A Season of Hurt - and Healing

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If you live or visit San Diego and have frequented the 56 bikepath in the past couple of months, then you've seen the memorial erected after two cyclists were struck by an out-of-control SUV during the evening rush hour. One was killed instantly and the other, far as I know, survived life-threatening injuries.

Here's another angle to help you understand how difficult it was for those of us who use this bikepath to fathom what happened.



A motorist turned into oncoming traffic, overcorrected and ran her truck up a 15-foot steep embankment and through a large chainlink fence at precisely the time two executives were riding on the bikepath. They didn't know each other.

It's been a solemn spot for cyclists since that fateful evening, and for some reason each time I pass it I start thinking about how many terrible drivers are out there (it's going to be one of our top public health crises in the next 20 years as aging baby boomers refuse to turn in their keys, folks). I also think about how you can do everything right and it still turn out oh so wrong.

On this morning's ride, I also thought a rash of murder-suicides throughout San Diego, the majority involving children who were slain by a parent. In each instance, the press mentioned that the families were in dire straits financially. Then the other week there was a double-murder in my suburb. This time it was a mentally ill adult son who allegedly stabbed his mother and teenaged sister after going off his meds.

This line of thought led me to push hard on the hills, despite it being a bit warm and me being a bit out of shape for the course. I also said a small prayer for all those who cannot see the beauty and opportunities in each new day because they remain surrounded by the fog of fear and uncertainty.

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