1/4/2002

Thank you your honor for allowing me to speak.

It's been over a year-and-a-half since the night of April 24th
2000. At the time, my wife was 4 months pregnant with our first
child. We'd just bought a home in Campbell, and were scheduled to
complete the transfer of funds, close escrow and begin moving in by
the 5th of May. My mother, who was filing for divorce, was to move
into our other home, and the Sunday before, I'd started replacing the
fence around the house she would be moving into. Since I used my
bicycle as my primary mode of transportation, my wife and I owned only
one car. I've been commuting to work by bicycle for 15 years.

On the evening of the 24th of April, I was cycling home from work
along the route I'd been taking every day for the previous two years.

The most vivid memory I have is the sensation of flying through the
air, spinning, of hitting the ground and being unable to stop
myself. Just kept on sliding and turning. When I finally came to rest,
my only desperate thought was "Get out of the traffic lane!" I dragged
myself into the bushes on the curb and did a quick assessment. I was
having a very hard time breathing. My breaths were coming in sharp,
quick, moaning gasps. My left foot was hanging at a strange angle. My
shin bone poked through the skin. I planned to just lie there; it felt
pretty good to just lie there. Within about 3 minutes a car had
stopped and the occupant asked me if I was OK.  "No!" I
answered. "Hang in there!" he said and called 911. Two other cyclists
stopped. I looked back. My bicycle was lying on its side right in the
middle of the rightmost traffic lane, about 20 ft from me. An orange
turn-signal lens, probably from the car that hit me, was lying right
next to my bike.

The next three hours were a blur of disconnected events. I kept
asking, first the paramedics and later the ER members, that someone
call my wife and she did eventually arrive at around 11:00. I remember
lying on an ER table, a surgeon sewing up the wound on my right thigh,
and his associate saying that the frayed edges need to be trimmed. I
was thankful that shock provided an anesthetic effect. "How big is
it?"  I asked. "About an inch deep." he replied.

After six hours in surgery, I woke at around six in the morning to
find my lower left leg encased in a bizarre metal scaffolding, an
external-fixator, consisting of two rings separated by about six
inches and an additional steel structure extending down to me ankle. A
pair of steel wires, attached to the closest ring, passed through my
leg just below the knee and four steel pins, screwed into the bone of
my lower leg, protruded from the cylinder plane formed by the two
rings. This scaffolding, piercing my flesh with metal, would be with
me for three months.

My injuries consisted of a primary compound fracture of the left tibia
just above the ankle, a secondary fracture of the tibia just below the
knee, a fracture of the left fibula, three pelvic fractures, several
broken ribs and numerous cuts and abrasions.

The pain started much later. Any attempt to move my pelvis resulted in
unbearable agony. It felt as if the bones of my pelvis were being torn
apart. Orderlies trying to move me to get X-rayed, and physical
therapists trying to get me to stand up were met with the same
results; the pain I felt showed in my gray complexion and fainting
expression. Every time I tried to stand up, I would almost faint from
the pain. The doctors tried to send me home sooner, but I couldn't
stand up.

On the seventh day of my hospital stay, I forced myself to stand up
and with the assistance of a walker I walked across the room and sat
down in a chair by the window. It took me 5 minutes to cross the room,
but I was determined to go home. Two days later I was sent home.

For the next two weeks I stayed at home, wheel-chair bound and in
terrible pain. After 3 weeks I began going to work again, being
transported to and from work by generous friends and my wife. I could
get around slowly using a walker, but performing simple tasks like
showering was still a painful chore. Sleeping was strained and
uncomfortable as I couldn't roll over and sleeping on my left side, my
usual sleeping position, was impossible. The metal piercing my skin
was a constant source of irritation and discomfort. The skin around
the holes would periodically get infected.

During this time friends made special efforts to assist and support
me. The fence I had started was finished by a good friend. My real
estate agent visited me in the hospital and personally arranged for
the transfer of funds to close escrow on our house.

After 3 months I was able to put my full weight on my left leg and by
the end of July the metal scaffolding was removed and I was able to
begin walking with the aid of a removable fiberglass brace. Though I
could now resume exercising, my doctor warned me that my bones
wouldn't be fully healed and back to their full strength for another 9
months and hence getting back to my normally active live would have to
wait.

I effectively lost a year of my life, and lost a full summer of
cycling, swimming and backpacking.

Traditional faith-based morality calls for an "eye-for-an-eye"
compensation for bodily injury, material loss, or
pain-and-suffering. Contrary to popular belief, this doesn't mean a
literal gouging out of the eye of the perpetrator, but rather requires
monetary compensation from the perpetrator. For my physical losses, I
have been adequately compensated by Mr. Hansen's insurance
provider. However, traditional morality also requires a perpetrator to
take responsibility for his actions, in particular when his actions
result in property damage, physical injury or emotional loss. For a
year-and-a-half, Mr. Hansen refused to take responsibility for his
actions. Not only did he not stop his vehicle and provide assistance
when his vehicle hit me, leaving me potentially fatally injured by the
side of the road, but for a year-and-a-half he refused to accept
responsibility for directly causing me pain and suffering, for almost
causing my wife to become a widow and my son to grow up without a
father. This refusal to accept responsibility for his actions makes
Mr. Hansen guilty of a moral crime, one which cannot be compensated
for by monetary means.

I ask the court to sentence Mr. Hansen to a jail term no shorter than
one year, the same length of time I lost from my life. Additionally,
his failure to stop and provide assistance when his driving behavior
resulted in grave bodily injury is grounds for his losing his driving
privilege; I ask that the court permanently revoke Mr. Hansen's
driver's license.

Thank you.