I worked for Re-Cycle last summer...briefly. Two of these ghost bikes showed up in the warehouse. They took in bikes that got dropped off to be scrapped or whatever in order to either dismantle or pick through and sell. I quit shortly after. Bad ju-ju man... I don't care if someone is giving it to you, if you find it in a road, if it ends up at the scrap yard... You don't take those...ever...for any reason...baaaaad ju-ju...

On a muggy summer afternoon in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, a dozen people are hard at work on the patio behind a local church. They're stripping old bicycles of their brakes, cables and chains, and sanding and spray-painting them white.

But behind the lighthearted chatter, there's a more somber purpose to this gathering: They're building "ghost bikes."

Painted all white and adorned with colorful notes and flowers, ghost bikes are the cycling community's equivalent of roadside shrines dotting the highway; they mark the spot where a rider was killed in traffic.

Ryan Nuckle helped found New York City's Ghost Bike Project in 2005, after three cyclists died in a single month. "When a cyclist is killed, people feel close to that story, because you know it could be you," Nuckle says. "It could be someone you know, just as easily as it could be a stranger. So people look for a way to react and memorialize what happened. "

Ryan Nuckle helped found New York City's Ghost Bike Project in 2005, after three cyclists were killed in a single month. When the group created its first ghost bike, Nuckle says they hoped they would never have to make another one.

"And then we did, just within the span of a few weeks," Nuckle says. "Here we are, seven years later. But I think everyone here sees things changing and wants to be a part of moving that forward."

If you've never seen a ghost bike before, keep a lookout. There are more than 100 on New York City's street corners, and they've popped up in dozens of cities and 26 countries around the world.

Amanda Langworthy moved to New York City 2 1/2 years ago with her best friend, Jasmine. A few months later, Jasmine was stuck and killed while riding her bike at a busy intersection in Brooklyn.

"I mean, I guess Jasmine's funeral wasn't really very helpful for me," Langworthy says. "But we went to her bike and covered it in glitter. Someone brought a stereo and played Jasmine's favorite music, and we had this little mini-ceremony when we installed it."

When a cyclist is killed, people feel close to that story, because you know it could be you. It could be someone you know, just as easily as it could be a stranger.
- Ryan Nuckle, co-founder, NYC Ghost Bike Project
Now, Langworthy is building a ghost bike for someone she's never met, but her thoughts still linger on her friend.

By late afternoon, eight bikes have been transformed, representing eight people who have died on New York's city streets.

Sully Ross and Matt Shock head out to install one, making their way through the rain from the subway stop toward the crash site on the far edge of Brooklyn.

"My understanding is that it actually took place sort of towards the middle of the road, next to that median," Ross says, pointing toward a five-way intersection sandwiched in between two cemeteries.

"The cyclist was sort of thrown off the bike, and ended up in the road, and a car hit the cyclist, and drove off," Ross says.

Ross chains the ghost bike to a stop sign, then bolts a simple plaque above it that reads, "Cyclist killed here. Rest in peace." He says he's set up ghost bikes about 20 times.

"If it's upsetting to do this, it would be so much more upsetting to not do this," Ross says. "I've witnessed crashes taking place, and I can't do anything to bring that person back. But this is a thing I can do to honor the memory of that person. So yeah, it feels like not enough, but I'd rather do this than do nothing.

Sully and Matt weave yellow and orange carnations and daisies through the bike's bare white spokes, then turn and head back toward the train.

So, two years ago at the age of 86, my grandpa got on his bike to go the library to renew some books. He skidded on a patch of gravel and fell around the corner from his house, and died in the hospital the next day.
This past weekend, when I was in town to visit the parts of my extended family that live in Minneapolis, I made and locked up a ghost bike at the corner of his accident (28 west and W Lake of the Isles Parkway). I left a phone message with the Lake of the Isles Park Board, and emailed the manager, Amy Olson, explaining what the memorial was and why it was there. I haven't heard back from anyone.
That was Tuesday morning. Now, on Thursday, at 10:00, I just got off the phone with my widowed grandmother, Libby, who just called to tell me she drove by the spot and the ghost bike memorial had been taken down. I'm not sure if it was stolen or cut down by the city, but my hunch is that it was the city. Is there any way that you folks know of to make a formal complaint, or to officially register this ghost bike with the city? I've seen some others around that have been there for a while without being taken.

It's so sad that one can leave a bike locked up to a rack or sign for a year without anything happening to it, but the moment someone wants to memorialize a dead family member or friend that we come and.rip down the memorial. I wonder where that policy is actually listed. Maybe that's a good topic for an article *looks over to Frenchy*

How would you describe the experience of riding or driving by a ghost bike memorial? What thoughts and feelings come to mind?