Ironman down

Part One

If it weren't for the police reports, Jeff Wicks wouldn't know that the white Mazda sedan with Iowa plates was the reason he went from the seat of his bike to a hospital gurney.

If not for a smartphone app that tracked the Fort Collins cyclist's every turn, Wicks wouldn't know that he was going 26 mph seconds before launching into the car's rear window and then crumpling to the asphalt broken and bloodied in a Loveland intersection.

The then 40-year-old was in the best shape of his life on June 14, 2014, as he entered the homestretch of training for the Boulder Ironman.

Then, in an instant, the Ironman was down. And the driver was gone.

Last year in Larimer County, a vehicle and bicycle collided on average once every two days.

Only a handful of the approximately 180 vehicle-versus-bike crashes in Fort Collins and Loveland resulted in serious injury.

But nearly one in 10 Northern Colorado drivers who hit a cyclist in 2014 fled the scene, data show.

Rarely are the fleeing motorists caught.

If not for a vigilant witness, then 72-year-old Peggy Brown might not have been caught, either.

No time to react

Wicks left home about 9 a.m. that Saturday. The OtterBox engineer planned to zip through Loveland, head to Boulder, loop around a reservoir and cruise on some back roads. He would be home in time for a late lunch with his wife and kids.

Wicks headed south on Shields Street from his southwest Fort Collins home. Six months into training for the Aug. 3 Boulder Ironman, the four-hour training ride was just another leg in his preparation for the race's 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike ride and 26.2-mile run.

Wicks saw the green light as he neared the intersection of North Taft Avenue and 29th Street in Loveland. He continued south in the bike lane — like he'd done at hundreds of intersections.

The northbound white Mazda with Iowa plates turned in front of him. There was no time to react.

The car's door buckled under the force of Wicks' body. His face smashed through the rear window as he lifted his right hand and tried to brace for the impact. The force crushed the door and shattered his forearm before he crumpled to the asphalt.

And away went the white Mazda sedan with Iowa plates.

Witnesses frantically called the crash into emergency dispatchers. As they struggled with how to help, the white Mazda sedan with Iowa plates — freshly dented by Wicks' body — returned but rolled by. Its driver looked at the scene before speeding away — for a second time.

A man had stopped to render aid, and when he saw the car pull away, he gave chase. For six minutes, he stayed on the line with police, narrating every move the white Mazda sedan with Iowa plates made.

"She's driving very fast. She's coming up on Eisenhower.

"She's stopped at the stoplight.

"She knows that I'm following her."

Moments later, about 3 miles southeast from where Wicks was being loaded into an ambulance, Brown was arrested for fleeing the scene of a crash.

She told officers she couldn't find a place to park. She told police she was scared and just wanted to go home.

It was the day before Father's Day.

'It would be better if you didn't bring the kids'

Nine miles to the north, Kerry Wicks was still in her pajamas while 9-year-old Bryce and 6-year-old Charlotte played. Summer was in full force, and dad would be back soon. It was a typical Saturday of training followed by playtime.

And then came the call.

"They said, 'It would be better if you don't bring your kids,' Kerry said. "That's what I remember. That's the big standout. At that point I knew this was devastating. Something major had happened."

As she walked into McKee Medical Center in Loveland and introduced herself, the nurses' faces grew somber when they realized this was the wife of the bike crash victim with life-threatening injuries.

They led her to a room where a Loveland police officer stood guard, Jeff's body lying feet away. He was alone in sheets that had turned blood red while doctors rushed by. Blood dripped on the floor.

Kerry thought her husband might be dead.

"It looked like someone stuck a firecracker under his front lip and just let it go,'' she said. "It was like a blown-up face."

Jeff started to moan.

She could see he was breathing.

A team of hospital staffers reappeared and began talking about a brain bleed and the need to rush Jeff to Medical Center of the Rockies and a better-equipped trauma center a few miles away.

So began nearly two weeks living next to Jeff's hospital bed. Jeff and Kerry heard the injury reports — a list that got longer each day. Beyond the cracked face and broken nose, Jeff suffered a pair of gouges in his right shoulder that dug to the bone, resulting in nerve damage.

Images of his wrist show a puzzle of bone fragments. Chunks of flesh were missing here and there.

And while the bleeding on Jeff's brain had stopped, it appeared a moderate brain injury would have long-lasting and unknown effects on his speech and memory.

Only one of them would remember those conversations — and it wasn't the OtterBox mechanical engineer.

The next time Charlotte and Bryce saw their dad was the day after Father's Day.

"Oh dad," Kerry remembers Bryce saying. "You look —" there was a long pause as he inched his way hesitantly toward the bed, "— different." Charlotte stepped in the room and was silent. Neither knew what to do when their father extended his arms for a hug.

To Charlotte and Bryce, dad was a jungle gym before the crash. They climbed on his shoulders and pleaded him to pick them up or spin them like a merry-go-round. Charlotte's nickname is Monkey. It's fitting.

But now their dad was alien to them. There was no learning how to throw a football. There was no climbing on his shoulders. Hugs were nearly impossible for weeks, and family trips were off unless they were to the doctor's office, dentist, physical therapist or courtroom 3A of the Larimer County Justice Center.

Jeff started competing in triathlons to honor his brother who lost his battle to cancer seven years ago. In the hospital, he had been transformed from an endurance athlete to a man unable to feed himself, open his eyes or hug his wife and kids.

While he can't remember anything from the crash, Jeff and his family will be reminded of that day for the rest of their lives.

He stumbles on words, and it's not yet known what will happen to his problem-solving mind.

"Not knowing whether I'd be able to go back and do that — whether that fog would lift or I'd always be in that fog, I think that was … that was the hardest part," he said.

On Jan. 30, Brown was sentenced to serve four years of supervised probation, 320 hours of community service and was issued a fine for her involvement in the crash. The now 73-year-old woman with a previously clean record is a convicted hit-and-run felon.

While Jeff didn't want Brown to serve jail time, he — and members of the community — have been vocal about the need for tougher penalties for drivers who flee the scene of a crash, including permanent license revocation.

"The accident is just what it is. An accident. Those things happen all the time. It's the aftermath of the accident that I think is what I'd like to see change."

Part Two

Small in stature and short on words, 73-year-old Peggy Brown clutched the podium, her attorney's hand on her shoulder as she awaited sentencing for the hit-and-run crash that severely injured Fort Collins cyclist Jeff Wicks.

The church organist who plays piano at nursing homes, knits winter caps for children and helps low-income individuals with their taxes seemed out of place in the Larimer County courtroom. Behind her sat a gallery lined with Fort Collins cyclists craving justice.

Brown's criminal record was spotless until the June 2014 day when she struck Wicks on his bike and drove away, resulting in a felony hit-and-run charge.

"I'm very much ashamed of what I did that day," Brown told the judge Jan. 30, moments before she was fined and sentenced to four years of supervised probation and community service — the specifics of which aren't yet known.

She paused between sentences, her voice wavering.

"I hope that some day … he may find it in his heart to forgive me. I am so sorry."

In the months since the crash, Brown has become withdrawn, quiet and depressed, her attorney Lee Christian said at sentencing. The "deeply religious" organist with a life of public service "was cowardly" that day in June.

"When she is out of her element, she can be very shy and guarded," her daughter Laura May said in court. "She has days when she barley functions."

Why do people crash and dash?

On average, a vehicle and bicycle in Larimer County collided about once every two days in 2014. Of those approximately 140 crashes in Fort Collins and 40 in Loveland, only a handful resulted in serious injury, according to police reports obtained and analyzed by the Coloradoan.

Nine percent of drivers leave the scene. Brown was among the few who fled and was later caught.

In some instances, cyclists were to blame and were cited for their actions. In most cases, drivers were at fault — crashes typically the result of an unchecked blind spot or mirror.

Last year's 140 vehicle-versus-bike crashes in Fort Collins was a marked decline from 180 recorded in 2012. Trouble spots cluster at densely populated intersections west of the Colorado State University campus and near Old Town.

It's difficult to know why drivers leave the scene of a crash. Research often points to fear or impairment from alcohol or drugs.

Then there's Brown's story.

Brown said she didn't sleep well the night before nearly killing Wicks.

Her car packed with an ice chest, tent and juice, she was driving back to her home in Iowa after spending seven days camping in Rocky Mountain National Park, police reports and court records obtained by the Coloradoan show.

Her vacation was on its final day, and she got directions to Loveland's renowned Benson Sculpture Garden before settling into the long drive home to Des Moines, Iowa.

Searching for the sculpture garden from Taft Avenue, Brown turned without seeing Wicks cycling through the green light in the bike lane.

When Wicks' skull crashed into her rear window, Brown panicked.

She kept driving before deciding to turn around. She drove back by the scene, slowing as people gathered at the intersection where Wicks' body and bike lie mangled. She turned right onto Taft Avenue, stopped a couple of streets away to inspect the damage and then continued.

A witness followed Brown and called police who arrested Brown about 3 miles from the crash scene.

She first told police she thought Wicks was already being taken care of and that she was afraid of possible confrontation. She later said she didn't have a cellphone and didn't know what to do.

Months later in one of many court appearances, Brown told the court she "didn't know" it was a felony to leave the scene of a crash. On Nov. 12, she pleaded guilty to careless driving and leaving the scene of an accident involving serious bodily injury, a Class 4 felony punishable by up to six years in prison.

An agreement with the Larimer County District Attorney's Office, partly at Wicks' request, kept Brown out of jail. If she had stopped that day in June, she'd likely have received a misdemeanor traffic citation.

Is justice being served?

Under Colorado statute, driver's license revocation is handled by the Department of Motor Vehicles within the Department of Revenue. Twelve points are added to an individual's license in cases not involving serious injury or death — adults 21 and older face license suspension if 12 points are accrued in 12 months.

License revocation is standard if someone flees the scene or doesn't render aid for a crash involving injury. The duration is usually one year.

To Wicks, temporary license revocation for Brown doesn't seem fair.

"The short inconvenience of a limited driver's license or a suspension is nothing compared to the time necessary to repair an injury," Wicks said, advocating for permanent revocation for a driver who leaves the scene of an injury accident.

Courts routinely tack on community service hours to hit-and-run drivers, sometimes instead of jail time.

It's not yet clear what Brown has planned for the 320 hours of community service she was ordered to serve, though they'll likely be served in her home state of Iowa. Brown declined multiple opportunities to comment for this story.

And there may not be any cycling-specific component to her community service. Courts can only "strongly encourage" where useful community service be applied, the judge said at sentencing.

Rarely is there follow-up on the community service portion of the sentence. That has prompted calls for meaningful reform.

Theresa O'Connor on Jan. 25, 2014, fatally injured cyclist Ernesto Wiedenbrug on the frontage road near Windsor before fleeing. She was sentenced to community service. She promised to create public service announcements to further cooperation on the road between bikes and vehicles.

A 1-minute video filmed in a conference room features her reading statements about the mistakes she made. Online comments are rife with questions about O'Connor's sincerity.

After O'Connor's sentencing last summer, the Coloradoan repeatedly asked attorneys for a copy of the public service announcement before it was delivered. It does not readily appear in Internet searches, and it's not clear if it has been published anywhere else or how many people have viewed her pleas to "stop."

Wicks knows it will be an uphill battle to spark change with driving laws. That reform must come from the Colorado Legislature.

Brown's case was a lost cause from the beginning, Wicks and wife Kerry said. They never wanted Brown to go to jail, and there was no way to undo what happened in June.

"A month after the accident, she had a replacement car," Jeff said. "I don't get a replacement shoulder. My wife doesn't get to replace the phone call not knowing if I was alive or dead. My kids don't get to replace the trauma they witnessed seeing me at the hospital. I don't get a replacement brain."

Sentencing closed the litigious part of this case. But its aftermath is clearly far from over.

Brown said she hopes Wicks will one day be able to compete in Ironman Boulder— the race he was training for when he was hit — saying she'll "be pulling for him."

Wicks fears that day may never come.

Colorado hit-and-run laws

Drivers are legally required to remain at the scene of a crash whether it involves a pedestrian, vehicle or cyclist. Parties should check for injuries, take photos, exchange contact information and call police immediately, especially if impairment is suspected.

Here's a look at common charges and associated penalties for fleeing the scene of a crash, recognizing that someone arrested for leaving the scene will often have additional sentence enhancers added to the case depending on the circumstances.

A hit-and-run crash involving:

-Property damage only is a Class 2 traffic misdemeanor with a possible penalty range of 10 to 90 days in jail and a fine of $150 to $300. Twelve points on license.

-Minor injury is a Class 1 traffic misdemeanor with a possible penalty range of 10 days to 1 year in jail and a fine of $300 to $1,000. License revoked.

-Serious bodily injury (as in Jeff Wicks' case) is a Class 4 felony with a possible penalty range of 2 to 6 years in prison — 12 years if there's aggravation — and a fine of $2,000 to $500,000. License revoked.

-Death (as in Ernesto Wiedenbrug's case) is a Class 3 felony with a possible penalty range of 4 to 12 years in prison — 24 years if there's aggravation — and a fine of $3,000 to $750,000. License revoked.

Other penalties:

-One-year license revocation may be ordered when a driver is convicted in court of failing to stop and render aid in a crash resulting in death or injury. Reinstatement requires fees, insurance company forms and a hearing to determine restatement eligibility. A new license must be obtained by taking the eye, written and driving tests.

-DUI can also be an aggravating circumstance and result in additional jail time. License penalties are the same as standard hit-and-run punishments.

-Cyclists may also be cited if they are involved in a crash after disobeying traffic laws. Because the risk of injury to someone else is far less, those citations are usually minor.

If Peggy Brown had remained at the scene of the crash June 14, 2014, she may have have faced a careless driving citation. The misdemeanor traffic offense without injuries is punishable by no more than 90 days in jail. If injuries occur, the maximum penalty is one year of jail. Fines do not top $1,000. Since most crashes are minor injury incidents, rarely are motorists jailed.

Source: Larimer County District Attorney's Office, Colorado Department of Revenue

Part Three

The barely audible zing of a drill buzzes to life and carves deep into Jeff Wicks' upper gum.

It's late January and Dr. Mark Orr and his colleagues have been working on Wicks' mouth since June, when he was hit while riding his bike in Loveland by a white Mazda with Iowa plates that sped away from the crash.

After Wicks heals, the dental implant will set the place for a new tooth to fill a void that is among the last outwardly visible signs of the hit-and-run crash. Wicks is awake for the duration of the hour-long surgical procedure.

"Is this going to be uncomfortable tomorrow?" Wicks asked, half-joking.

"Yes," Orr said.

Ever the jokester, Wicks has routinely quipped about being the best whistler around without the tooth. It's not uncommon for him to stick his tongue through the hole while chasing his children Bryce, 9, and Charlotte, 6, around their Fort Collins house.

Aside from scarring, the man who was unrecognizable for weeks after the crash is beginning to look like his former self.

But looks can be deceiving.

$1 million and counting

There's talk in the tiny, tan-walled doctor's office of more surgeries to repair the nerves in Wicks' shoulder. But that could come at the expense of recovery his wrist and arm, which are still on the mend after being pulverized in the crash.

The weakness in his body is a foreign concept to Wicks, a triathlete who was training for the Boulder Ironman when he was hit.

Eight months after the crash and with about $1 million in medical bills covering everything from reconstructive surgeries to weekly physical therapy sessions, Wicks struggles to position his right arm behind his back or lift it above his shoulder.

That doesn't bode well for the swimmer.

He cringes when Satoru Chamberlain, an orthopedic surgeon and hand specialist, asks him to extend his arms out and turn his hands palms up. There's no way Wicks could reliably squeeze a handlebar brake lever.

"He's not going to be as he was before," Chamberlain says.

That doesn't bode well for the cyclist.

Trips to Orthopedic Center of the Rockies in Fort Collins have become less frequent. His recovery is marked, but limitations remain. Chamberlain grimaces when Wicks says he recently played basketball, taking just one shot with his son.

There's at least another year of physical therapy sessions in Wicks' future, and those don't begin to address the nagging aches and pains in his knees that started after the crash.

That doesn't bode well for the runner.

'No more matches'

After years of burning himself out with grueling training sessions and long hours as an OtterBox engineer, Wicks admitted he was overdoing it.

He would make sure to be home for dinner each night and timed work commitments around his kids' bedtimes. But his limitations after the accident have opened his eyes to what he was missing.

"At the end of the day, I had no more matches," he said.

To his kids, he's still an "Irondad" able to hoist Charlotte upside-down while boxing back Bryce. Even when he winces in pain and remembers he's not invincible, it's a cautionary word from his watchful wife that calms the house, if just for a minute.

Wicks may have been the one left on the side of the road in June, but his wife, Kerry, and kids have also suffered since the crash.

Kerry said. "My kids not being able to have their dad throw a ball … that affects me. Not being able to cuddle with my husband affects me. Knowing he's not feeling whole, knowing he's just not feeling like himself."

Jeff's hours of training runs along the lake shore and through Pineridge Natural Area in west Fort Collins have been replaced by minutes at the gym on an elliptical, staring ahead at a wall of TVs surrounded by New Year's resolutionists.

Twenty-minute sets on the hand bike have replaced five-hour rides across the Front Range and into the mountains.

Jeff walks to a bench near a group of tank-top-clad bodybuilders congregated in front of a wall of mirrors. As they load their bars with weights, jeff sits down. In his right hand is a red dumbbell of his own.

It weighs five pounds.

As he holds it for several minutes, it stretches the tendons and slowly builds strength. He admits the fundamental exercise looks a bit ridiculous in this gym full of fit people.

Progress is slow and painful, but it's necessary if he's going to get anywhere near where he once was. He may never reach the finish line but the disappointment of failure is too much to comprehend.

"I'd much rather just recover as much as I can and not really put an end goal on it," Jeff said.

'Vroom, vroom'

Back at home, Jeff snipped the tag off his new jet-black cruiser, a Christmas gift from Kerry and the kids. The color almost matches that of his triathlon bike, which is still in evidence lockup at the police station.

The similarities stop there.

The new bike has wide-grip handlebars, thick tires for stability and a single gear. The brakes are like a kid's first ride, controlled with a kick back of the feet rather than the clench of a hand.

On this mid-January day, Kerry looked on as Jeff hopped on and looped around the cul-de-sac for his first bike ride since the crash.

He looked like a kid learning to ride for the first time. He jokingly shouted, "Vroom, vroom!"

The determination was apparent as he worked his brakes, inching down a perilously steep and icy street toward Cathy Fromme Prairie Natural Area in south Fort Collins.

He was free. He could go anywhere — sort of.

Jeff may never compete in the 140.6-mile Boulder Ironman. His shoulder may never heal to the point where he can swim. Arthritis could worsen in his legs as a result of injuries, stopping him from running. A brain injury that sporadically leaves him at a loss for words could worsen.

So many unknowns remain for Jeff and his family, even after the court case is resolved and Peggy Brown, the organist and volunteer who left him for dead after hitting him with her white Mazda on that June day, returns home to Des Moines, Iowa.

But Jeff is determined to battle back to where he was that day in June, when he was on one last, long training ride, ready to tackle something many will never endure.

"The whole family has to be rallied around the idea of the Ironman for any iron person to be able to be successful in the plight," Kerry said. "It's a huge endeavor. And we all were in. We always knew daddy runs, bikes and swims. It's what he does. It's in him. It's who he is."

Jeff Wicks' injuries

- Moderate traumatic brain injury affecting speech and memory

- Bleeding on the brain

- Six-inch gouges down to the bone on right shoulder

- Severe tendon damage to right shoulder and forearm

- Shattered wrist and forearm bone structure

- Broken nose

- Severe facial trauma to upper lip and chin

- Fractured tooth, missing tooth

- Ankle and knee pain, along with aches that continue to develop, even eight months later

Part 4

By Jason Pohl

Maybe it happens while turning onto College Avenue in Old Town. A cellphone chirps and then a pile of pens falls onto the floorboard.

You look down for a split second. By the time you look up, a pedestrian or a bike appears in front of your 3,000-pound vehicle. You slam on the brakes. Hand gestures, a horn blast and a few choice words are exchanged.

You feel a boost of adrenaline. Once the road is clear, you speed away, thankful nothing happened.

But what if it did?

No matter who is at fault in the crash, would you stop? What if the person was lying in the street and nobody else saw the crash happen?

When Peggy Brown pleaded guilty in November to felony hit-and-run, I reached out to Kerry and Jeff Wicks to double check name spellings and see how Jeff was recovering five months after the crash that left him severely injured. That same week, another cyclist whose near-fatal crash I covered in July reached out to me to see if I had done any additional reporting.

About that same time, a mother whose daughter was clipped by a truck and left on the side of a road near Hughes Stadium asked if I was planning any bigger bike safety projects.

I wasn't. But it was clear I should be.

Jeff, Kerry and I met up for coffee a couple weeks later. I floated the idea of tracking Jeff's recovery and the impacts for a story that went beyond the basics of who, what and where, shifting instead to why and how.

I told Jeff I wanted to humanize what it meant to be the victim of a hit-and-run. I wanted to know about the effect it had on his wife and their two young kids, and on the the expanding circle of lives touched by tragedy, including that of witnesses and the driver who fled the scene.

The numbers are sobering: of about 180 crashes last year, one in 10 drivers who hit a cyclist drove away, according to police data from Loveland and Fort Collins.

Those who fled and were later arrested can be counted on one hand.

As someone who sits by a trio of emergency radios for eight hours a day and often at weird hours through the night, I've heard emergency crews respond to many of these crashes. Usually, they're minor — a bent wheel, a scraped knee or a scared driver. I've seen the way helmets save lives. I've seen how quickly fire crews can scrub the red off of concrete.

Those images are memorable. So is the atmosphere in a courtroom full of cyclists seeking justice.

For drivers like Brown, many wanted prison time to make an example of her choice to flee. Others, including Jeff and Kerry, wanted community action that would make a difference and stress driver accountability.

I don't pretend to know what the answer is, though a start is to stress the importance of stopping at the scene and owning a mistake. Sentences vary widely, depending on whether drivers flee or stop and render aid.

It's easy to judge, and anger is natural. But directing that anger into something more meaningful is the challenge.

After our first meeting on Dec. 3, I scribbled in my notebook: "Jeff and Kerry respect other cycling groups but also know bikes aren't always in the right."

I've never hit someone with my car, though I've come close. It's easy to do in a city like Fort Collins. I've always thought of myself as someone who would stop. It's unimaginable to leave, I told myself as I drove away from coffee that day in December.

I still believe that. Accidents happen. But it's the aftermath that makes all the difference.

Jeff said as much repeatedly over the weeks we followed him around the gym, intruded on his family life and pored through his court records and bloody photos.

There's a lengthy discussion we as a community should have about what we want to be and how we want to own our mistakes. That goes well beyond the scope of this story, but there is one thing people can do right now.

Just stop.