excellent light, at 1:30 in the afternoon?

If he stopped, as I thought he might, I'd have to get around him to my right. We were about 20 feet from colliding; my speed was 25 miles per hour, so I was less than half a second from crashing into him. When instead of stopping he accelerated, my only option was an instinctive swerve left. I managed to miss hitting him, just barely. Suzanne Scarlingi and Paul Ratliffe, in similar circumstances, were less fortunate; probably they had even less space than I did. In Mike Wang's case, the motorist simply ran directly into him.

Having evaded one potentially fatal accident, the maneuver pointed me directly toward the car following the Subaru. We were closing fast, and to keep from running into him I needed to make an even sharper turn, back to the right. But there wasn't enough space. Desperately turning, trying somehow to avoid colliding with the car, I couldn't keep the bicycle upright, fell, and pitched to my left toward the oncoming vehicle. As I smashed hard to the pavement I expected in the next instant to be crunched.

On the ground, conscious, it came to me that nothing had happened. Since a moment before, driver and cyclist were about to run into each other, it seemed a miracle. I sat up, next to the bumper of the oncoming car, and a surge of exhilaration swept over me. I felt myself the luckiest person in the world.

Trying later to fathom how the expected had not happened, there were two factors. The driver was very alert, had terrific reflexes, and brought his car to a quick stop. Somehow I stopped too, though only by accidentally falling. With the fall to the pavement I came to an abrupt stop, with no skidding forward. That outcome, in turn, was possible only because, from the first threat posed by the Subaru, I reflexively reached for my brakes, and in the moments evading the first, and trying to avoid the second car, had managed to slow my speed. The fact that my left hand had not a scratch was evidence that my hands were clutching the brakes; my left hand didn't even leave the brakes to reach out and help absorb the fall. Slowing down, the fall, and the quick stop were the keys to survival.

People rushed up, offering to call 911, or take me to a hospital, or help me get to my feet. I asked to be left alone to ponder my condition. Quickly I concluded that my head was fine—it had hit the pavement hard but the bicycle helmet did its job, my neurological system seemed intact, there didn't seem to be any broken bones, and my teeth were in place. Nothing seemed wrong that wouldn't heal. Then shakily I stood up, my left elbow, arm, hip, and thigh hurting, and to a lesser extent my left knee and shoulder.

I profusely thanked the driver, a fairly young fellow, around age 30. His attentiveness, and his quick reflexes saved me. One-tenth of a second slower would have been too late.

The fellow who caused the accident hurried over. He was upset, very sorry, and a stand-up guy. He directly admitted his culpability, and gave a straight-forward explanation of what had happened, with no excuses. He insisted on taking me wherever I wanted to go, put my bike in the back of his Subaru, and we made the short drive to my home.

The damage was worse than I'd realized, but my assessment of only injuries that would heal has prevailed. My left elbow was badly lacerated, the joint was exposed, and the bursa shielding the joint was torn. After the nurse carefully cleaned that wound, the doctor stitched the bursa together, then the skin. He was worried about infection—hence assigned a regimen of antibiotics. Though he did not tell me at the time, he feared that the sides of the gaping wound might not readily heal together. But two weeks later all was well, he removed the stitches and terminated the medicine.

How did the accident happen?

The driver explained that he wanted to turn off Lake Washington Boulevard . He was unfamiliar with the area, thought he spotted an opportunity, quickly took measure of the next oncoming car, and concluded that, if he hurried, he could turn left into Arboretum Drive and clear the northbound lane in time not to impede that vehicle. I was much closer, but he just looked right through me.

That's what happened to the other cyclists. Automobile drivers have programmed themselves to see cars, but sometimes not bicyclists. The driver in my case recently wrote, “I want you to know that, while driving, each time I see a bicyclist, I'm quickly alerted. Sad that it took such a serious incident to raise my level of ‘bike-rider' awareness.”

Of course that's what we need from every auto driver, but that kind of general sensitivity is far off. It's hard to know what can be done about it, but the fact that the City of Seattle, like cities in the US generally, does such a poor job providing safe spaces for cyclists is the fundamental problem. That poor job also contributes to frustrated drivers, hostile to having to share streets with a slower mode of transport.

Something like 40 percent of the land mass of the city is paved for transportation use and parking; close to 100 percent of all that space is dominated by automobiles and trucks. There are a tiny number of wonderful, safe facilities for cyclists—like the Burke-Gilman Trail, and the lane along Interstate 90—but generally the best that happens is a narrow, few feet, marked with a painted stripe, right close to moving cars on the left, as the cyclist skims by parked cars on the right, with the omnipresent risk of a door suddenly opening in his/her path. Like the little striped lane on Dexter Avenue where Mark Wang was killed, the most-used bicycling corridor in the city and the one with the most accidents. Usually the vulnerable cyclists are riding properly, and the auto drivers, well-protected in their cars, cause the accidents.

A few years ago I attended a presentation by a Copenhagen city planner at Seattle 's City Hall, moderated by then-city council member Peter Steinbrueck. In Copenhagen , transit market share is twenty percent, more than five times higher than it is here, but daily trips by bicycle in that metropolis exceed 40 percent, more than double that of transit. And easily exceed trips by car, which have a 33 percent market share of trips. The Copenhagen planner said they work very hard on safety, and that most children bicycle to school. Steinbrueck said he would love to have his children bike to school—but, as a responsible parent, he couldn't permit it, because Seattle's too dangerous a place for children to cycle. Indeed, the Seattle schools don't provide bicycle racks, because they fear liability if they encourage such a dangerous activity.

Towns and cities in the Netherlands, including Amsterdam, have similar accomplishments to those of Copenhagen: far more trips by bicycle than transit, or by car, with close attention to safety, especially for children. Enrique Penalosa, the former mayor of Bogota, Columbia, who did a great deal during his term to markedly improve both transit and bicycling in his city, said at a presentation in Seattle that any respectable city ought to provide bicycle routes safe for eight year olds. Though things have gotten a bit better--at a snail's pace and with meager financial support-- Seattle lacks any civic leadership remotely comparable to that of Penalosa.

Bicycling in Seattle will continue to grow, as it is the most exquisitely cost-effective, energy-efficient, healthy, and convenient mode of transport for short and moderate distances. But while billions are lavished on highways for cars, and even larger sums on transit, now that we devote such immense subsidies for rail transit, support for bicycling is relatively sparse. So bicycling will continue to be constrained, its benefits to the region will be a small fraction of what they could be, and people will be needlessly killed and maimed.