The Deathwalk of Silver Spring

Erin Gilbert

Driving in D.C. is an adventurous and risky undertaking, even for the wild at heart and nimble at the wheel.   During a recent rush hour, I witnessed two automobile accidents and narrowly avoided one myself within a three-block span.   Another memorable day, I observed the collision of a bicyclist and a car at a busy intersection.   Eerily similar to scenes from the Griswold's European vacation, the bicyclist returned to his rickety ride and continued onward with a friendly wave.   Spicing up the mechanical mix present on the roadway, restless citizens pop unexpectedly from sidewalks onto roads, calling to mind the Atari game Frogger.  

Despite these challenges, my most frightening moments always occur when I encounter a crosswalk near my home in Silver Spring.   I have dubbed it the Deathwalk, in honor of its frightful nature, connected both to its geography and its location.   Located on East-West Highway slightly above the intersection of this road with Colesville Road, it links Blair Shopping Plaza to a walkway leading to the Silver Spring metro stop.   It covers four busy lanes of traffic and lies on a slight hill above a particularly lengthy and irksome traffic light.   Drivers reach mach speeds coming down the hill in attempts to barrel through this light, only to discover pedestrians crossing the road without the aid of any timed traffic lights.  

The Deathwalk stops pedestrians in their tracks, causing them to gaze glassily across the road, visions of their lives and loved ones flickering spasmodically through their brains.   As I have journeyed this perilous trail, I am familiar with the sudden stab of vulnerability that shoots through the soul upon the first step onto the pavement.   I am well-acquainted with the stony resolve required to tilt the chin up imperiously and head away from the curb, unapologetically halting towering SUVs and 18-wheelers.   I also have been the frustrated driver, shaking my head as I attempt to decipher the indecisive body language of walkers deciding when to take the plunge.   From either vantage point, the Deathwalk is a chilling proposition.

During recent trips to Wheaton, I noticed an enormous construction project at the entrance and exit ramps of the Beltway at Georgia Avenue and Forest Glen Road.   Begun many months ago, it has required such widespread destruction and enormity of equipment that I attributed this project to the public's insatiable desire for more condominiums--or perhaps the addition of new hairpin turns on this already curvy section of the Beltway.  

Imagine my surprise when the monstrosity emerged from the dust clouds as a state-of-the-art pedestrian bridge.   A Disney-like structure, replete with pretty-colored stones and sleek railings, it spans great lengths over the highway ramps, providing pedestrians with safe and stylish crossings, but also with what promises to be stunning views of the nearby shopping district.   I am experiencing a compulsive and persistent desire to walk on it immediately after its opening, despite lacking a reason to cross this particular portion of the Beltway.  

While more majestic than the structure I had envisaged in Silver Spring, this walkway stands in direct contrast to the Deathwalk.   It represents an investment in pedestrian and automotive safety sorely lacking at this fateful intersection near my home.   Walking to or from the metro should not entail risking life or limb, nor should drivers find themselves so unexpectedly confronted with pedestrians.   I find myself hoping that the benevolent forces that blessed Wheaton with this pedestrian treat will in time turn their thoughtful gazes upon the Deathwalk.

Erin Gilbert is mental health counselor who spends her time dodging traffic on the crosswalks of Silver Spring.   She can be contacted at gilberel@hotmail.com

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