Police

Ride to Remember 2014: Honoring the Fallen

Whenever I see an adult on a bicycle, I have hope for the human race. ~ H.G. Wells
Hope for the human race was abundant Saturday morning downtown in Springfield, Massachusetts, where 240 cyclists of all ages, races, genders and professions lined up to cycle 106.7 miles to the State House in Boston. This was the second annual “Ride to Remember,” to honor fallen police officers and to raise money for their families. “Fallen but not Forgotten” was the slogan, printed on the back of the 240 riders’ uniform shirts, colored police-blue.
I scanned the swelling crowd at 6:15 am: the riders’ adrenaline flowing; the air
chilly and moist; the bikes being unloaded and tires pumped; the massive
American flag unfurled from two cranes in the semi-dark; the dawn just breaking
over what would be a perfect-weather day for an endurance ride; support buses queueing
up and repair vehicle positioned in place.
Laurie, mother Eileen Morrow, brother Tim
I was riding with my younger brother Tim Morrow, a 30-year veteran of the Springfield Police Department,
now a K-9 officer, his wife Lee, on her first “century” ride, and my boyfriend Doug, a marathoner and endurance athlete. The riders were police officers, fire fighters and family members from all over Massachusetts. 106.7 miles later we would be at the State House for a ceremony to honor the fallen.

The Ride to Remember honors officers Kevin Ambrose and José Torres, both killed in the line of duty two years ago. Kevin was the first Springfield officer killed in action in 25 years; he was just about to retire, but was killed while helping with a domestic abuse case. It’s a chilling reminder to those of us who take the law enforcement for granted about how dangerous these jobs are.
Despite the nippy air and early time, I was grateful to see my sister-in-laws, who came to hug us and wish us good luck. And my 82-year-old mother, Eileen Morrow! She probably should have been riding with us, as she has enough energy and willpower!
After pumping our tires up and joining the bulging street of riders, I looked down and saw bad
news—my front tire was flat! I jumped off, ran to the far back of the crowd where the vehicles were, Doug following, searching for the repair vehicle. Meanwhile the clock was ticking as the riders were clipping in, ready to. I finally found Steve, the repair guy, and in 30 seconds he had me ready to go. Clip-clopping on my cleats, juggling my bike, sprinting back to the riders… but they were gone.
I hopped on my bike and Doug and I pumped hard to catch them. It was exciting, because we
had to slice right between a parallel line of police motorcycle escorts until we became the last of the riders in the group. It was cold; by mile 10 our hands were stiff, noses running. I found that I couldn’t shift to the big gear because my left hand simply wouldn’t obey—too cold!
The first leg, to mile 18, was the hardest for me, incredibly. I had spent the last few days in
Washington DC at the NHF event, and while I hit the gym once, I didn’t feel warmed up; the cold air wasn’t helping. After the first break in Palmer, MA, where the support staff served boxes of bananas, bagels, Clif bars and Gatorade, we fueled up (you must keep eating throughout the ride), stretched out and within 15 minutes were back on the road. We immediately hit a hill; there would be many tortuous hills on this long ride, which tested not only your aerobic capacity, but your quad strength, and your mental fortitude. Honestly, I kept hearing in my head, “I think I can, I think I can…” Tim and Lee were somewhere ahead of us; Doug stayed in the large gear (the hardest) the entire 106.7 miles, and powered up every hill. That. Is. Crazy.
Ouch
Life is like a ten speed bicycle. Most of us have gears we never use.  ~ Charles M. Schulz 
There would be five rest stops. But you must also drink a ton of fluids and these catch up with you eventually. At one forced stop in the middle of a narrow country road somewhere n mid-Massachusetts, to wait for the huge group of riders to catch up with each other, I decided, like a lot of riders, to use it to my advantage. We hopped off our bikes and headed for the woods. The men went one direction to the edge. I delved a bit deeper into a more remote spot, where I thought there were an awful lot of thick vines. Vines? I tried to pull them away and step over
or through them—ouch! Rusty barbed wire. One sliced my knee a little; I thankfully didn’t get a piercing where none was desired and I headed back. A little drama is good for the story and the medical crew was delighted to have something to do.
When the spirits are low, when the day
appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth
having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without
thought on anything but the ride you are taking. ~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Author of Sherlock Holmes
Back on the road and the rest of the ride was wonderful. I hit a little “wall” at mile 40, just
feeling like I could easily nap, but oddly, by mile 60 I was revved up and
flying. We took hills doing 15 mph at times, and flew at 32 mph downhill. We
had a police escort the entire way, so were well protected from cars. All
traffic was stopped as our entourage sped through intersections, town centers,
crossed highways, thumped over railroad tracks. I took only one spill when, to
avoid crashing into another cyclist, I couldn’t complete a sharp left turn to
cross railroad tracks at a 90 degree angle. My tire went right into the track
groove and I gracefully slid to the ground. No harm done. Doug and Tim had a
crash—together! Other riders had several crashes and there were many chains
that fell off.
By 5:30 pm, we
rode into Boston, past the famous Citgo sign, with crowds along the way
cheering us on. We swarmed together like bees as we pulled into the State House
and congratulated each other. I was so proud of Lee, who had only taken up cycling
this past spring. This goes to show what training and determination can do
(though she seems to have some natural talent). And Doug was outstanding, and
now hooked on cycling. We’re going to sign up for some classes this winter with
a pro to learn how to improve our performance.
And I’m proud of my brother Tim, his K9 partner Cairo, and his brotherhood of police officers
and firefighters (my older brother Tom Morrow is also a firefighter!): what wonderful public servants and what better way to tell them, to show them, how proud we all are: spending out day on a physically grueling ride, with such positive feelings, surrounded by some of the most honorable people you’d ever want to know.
Laurie, Doug, Lee, Tim

It’s a lot like our hemophilia community, with so many of our  brothers lost to us forever due to someone else’s negligence, there are so many
fallen, but never forgotten. I think of Barry Haarde and his remarkable Ride Across America, doing an average of 120 miles a day—a day! Think of it! For 30 straight days. It seems humanly impossible, until you realize that when you have a passion, a cause, an injustice to fix, and some training and a goal,  almost nothing is impossible.
Ever bike? Now that’s something that makes life worth living!…Oh, to just grip your handlebars and lay down to it, and go ripping and tearing through streets and road, over railroad tracks and bridges, threading crowds, avoiding collisions, at twenty miles or more an hour, and wondering all the time when you’re going to smash up. Well, now, that’s something! And then go home again after three hours of it…and then to think that tomorrow I can do it all over again! ~ Jack London, Author

Hemophilia as Reason Not to Do Forcible Blood Draw by Police

This is a new one for me: a lawyer in Massachusetts references hemophilia as a reason not to do forcible blood draws on suspects arrested for drunk driving.

In a May 17, 2010 article, Stephen Neyman writes that there’s a “disturbing trend of allowing police to forcefully draw blood from drivers suspected of being drunk.” He doesn’t want us in the Bay State to go the way of Missouri, which allows police to draw blood without a warrant.

He points out that legislators and law enforcement personnel feel that fear of a needlestick will make people think twice before getting drunk and then driving. He quotes Kane County (Ill.) State’s Attorney John Barsanti: “People will not drink and drive if they think they’ll have a needle stuck in their arm.” Well, they know they may wrap around a telephone pole too but it doesn’t stop them from drinking and driving! Many drunk drivers refuse the breathalyzer, making it harder to convict them. “So it’s understandable that the state would see forcibly taking such evidence as a good solution to increasing their drunk driving conviction rate,” Neyman writes.

But Neyman is not sure forced blood drawing is the answer: doesn’t it interfere with the Fourth Amendment? (And what is that anyway?)

Neyman rightly points out that police officers are not trained or necessarily skilled in blood drawing. Here’s where he uses hemophilia: “There could also be harm to suspects who, for example, have severe hemophilia and cannot stop bleeding once their vein is punctured. A medical professional would know how to handle a situation involving this kind of special medical need, but a police officer with minimal training might not. So the practice of forcible blood draws could put suspects at unreasonable risk of harm.”

I am not sure how many people with hemophilia get arrested for drunk driving each year, but it can’t be many. And I don’t think there’s a problem with needlesticks. Applied pressure usually stops the bleed. But yet, a rough officer or unskilled one could tear up a vein. I just think don’t think forced blood draws would really matter or deter anyone who drinks and drives. Not from fear of the needle; when they are drunk, they won’t feel it anyway.

But thanks for thinking of hemophilia, Mr. Neyman!

See http://www.massachusettsduilawyerblog.com/refusing-the-breathalyzer/, “Forcible Roadside Blood Draws in Drunk Driving Traffic Stops on the Rise Nationally”

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