Let Them Yell: Biking on Sidewalks Is Still Illegal

On a sunny April afternoon in 2016, I turned down Water Street in Kent, OH, on my way home, taking a 15-mile route instead of the standard six miles. Water Street is four lanes across with no shoulder heading straight through town and my bright blue backpack, vibrant green shirt, and flashing red tail light were all doing a fine job of indicating my very deserving and not at all incorrect presence on the road.

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T-Boned, More Like T-Crushed

I have been hit by a car exactly once. It was about as mild as being hit by a car can be, if I’m honest, but if you unexpectedly hit something with your vehicle, as gentle of a tap as it may have been, you have hit it.

I was on a bike path that had to cross over streets and that allows me the right-of-way, as incoming cars have a stop sign. As I approached the intersection, I saw the white Toyota come to its mandatory stop, but something inside me caused me to think that that was about all the caution I should expect from them.

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Guest Post: Too Much Perspective

I won’t say that as a cyclist’s wife I have it nearly as hard as, say, a military or rockstar’s wife. The former may live without her husband for months, always wondering if he’ll make it home alive and in one piece. The latter may also not see her husband for months while he tours and, assuming he’s a stereotypical rockstar who’s into hard drugs and easy women, may have similar concerns that he may not come home alive or in one piece.

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