It’s been 10 years since Chris Kirkwood and his son lost wife, mother, teacher Christy Kirkwood to a driver who drifted into the bicycle lane.
Yet her loss is as fresh now as it was on the first anniversary of her death, when a few dozen cyclists gathered where she was killed and, at sunset, planted a yellow “Share the Road” sign.
Over the years, I’ve considered visiting the man responsible for Christy Kirkwood’s death to help drivers understand their power and obligation. I wanted to ask what it feels like to kill someone because of a momentary distraction.
Once, I sat in my car debating whether to knock on the unfortunate soul’s door.
But why press the obvious? Accidentally killing another human being is not something you ever forget and the guilt is something one lives with forever.
And, let’s face it, we’ve all dropped our guard while driving. Many of us have even nearly hit a cyclist.
That is why it’s so important to honor a global event called the Ride of Silence.
Paying attention and sharing the road is as much about saving drivers’ souls as it is about saving cyclists’ lives.
Much has changed since Christy Kirkwood was killed. Chris Kirkwood and his son, Corey, have established the Christy Kirkwood Science Scholarship. And every year, through that program, they send two students from Bell Intermediate School in Garden Grove — where Christy taught seventh-grade science — to science camp.
Corey, over the years, graduated from UC Irvine, worked for a hedge fund, discovered he disliked cubicle life and joined the Navy, nearly became a SEAL and did become a master-at-arms. He now serves in the Mediterranean.
Chris Kirkwood, president of Kirkwood Information Systems, went through denial, anger, bargaining, grief, acceptance more times than he can recall. He got back on his road bike, although he rarely rides roads and prefers bicycle paths. He’s spoken at Rides of Silence events until he had nothing left to say.
“For me,” Chris explains, “the rides were part of the healing process.”
When he rides, Chris thinks of Christy. When he hears a certain song, sees a certain type of picture, he thinks of Christy.
For a time, father and son scattered Christy’s ashes in places she loved: Mammoth Mountain, the Colorado Rockies, a trail in Utah, Crystal Cove State Park.
Next week, Chris and Corey will travel to Salt Lake City to lay down her remaining ashes with her aunt.
As we talk, the conversation circles back to the upcoming Ride of Silence.
“It’s a great way to keep everybody vigilant,” Chris says of the rides, “and to remind everyone about the importance of watching out for each other on the road.”
Seventeen cyclists were killed in road accidents last year, according to Orange County coroner records. That is one shy of the number of cyclists killed the year Christy was cut down.
The youngest bicyclist killed in 2015 was 9 years old. His name was Kevin Jiang, and he was hit by a van in Irvine. The oldest was Michiko Day. She was 66 and died in Laguna Hills.
Cycling safety advocate Bill Sellin reports that at least four cyclists have been killed in Orange County this year in traffic-related accidents. He adds that perhaps the most important aspect of the Ride of Silence is to “raise awareness among the many local motorists who will be witnesses of our somber parade.”
“We will share this hour with each other and know that thousands across the planet will also have marked the hour in their own time zone.”
Nancy Collins helps coordinate the Orange ride, the city’s first. “I’ve almost been hit several times on my bike. For me, it’s all about safety and honoring those killed. Cyclists need to pay attention, and drivers need to pay attention.”
This year, Christy Kirkwood would have turned 60. Perhaps she would have skipped the Ride of Silence; perhaps she’d be riding.
Now, the schoolteacher is with silent cyclists forever.
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