Emily Vickers
Hopewell Township
Cycling my regular route two weeks ago, heading west on Snydertown Road, I spotted a woman walking a large German Shepherd about 100 yards ahead, in my lane, the right lane for me, the wrong one for pedestrians. I shouted “on your left!” to warn her; she turned, saw me, reined in her dog, and made him sit.
As I approached, yielding a wide berth, the dog lunged, his owner struggling to hold on to the leash. I made an acute evasive move, swerving to the far edge of the on-coming traffic lane. My front wheel and Rin Tin Tin’s nose were an inch apart as I darted safely past.
”Oh, he wouldn’t hurt you! “ called his mistress, as I barely avoided catastrophe. “The hell he wouldn’t,” I called back, but kept on riding, thinking of all the “hurt” involved if: I hadn’t kept the bike upright during my jagged maneuver; the dog and I had collided, resulting in serious injury to him, me, my bike or all three; or there had been an on-coming car to make matters worse;
Within one mile of this encounter, I came to the spot on Snydertown Road where five years earlier my husband Tom had a similar contact with a dog walker, but with less fortunate results. The “harmless” dog ran in front of the bike, and Tom went over the handlebars, landing on the pavement with a broken collarbone and his bike on top of him. The dog was unhurt, but his frantic owner was so out of control that Tom had to ask her if she could possibly remove the bike from his body so he could assess his injuries. She took Tom’s phone number and left the scene, which is where I found him, by chance, when I came upon him minutes later, sitting on the side of the road, cradling his side.
I was riding the same route that day, but I’m not up to Tom’s velocity. I rode break-neck speed back home to get the truck, my wallet, insurance cards, and doctor’s phone numbers. I checked the voicemail, but our little friend had not left a message. (We learned later that she had no insurance, and was afraid we might sue her!). Tom recovered, but our two-week trip to Maine, long planned, paid for, and due to start the next day was decidedly less than what we had hoped for.
I’ve nothing against dogs, walkers, joggers, runners, or any combination thereof. But if bicyclists are expected to follow the rules of the road, then they should apply equally to everyone. Anything on wheels rides with traffic; anyone on foot, two or four, walks against traffic. It makes sense and it’s the law.
I’ve been stopped by township police for not coming to a full stop (toe down!) before riding through an intersection. What kind of citation should be given the dog-walkers, who could have turned my husband or me into paraplegics?
And don’t get me wrong… I am just as hard on scofflaws on wheels. I don’t hesitate to shout at cyclists who ride without helmets, on the wrong side of the road, don’t stop at lights and signs, fail to alert pedestrians as they approach, or otherwise endanger themselves and others. I even glare at riders “too cool” to acknowledge others with a nod or word as they pass; but that’s another letter!
Tom and I have ridden our bikes all over the United States and in Europe. The Hopewell area has some of the best cycling roads to be found anywhere in the world: beautiful terrain, well-maintained surfaces, light traffic, and respectful motorists.
Cycling is a wholesome, invigorating, productive, and healthy physical activity… For many of us, it’s a positive addiction. We know there are objective dangers (everything from blowouts and broken spokes, to semis and schizophrenic squirrels), which we work hard to minimize because the thrill of riding in the open air is worth the risk. Careless, thoughtless, clueless pedestrians are subjective dangers we can live without. So let’s share the road, and stay on our lawful sides of it. Thanks!

