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Ghostly roadside remembrances

May 8, 2014

Ghost bikes, like this one in Pacific Palisades, often draw tributes. Photo/Ghost Bikes L.A.

The roadside works of art are ethereal, almost glowing, alive with flowers or flickering candles. “Ghost bikes,” as they’re called, gently command attention even on the fast-moving streets of Los Angeles.

But the white bikes’ presence goes beyond artistic provocation. They also speak to a life-and-death reality—the fact that even as bicycling in L.A. grows in popularity, too many bicyclists are being hurt or killed on our streets.

Danny Gamboa keeps a running spreadsheet of every Southern California cycling fatality. So far in 2014, 37 names have joined his list, leading to installation of white “ghost bikes” from Alameda Street to Sunset Boulevard, from Huntington Beach to Twentynine Palms.

“You strip a bike, you paint it, you go to the place where this tragedy happened and you’re basically trying to make the world a better place,” says Gamboa, a 40-year-old Long Beach filmmaker and artist who chronicled the Ghost Bike phenomenon in a documentary motion picture he made last year with his partner, Kat Jarvis. He is part of the story himself, working with a loose coalition of about a dozen volunteers who mobilize after cycling fatalities to paint and install bikes in honor of fallen friends, family members or even strangers.

“You’re trying to help the community heal and come together,” he says. “They write on the bike, ‘I don’t know you but I’m sorry for your loss.’ People bring flowers and candles and pictures. It’s a really touching tribute, and stuff like that is what keeps us going.”

This year, as Bike Week dawns in Los Angeles, Gamboa and his group are being recognized for what they do.

Volunteers spray bicycles white before placing them as memorials. Photo/Ghost Bikes L.A.

Ghost Bikes L.A. will receive a “Golden Spoke” award on Tuesday, May 13, as part of the 11^th annual “Blessing of the Bicycles” event at Good Samaritan Hospital. The honor—bestowed as part of a cavalcade of bike events including Bike to Work Day and a Bike Night at Union Station—strikes a poignant note among the more festive observances.

“It’s very moving when you drive around and you see a white bike. It’s kind of eerie,” says Katrina Bada, manager of marketing and public relations at Good Samaritan. “It’s a way for us to show our support of the bicycle community and a memory of those who perished.”

Gamboa’s fellow volunteers come from all over: the San Fernando Valley and other parts of L.A., Ventura and Orange counties, the Inland Empire. “We like to do it as a group. It’s something we do for safety reasons and also because it’s such a somber thing that we make it a point to afterwards go out to have a bite to eat and have a discussion… on what happened, things that can be done so that it doesn’t happen again.”

The ghost bike phenomenon is believed to have originated in St. Louis, Missouri, about a decade ago, and has since spread worldwide. Gamboa, an avid cyclist, knew that people had been putting up cycling memorials around Southern California for years. But he hadn’t gotten involved personally until 2011, when he went along with friends as they installed a ghost bike to honor triathlete Amine Britel, who’d died bicycling in Newport Beach.

“He was hit from behind and killed, and from that very first night, it just got ahold of me,” Gamboa says. “I was like, this is really powerful, it’s really important.”

In addition to his hands-on efforts installing the memorials, Gamboa also curates art shows that include images of ghost bikes, like the “Bike Love” pop-up exhibition now on display at the Museum of Ventura County. Despite the somber reason for the work, Gamboa says it is all ultimately uplifting.

“It’s like a calling,” he says. “You’re tired, you just had a full day of work, and then something happens. You basically just pull yourself up by your little bootstraps and you go out there in the middle of the night, somewhere you’ve never been, tributing someone that you don’t know, and it doesn’t matter…We’re all equal, we’re all on bikes, and they’re one of us.”