Ghost Bike From My Trip to Apex, NC

September 1, 2009

I went to see my boy Whitey down in Apex, North Carolina. The area is know as the “RDU” and it’s about 15 minutes or less from Raleigh, NC. It was a good trip. We hung out, got caught up, and even got some riding in. Scott picked up a Gary Fisher Roscoe a few months back. It’s a sweet all-mountain rig. I took my Chameleon down and we hit some single track.

We rode a non-sanctioned trail system called “286.” For a non-sanctioned trail, this thing was extremely well maintained and we saw lots of other riders. I think the land was owned by an airport that just didn’t really want people on the land but sort of turned the other cheek to it.

In any case, the riding was mostly rolling, clean single track that’s perfect for race pace and single speeding. We did a small 9 mile loop and then called it a day.

What really caught my attention that trip was a ghost bike near Whitey’s house. Apparently, Bruce Rosar, a prominent cycling advocate from the RDU area, was struck by an on coming car as he crossed lanes without looking ahead at on coming traffic in the opposite lane. Bruce was a cycling instructor who was stickler for the rules of the road so it was hard for riders in that area to understand why he turned blindly into traffic. Rest in peace, Bruce.

This was the first time I had ever seen a ghost bike. All my cycling buddies know of them. Not sure how I missed this. Maybe it’s because I don’t ride the road. But seeing this bike was very moving. I could envision this rider’s family looking at this bike and feeling him there. I felt like I could feel him there. My heart went out to him and I felt this deep sadness for someone I’ve never known or met. It was at that moment that I gained an even deeper appreciation for the passion we all share as riders. It binds us together. It’s our way or life. And this person’s life was taken doing what he probably loved most. There is great joy and great sadness in that thought.

After seeing a ghost bike memorial, I knew instantly that if the same happened to me I would want that bike there to memorialize me. I think that most of us want those we leave behind to remember us in ways we envision our own “person.” Remember me as a mountain biker who loved the woods and the simplicity of the holy trinity; me, my bike, and the trail. Remember the cycling instructor as man who loved the road, loved teaching, and loved sharing his way of life. This man passed on doing what we all wish we could do each and every day; riding.

Pedal hard people. It’s all a gift. And it’s beautiful. Damn.