I have a neighbor that wants to give a donation because she can't come. Maybe it can cover the cost of the ghost bike paint or put towards future ghost bike ventures.
I see in this article that they have a non profit YIELD for LIFE program. I am putting it here to urge everyone to participate. They had 600 cyclists show up.
Yes, I will transport the bike so Nick can ride.
I am in the process of writing the letter to the lieutenant governor that Byron DeShong told me I should do.
January 10,2010
GREENSBORO — It’s as unnerving as a cemetery on a distant hill.
It sits 11 steps from North Church Street on a grassy spot near the intersection of N.C. 150, and it’s held in place to a pole by a lock nearly as big as a man’s fist.
There are no tires. But there are stickers, plastic flowers, and a name and date across the top tube of a 10-speed bike that’ll remind you of a tombstone.
And it’s painted primer white.
This is a ghost bike. And this is the spot where David Sherman died, killed by a hit-and-run driver as the sun set on a Saturday afternoon a week before Halloween.
The ghost bike appeared there a few weeks ago, within eyesight of Gunter’s Store, a conversation spot five miles north of Greensboro.
Morgan Puckett makes pizza and works the cash register, and every morning when she comes into work, she sees the ghost bike in her headlights. And every time, she thinks of what she saw Oct. 24.
The police. The crime tape. And the paramedics trying to save a 55-year-old man in biking gear who was struck head-on by an SUV.
That’s what Puckett remembers.
“I get a little angry, hurt and sad, and you think about the family and friends,” says Puckett, 21. “You just have to shake your head.”
People do. They talk about the SUV’s driver, Grayson Dawson, the 48-year-old woman from Eden released on a $5,000 unsecured bond after being charged in connection with Sherman’s death.
And they talk about Sherman, the married father of two from High Point who could play the violin, speak French and navigate the complicated terrain of tax law as a vice president for Sealy Inc.
But mostly, they talk about a life snuffed out. Like Puckett, they shake their heads and wonder if anything can come from the senseless death along a remote stretch of road used by so many cyclists.
There’s the upcoming trial, the constant discussion about safer roads and the often rancorous debate over whether our society has become too distracted, too busy or even too callous to care about one another.
Then there’s the ghost bike.
These makeshift memorials started seven years ago in St. Louis to honor cyclists who have died on the road. Since then, they’ve cropped up in at least 100 spots worldwide.
You’ll find them in bigger places such as Seattle, Chicago, Pittsburgh, Charlotte and Raleigh. And now, you’ll find a ghost bike beside Gunter’s. It’s believed to be the first of its kind in Guilford County.
The ghost-bike creators want to remain anonymous. They simply want to encourage people to drive safely, share the road and remember the name David Sherman.
“Everybody should decide for themselves what it means,” one of them said, “and if you want to know, go read the bike.”
Visit the bike, and you see stickers that read, “Please Drive And Ride With Love” and “Still Riding … Not Hiding.”
That’s a phrase Sherman used often when he called his biking friends to goad them to go out.
“Are you riding or are you hiding?” Sherman would say.
The ghost-bike creators never heard Sherman say that. They didn’t even know him. They heard it from his friends.
Ask Sherman’s close friends about all this attention, and they say he would be a bit wigged out.
There’s the Facebook page called “Justice For David Sherman.” Already, it has 795 members. There’s the ride two months back that attracted at least 600 cyclists and raised more than $12,000 for Yield To Life, a nonprofit geared to make roads safer for cyclists.
And there are the people who didn’t even know Sherman but have attended courtroom hearings to show their support.
For Sherman’s family and friends, it seems a little freakish. They see these people they don’t even know gravitating closer to their grief, and they wonder about the motivation.
Then, they think about the camaraderie of cyclists, the bond formed by this urge to ride hundreds of miles through humidity and finger-numbing cold, up hills and down hills, to feel that inexplicable burn.
So, they understand.
Then there’s the ghost bike.
Robert Lippitt saw it for the first time last weekend. He took his 15-year-old son Cason out to practice driving on the road that Lippitt and Sherman, his good friend, had used for years almost every weekend.
“Sure as hell, it’s not a pleasant feeling, but you know, it’s a good thing,” said Lippitt, a 48-year-old employment attorney in Greensboro. “Not that I needed anything to remind me of our loss. But it seems right.”
The ghost bike honors a man who could walk into any convenience store, dressed in spandex, and ward off the stares of anyone by talking to them and making them laugh by the time he left.
It honors a man who started biking three years ago after getting burned out on marathon running and getting a coach to help him conquer North Carolina rides with names like Blue Ridge Brutal and Hurt, Pain, and Agony.
It honors a man who five minutes before his death talked to strangers who lived along a stretch of North Church Avenue. They were putting up Halloween decorations. Sherman’s wife Ann knows that because she got a note right after her husband’s death.