Fallen Brothers: Cyclists return to riding after tragic accidents

By Kevin Sieff

The Brownsville Herald

When the car struck Eric Garcia, his body was launched from his bicycle like a lifeless projectile. Jose Antonio Garcia, his father and cycling partner, watched Eric fly through the air before landing on asphalt.

He was killed on impact - on a stretch of Expressway 77/83 that cyclists have long feared.

It had happened again. Another car accident. Another dead cyclist.

Five months earlier, one Brownsville man was killed and several more were injured when a drunk driver plowed into a group of cyclists in a Matamoros bike race. That accident devastated the local cycling community, leaving survivors with dislocated hips and serious concussions.

"It was terrible," Ronnie Longoria said. "Something like that, it really shakes you up."

When Garcia, 31, was killed on Nov. 15, the city's two cycling clubs, the River Rockets and the Velociraptors were still mourning the death of Alejandro Alvarez, 37, who was killed in the Matamoros crash.

A photo of that accident captured cyclists mid-flight - an arc of bodies, bicycles and helmets floating above a 1989 Lincoln Grand Marquis. Alvarez is frozen ten feet above the ground, his body parallel to the road.

The image was printed in newspapers and magazines around the world. It was exchanged between cycling groups with the subject line "This will give you nightmares."

For Miguel Ortiz, the nightmares are real. He plays the race over in his head. First he's cycling 25 mph with the race's lead pack. Then the Grand Marquis comes out of nowhere, charging 40 mph straight at him.

He's tossed in the air like a rag doll. When he lands, it's on the car's windshield, on pieces of glass and aluminum. "My helmet was full of blood," he said.

"The first time I got back on the bike, I could feel my heart beating quickly," Ortiz said. Other victims of the accident felt the same way. They had to let wounds heal and bones fuse. Then they had to get over their fears of another crash.

Garcia's accident came just as the victims were rehabilitating, just as they were returning to group rides.

On many of those training runs, cyclists are funneled onto Highway 77/83 for about a half-mile near Merryman Road. It's a precarious stretch, cyclists say, but the only way to avoid long-term construction on the frontage road.

That's where a driver veered across a solid yellow line, striking Eric Garcia on a late evening ride.

"We always said this was a dangerous area," said River Rockets President Cesar Oliva. "And finally something happened."

Garcia was a father, a U.S. Army veteran and, above all, a committed cyclist. When Jose Antonio Garcia began to plan a memorial for Eric, he knew it would involve bikes.

And so it was that 30 cyclists rode 50 miles on Dec. 13 from Brownsville to the San Juan Basilica. Just after noon, the church's front pews were filled with men in lyrca and spandex.

They bowed their heads. They cried. They listened to the priest pronounce two names, "fallen brothers of the road," as one local cyclist called them: Alejandro Alvarez. Eric Garcia.

Aside from their tragic ends, the two accidents have little in common. One in Mexico, the other in Texas. One during an anticipated road race, the other during a quiet father-son ride.

But to Brownsville cyclists, both raise questions about bike safety in the area.

"People need to know - when you see a cyclist on the road, they have a right to be there," Oliva said. "All we're asking for is protection."

But the reality, some say, is that the Valley remains unfriendly to road cyclists. Even on the memorial ride for Garcia and Alvarez, passing cars came dangerously close to the group.

"Even today, there were people who didn't respect our presence here," Jose Antonio Garcia said after arriving in San Juan.

Despite the few scares, the cyclists continued undeterred, slicing through 25-mph winds on their long-distance procession. After a four-hour ride, they gathered on the steps of the basilica. They embraced. They threw their arms around Garcia.

On the bodies of the mourners were signs of their own close calls: stitches, scars, a faded gash.

There is perhaps no clearer sign of an athlete's devotion to his sport than his willingness to throw bruised limbs over an aluminum bike frame. To push down on two pedals, and glide along the narrow shoulder of a busy South Texas road.

ksieff@brownsvilleherald.com