East Dallas Times

 

[Editor’s note: This essay first appeared April 29 as an exclusive to East Dallas Times. It seemed appropriate to run it again today because the Ride of Silence takes place this evening, starting at 7 p.m., at White Rock Lake.]

By Chris Phelan, founder of the Ride of Silence

It’s both humbling and unbelievable to me, as its founder, to comprehend the passion others have about something that I thought only affected me when Larry Schwartz was struck and killed by the mirror of a passing school bus while cycling outside of Dallas, May 6, 2003.

Two days later at the funeral, I suggested the cycling community do something to memorialize Larry, who had set national endurance records. There was not a lot of motivation by those I looked up to as movers and shakers. All were non-committal, probably for very good reasons. I was primarily a runner and therefore outside the cycling circle. Certainly, I wasn’t the one who would band cyclists together, being an outsider.

But Larry was a friend. Very humble himself, he rode with anyone, at any time, including me.

Frustrated after the funeral, I waited until 10 p.m., Sunday, May 11 for announcement of a ride or meeting of some sort, anything. There was nothing. I then sent out a few e-mails stating I was going to ride around Dallas’ nine-mile rim of White Rock Lake in silence, 10 days later, on Wednesday, May 21.

White Rock Lake is where Larry used to train and enjoyed meeting up with other cyclists. I chose a Wednesday so as to not interfere with any of the cyclists’ weekend racing or training plans.

Someone wrote back and criticized me, saying the ride was useless and unsafe. I responded, in part, “If I am alone, or if a million people attend, I will be OK with either scenario.”

It was not about me, my friends, or my critics. It was about those who have been killed and who can’t speak for themselves. Believe it or not, I still get those e-mails, as recently as April 15.

As it was, my wife, Janalou, and Mike Keel joined me to ride at my designated starting place. No doubt they came because they were worried no one would, and felt embarrassed for me, looking a little out of place at Dallas’ premier recreation spot for runners and cyclists, riding silently alone.

We drove over the final rise at T.&P. Hill on the west side, and, lo and behold, there were over 1,000 cyclists gathered, waiting to be led around the lake in a procession of silence.

I was overwhelmed, not just emotionally, but logistically, as well. There were no plans, amenities, cones, or announcing system in place.

This could have turned ugly very fast, as traffic was grid locked. The local TV news stations and newspaper also got in the act trying their best to understand, then explain, what was happening. The police represented by then Officer Perry Skidmore came by and wanted to know what the problem was. He called for backup. I explained, quickly.

He asked if we wanted an escort.

During the ride, one could hear a pin drop or, at least, sniffles and sobbing. I was choked up thinking about Larry and hearing the passion of these people I was riding along side.

The ride had no fees, registration, or disclaimer. It was totally grassroots. A bunch of people getting together to ride, that’s all.

For the most part, it has remained so ever since. It is still run entirely by volunteers without any cash flow.

I was so thankful the entire ride went off without a hitch. But, life changed immediately.

The next day, I had e-mails, and was getting phone calls about the ride, if I could put one on in their town. At first, it was just from around Texas. Then came the first e-mail from out of state, and I thought, “Oh, my!” It was only Tulsa, Okla., but to me that was huge.

For the next several months, I put off everyone, saying no, I would not put on another Ride Of Silence because of what I said in the e-mail I sent out: “This will be a one-time only ride.”

I had no intention of doing it again. I had closure. My vision didn’t extend beyond that first ride, especially after seeing the success of the Dallas event. I felt there was no way I could replicate that ride,  put the genie back in the bottle. It was out, and a second one would definitely flop because it couldn’t possibly live up to the hype of the first. There was no way it could. No way.

So I said no.

Needless to say, I relented by January 2004, telling others, “You’re about to see a train wreck, one of the great belly flops.”

At the May 2004 ride, 2,500 cyclists rode, while more than 50 rides sprung up from Hawaii to Montreal. It was written up in Bicycle Magazine.

I was stunned.

But it was becoming unwieldy. Friends were cautioning me that I could get in trouble, that I wasn’t making any money off it, that the name wasn’t copyrighted, and that it was taking up a large part of my day, and now, the year.

I didn’t care. I believed in it as a means of expression, an outcry for the carnage against an invisible population.

In 2005, the ride took place in more than 100 U.S cities, and over 120 worldwide, in nine countries, across four continents. The Dallas ride again had 2,500 cyclists.

This time the Dallas City Council issued a proclamation that May 18, 2005 was The Ride of Silence Day.

In 2006, there were 13 sites in Texas, and 25 in Michigan, which would host the largest number of sites ever since. There were 48 of the 50 states represented, and over 223 sites total worldwide.

In 2007, The League of American Cyclists leaders came out to Dallas to view the ride for themselves. We used this line at the beginning of the Dallas ride: “100,000+ riders, 243 cities, 50 states, 13 countries, 6 continents, 0 words spoken. Same day. Same time. Around the world.”

Last year, all 50 U.S. states hosted a ride. We had more than 300 sites located on every continent, including Antarctica. Countries and continents that join along with the original Dallas location on the same day include Africa, Argentina, Aruba, Australia, Bolivia, Brazil, British Virgin Islands, Brunei Darussalam,  Canada, Chile, China (Hong Kong and Singapore), Colombia, Costa Rica, Cyprus, Europe, Indonesia, Jamaica, Japan, Malaysia, Mexico, New Zealand, Panama, Philippines, Spain, South America, St Kitts and Nevis, and United Arab Emirates.

On May 20, 2009, riders during the famed European bike race Tour d’Giro also donned arm bans stating “The Ride Of Silence” to show solidarity with the rest of the world. It was another high point.

The response has been overwhelming. I’m hoping Larry, and others who were needlessly killed can appreciate what they are inspiring in cyclists everywhere. I am very impressed … and thankful.

At the end of that first ride, when we could talk, I asked cyclist  Keith Hester, who happened to be standing next to me, if Larry Schwartz died in vain.

“Hardly,” he said. “He’d be smiling down on us right now.”

The Ride Of Silence will take place May 19, at 7 p.m. The Dallas event will start at the Branchfield-Fisher parking lot on the west side of White Rock Lake.