When Can Cyclists Safely Pass a Road Closed Sign?

by Stan Purdum

Here’s something to file under “stray questions about cycling”: When confronted by an unexpected road closure sign, which you choose to ignore, and proceed, hoping that a bike will be able to get through where motor vehicles cannot, what percentage of the time do you succeed?

Recent unexpected road closures in a mostly rural county where I ride with friends almost every Thursday caused me to ponder this question. Our weekly destination is a donut shop situated well off the beaten track. There are numerous routes we can choose from to get there, but lately we’ve avoided some of them because they have been newly resurfaced with chip-and-seal pavement, and we didn’t want to get our bikes splattered with tar. But on the alternative routes, we’ve also encountered some roads posted with signs saying “Road Closed.” Invariably, we took a chance and continued anyway. And each time we got through.

The first time, the actual closure was where a county road crew was replacing a drain pipe that channeled rainwater under the road. One worker was in a backhoe and had just completed digging a three-foot wide trench that crossed from one side of the road to the other. Another worker was standing beside the machine. We stopped a few feet short of this activity and waited until the man on the road noticed us. He soon told the man in the backhoe to pause the digging, and waved us to walk our bikes through on the edge of the road where he was standing. We did so, and then we had a friendly chat with the two guys, who were interested in — and impressed by — the distance we had pedaled to get to that point.

Later that morning, on our ride back, we used the same road. The two workers had made good progress on their project, and now had the pipe installed and were shoveling gravel on top. This time when we appeared, one man instructed us to pass our bikes over the trench to him, and then step over a spot with loose gravel. Both men willingly facilitated our passage.

But over my years of cycling, I have occasionally been stymied by closures where either workers or police absolutely forbid passage or where the physical circumstances — such as a missing bridge — made continuing on that route impossible.

I haven’t kept any kind of tally, but my overall recall is that I’ve gotten through more often than not, though in at least a few of the successful passages, I took some chances that in hindsight, bordered on foolhardy. In one case, while riding a century route — and thus not wanting to turn back and add more mileage to my day — I came to a creek on a lonely back road where the bridge structure was in place, but the deck had been removed, apparently for replacement. There were no workers present, but they had left a series of planks from one crossbeam to the next, together making a narrow walkway across the chasm, which was about six feet deep. Walking across unencumbered would not have been a problem, but to do so with my bike was another issue. I did it by pushing the bike ahead of me, stretching across the length of the bike to steer it. I made it without mishap, but I can’t say I used good judgment. Had I fallen, with no one else around to render aid, I could have been in big trouble.

But back to the question “When cyclists proceed on a closed road what percentage of the time do they succeed in getting through?” The answer, as best I’ve been able to learn, is that nobody knows.

I never use AI to write my articles, but when seeking obscure information, it does sometimes deliver the goods (and I read the linked articles to verify that AI has correctly summarized them). So I asked Google’s Copilot, “When cyclists proceed on a closed road, what percentage of the time do they succeed in getting through?” Here, in abbreviated form, is what Copilot said:

There is no official scientific percentage or statistical study that tracks how often cyclists successfully pass through closed roads. Because bypassing a “Road Closed” sign usually constitutes a minor traffic violation or trespassing, official transportation departments do not log success rates. However, looking at the practical realities of infrastructure, construction and cyclist behavior provides a clear picture of why a specific percentage doesn’t exist.

A road can be closed to vehicular traffic but completely clear for a bicycle (e.g., closed for resurfacing or gas-line repairs). Other times, a road is literally missing due to a washed-out bridge, making success physically impossible. Anecdotal data from cycling communities shows that success often depends on who or what is guarding the closure. Cyclists are usually turned back by active construction crews, heavy machinery operation or physical barriers like deep trenches and wet concrete.

I note that Copilot stated that bypassing “Road Closed” signs is a minor traffic violation. Most of the time, however, the risk of enforcement is quite low, similar to that of riding-on-sidewalk offenses. And sometimes, the risk is more from structural hazards at the closure site than from law enforcement officers.

While Copilot was unable to provide any percentages, it did provide descriptions of scenarios where cyclists are likely to succeed in getting through:

“Road Closed to Thru Traffic” / “Local Traffic Only”: Cyclists succeed nearly 100% of the time. These signs mean the road is physically passable but closed to heavy vehicle transit. A bicycle easily bypasses the localized obstruction or uses the shoulder.

Bridge Closures (Non-Structural): If a bridge is closed to vehicles due to weight limits or light maintenance, a cyclist can almost always get through.

Road Work / Resurfacing: In standard construction zones, a cyclist can usually dismount and walk their bike along the unpaved shoulder or sidewalk to get past the workers and heavy machinery.

Copilot also provided descriptions of scenarios where cyclists are unlikely to succeed in getting through:

Total Washouts / Landslides: Success rates drop to 0% if the physical road surface is completely gone or blocked by tons of debris, leaving no ledge or path wide enough even for a pedestrian.

Active Bridge Demolition or Deck Replacement: If the actual spans of a bridge are missing, crossing is physically impossible.

Guarded Sites / Active Law Enforcement: If a road is closed due to an active crime scene, a severe accident investigation, or high-security events, police or flaggers will turn cyclists around 100% of the time. (I once had to turn around because of a bad accident ahead where a helicopter was on the road loading an injured person.)

Culvert Replacements: These often involve digging a massive, deep trench straight across the entire roadway from ditch to ditch. Unless a cyclist is willing and physically able to climb down into a steep, muddy pit and back up the other side with their bike, they will be blocked. (I actually once did a steep-slide-down-with-bike-cross-mudpit-and-climb-up-the-other-side-hauling-bike maneuver. Not one of my most defensible decisions, but I succeeded.)

While completing my ride across America on Adventure Cycling’s Trans-America route, I had one detour I couldn’t get through. For this leg, I was on a tandem, with my then 15-year-old daughter Becky as my stoker. But not getting through turned out to be serendipitous. (To understand that, it will help you to know that I am a United Methodist minister — retired now, but still in active ministry then.) Here’s how I narrated the incident in my book about that journey, Roll Around Heaven All Day:

We ate supper in Palmyra, [Virginia,] population 200. With the bike-repair delay, we’d covered only 25 miles; we planned to log another 15 before sunset, but as we followed the TransAmerica Trail out of town, we were greeted by a sign announcing a detour ahead. Viewing the indicated alternate route on my map, I saw that the detour would take us at least 10 miles out of our way. It would be nearly dark before we rejoined the route, and we would still have miles to go to find accommodations for the night. “I’ll ask about the road ahead at a house,” I told Becky. “Sometimes bikes can get through a construction area where cars can’t pass.” I selected a house at random and headed for the door.

“No,” said the man who answered my knock, “there’s no way through. There are two bridges completely out.” And he knew of no alternative to the marked detour. “I’m the local United Methodist minister,” he said. “I’ve sometimes put cyclists up at the church. You’re welcome to stay there tonight.”

I was pleasantly surprised to have stumbled onto the parsonage, and quickly identified myself as a United Methodist minister also. After consulting with Becky, we accepted his offer of housing. The pastor and I talked briefly about the connection we shared. He then directed us to the church, and drove there himself to unlock the door and show us where to unroll our sleeping bags — in a heated classroom [on that cold night].

Before leaving the building, he invited us to view the sanctuary and told a little about the friendliness of the congregation and his pleasure at being appointed to serve this church. … We had a good sleep.

By morning, I had figured out a new route to spare us the detour. The Virginia map showed a scenic highway, State Route 6, which followed the James River all the way to Richmond, and the main highway through Palmyra intersected with Route 6 a few miles from town. This route would allow us eventually to rejoin the TransAmerica Trail on the far side of Richmond. The only drawback I could see was that we would have to pedal through Richmond itself, and large cities often are not bike-friendly. Still, the new course seemed the best option. [And so it proved to be.]

So what are the chances of a United Methodist parson cyclist picking a house at random, not anywhere near a church building, and finding it to be the UM parsonage, with the pastor ready to provide housing for the night. Church people might call this providential. Others might label it coincidental or lucky or even karmic. Whatever you call it, I was glad, as the daylight was fading, that we could not get through on our planned route.

So readers, what percentage of time are you able to get through the road closures you encounter?

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Stan Purdum has ridden several long-distance bike trips, including an across-America ride recounted in his book Roll Around Heaven All Day, and a trek on U.S. 62, from Niagara Falls, New York, to El Paso, Texas, the subject of his book Playing in Traffic. Stan, a freelance writer and editor, lives in Ohio. See more at www.StanPurdum.com.