One summer day not long ago I was driving westbound on Interstate 287 in White Plains when I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the blurry image of a speeding motorcycle.
The machine blew by, passing on the right. Then the driver, a thin young man, pulled a circus stunt. In a maneuver worthy of Evel Knievel at his daredevil best, he suddenly shifted his weight, reared back and performed a wheelie. Balancing his life on one rubber tire, he continued down the highway and was gone in a cloud of exhaust.
I watched this with awe. At first, I sort of admired the guy. Way to go. Free to be, baby!
And then I thought: What an idiot.
One bump in the road and Evel would’ve been DOA toast, tossed onto the pavement and splattered like a water balloon. Even if he had survived a fall, I probably would’ve delivered the bloody coup de grace by running over him because there was no chance I could’ve gotten out of the way in time.
As these things always go, there would have been an official inquisition. The story would’ve made the papers — and then another one of those ubiquitous makeshift shrines consisting of a single white cross would’ve sprouted amid the broken glass at the side of the road.
This was an example of uncommon recklessness.
But lately I have become increasingly aware of the driving habits of some motorcyclists, who, either out of arrogance or ignorance, defy the rules of safe driving. They roar above the speed limit, dart in and out of traffic, and tailgate with seeming impunity — and there are more of them than ever.
One particularly dangerous thing they do to circumvent slow moving traffic is illegally cruise down the center of the road between cars. All it would take to cause a collision is a slight swerve of the steering wheel. This summer alone, I could’ve accidentally hit five or six motorcyclists pulling this trick, except that by the grace of God I happened to catch sight of them in the side mirror of my car.
Federal statistics show that the annual number of motorcycle-related fatalities in the U.S. has almost doubled over the last two decades, from 2,320 deaths in 1994 to 4,381 in 2013 — though it has come down in recent years from a high of 5,174 deaths in 2008.
For obvious reasons, most of these accidents occur in the warmer months. Fatalities spiked in August 2013.
I counted 14 regional fatalities over the last 16 months — among them a case involving a pack of a dozen motorcyclists who were cruising at speeds of up to 100 mph on the Sprain Brook Parkway, near I-287. One of the motorcyclists struck the rear bumper of a car that swerved into another motorcycle driven by Scott Phillips, a hip-hop artist who performed under the name DJ Father Shaheed. Phillips was killed.
Three serious motorcycle accidents happened last week — two of them causing deaths and one resulting in severe injuries to a motorcycle operator, a 31-year-old Ossining man who had to be airlifted to Westchester Medical Center.
High speed, poor judgment and twisting roads are common denominators. However, it’s not always the fault of the motorcyclist.
On Sunday, 22-year-old Jeffrey Divine of Stormville was killed when his motorcycle collided with an SUV that was allegedly going south in the northbound lanes of the Taconic Parkway in Putnam County. The accident happened at 3:30 a.m. An investigation continues and no charges have yet been filed against the SUV driver, Melida Espinal, 40, of Danbury, Conn., whose name could well be added to the ever-growing list of wrong-way drivers who have plagued the parkways in recent years.
Whatever the outcome of the police probe, Divine’s tragic death at the very least underscores the vulnerability of motorcyclists who, though they may scrupulously obey the law and operate within the guidelines of safety, are always at risk because they have little protection beyond a helmet and a prayer.
Police said the young man’s Suzuki bike might have hit a wall before breaking into pieces.
Note to bikers: I’m not against motorcycles. They stand for freedom and I’m all for it. Born to be wild. Easy Rider.
I get it.
But when the cold winds blow, I tend to breathe a little easier, knowing that there are fewer of you on the road.
You place too much trust in me. I’m a good driver, but I’m not that good. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head — and neither do you.
Looking out for Evel Knievel"s many imitators
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