5 Washington cyclists survived a cougar attack, but life has been challenging since

SEATTLE – Six months after the cougar attack that left 61-year-old Keri Bergere’s jaw broken and face swollen nearly beyond recognition, the Kenmore, Washington, cyclist is still on the road to recovery.

Bergere’s friends and cycling team know her as optimistic, forward-looking and hopeful – she’s a self-described “glass-half-full” person – especially in the weeks following the February attack that took nearly an hour and the strength of five people to fend off.

The details of the struggle itself were widely reported in February: miles into a gravel trail in the Cascade foothills, a cougar lunged at a group of five cyclists, all women in their 50s or 60s, and sunk its teeth into Bergere’s jaw. The cyclists worked together to free Bergere from the cougar, hammering its head with a large rock and pulling on its legs until it released its grip. The teammates pinned the animal down with a bicycle until it was killed by a Department of Fish and Wildlife officer who responded to their distress call. In response, the community rallied. A fundraiser set up for Bergere raised more than $80,000 within a few weeks.

But less is known about the aftermath of the traumatic encounter. After being rushed to Harborview Medical Center with serious injuries, Bergere spent nine hours in surgery. She was in the hospital for five days. Couldn’t eat for months. Couldn’t feel her face. Couldn’t blink her eyes in sync.

Throughout, Bergere has struggled. It’s hard to shake the memories of the attack – the blood running down her throat, the suffocating feeling of her face being pinned down in the dirt by the cougar. Sometimes, she remembers the moment that she was ready to, as she said, “just let go.”

Bergere isn’t alone.

That day, Erica Wolf, Annie Bilotta, Tisch Schmidt-Williams and Aune Tietz – the four Recycled Cycles teammates who were riding with Bergere near Fall City – all contributed in different ways but operated together.

“It was like we were all of one mind,” Wolf recalled.

In the weeks and months following the attack, as the physical injuries have healed and the media attention has faded, each of the cyclists has separately struggled to adjust to a new normal.

Bergere and one of her teammates gravitated toward giving minute-by-minute accounts to eager reporters on local and national news outlets. A couple of them took a back seat, choosing to process what they’d lived through largely on their own. They have struggled to find a sense of normalcy, distancing themselves from the rest of the group.

In their own ways, they’ve all made their impact by telling their stories, spearheading efforts to promote wildlife safety and serving as an inspiration to the broader community – most recently as recipients of the Carnegie Medal, a global award for heroism. Even six months later, though, their mental and emotional struggle persists.

“We didn’t set out to have a group trauma on that day,” Schmidt-Williams said.

“I’ll get there, I’m just not ready yet”

After the attack, Bergere was rushed to the hospital, where she’d undergo a successful nine-hour surgery the next day.

The other four women, though, weren’t out of the woods. As they sipped on electrolyte drinks, they wrote statements for the Department of Fish and Wildlife, answered questions from the officers and handed over their bloodied and tattered clothing for the agency to temporarily keep as evidence. They – haggard survivors of a wild animal attack – even showed their passes to the land management organization where they were riding.

At last, hours after the attack, the four arrived at Schmidt-Williams’ North Bend home around 5 p.m. In shock, they ate warm bread and sipped tea.

There was the shock of the event itself. Cougars can be found throughout Washington state, but attacks are rare. A 2018 attack near Snoqualmie that killed a cyclist was the first deadly encounter in the state since 1924. There have been fewer than two dozen total attacks statewide in the past century.

Bilotta, Bergere’s cycling partner, remembers that feeling of shock. It stayed with her for two days until she and the other three women visited Bergere at Harborview; then it was replaced by an enveloping sense of adrenaline.

That rush fueled Bilotta when, throughout the next month, she dived into a media frenzy. Radio, newspaper, national television; Bilotta appeared on all of them, often at Bergere’s side. It didn’t bother Bilotta to talk about it; in fact, she believes retelling the story has helped her process the trauma.

Interview after interview has made the event feel “commonplace,” she said. Sometimes, she thinks about how it truly felt to be on the trail, lifting the rock and bringing it down on the cougar’s head with as much force as she could muster.

But as the media descended upon the attack survivors, some withdrew from the limelight. Wolf remembers needing to take time to reflect on the event and began visiting a trauma therapist. Through incremental progress, she has adjusted her outlook on life.

“I know what it feels like to be afraid to die, and I’m not afraid to die anymore,” Wolf said. “I am afraid of not living, so I’m going to live life to the fullest.”

Wolf leaned on what she loves: biking. In July, Wolf became the first of the group to complete the route where the cougar attacked them. Oh, and she completed the route in record time, dedicating it to her four friends.

Schmidt-Williams also began seeing a therapist after the attack. She, too, has continued riding as much as possible. But her road to recovery has been difficult, she said plainly: “(The attack) has completely changed my life, my relationships; everything. It’s not what I thought it would be.”

Schmidt-Williams soon took a step back from the cameras and her cycling group, believing that her voice wasn’t heard. She focused on spending time with her family, journaling and catching up on work, which she says has been more difficult to focus on since the attack.

It’s a markedly different strategy than Bilotta and Bergere, who still ride together frequently.

“I have to protect myself and my boundaries because I’m very vulnerable right now,” Schmidt-Williams said. “Everyone’s timeline is a lot different in terms of how they have to heal and what that looks like.”

Last month, Schmidt-Williams was making progress. After the terror of that February morning infiltrated her dreams for days on end, the nightmares eventually caused her to call the 988 suicide and crisis lifeline, and she worked hard to process those emotions.

After some months, she had reached the point of riding regularly and minimizing those intrusive thoughts.

In July, though, while riding on a trail in Oregon, Schmidt-Williams felt as if she were back on that trail in the Cascade foothills that fateful day. Paralyzed, she was convinced that, if she looked back, she’d again see her friend being mauled by a wild animal.

She fell over and was unable to pick herself back up.

A year from now, Schmidt-Williams knows she’ll be further down the path to recovery, but that it’ll come with some more concrete changes.

She’ll likely move to Arkansas to be closer to her daughter. Something, she said, has to change.

Bergere, too, had a setback. In April, during an initial push to get physically back on track and, eventually, on the trail, she fell while biking on paved roads near Rattlesnake Lake.

The accident left her with a concussion, from which she is still recovering.

She has big goals, like riding a cross-state race from the Olympic Peninsula to the Spokane area, a marathon that she’s already completed twice with Bilotta. While tenaciously optimistic, she’s realistic about the time and effort it’ll take, and the physical and emotional healing she requires. “I’ll get there, I’m just not ready yet,” she said.

Community aid, community recognition

The attack has been a wake-up call for the broader biking community, said Caryn Sengupta, a board member for Recycled Cycles, the Seattle-based team for which the women ride.

Riding on trails has long been an escape from the highly trafficked urban roads where cyclists have to be mindful of cars at all times: “The outdoors is a place where we go to blow off stress and to enjoy ourselves,” Sengupta said. The cougar attack “sort of put a black cloud over that.”

In response, the group came together to co-sponsor a workshop on bear and cougar safety with the Department of Fish and Wildlife. They discussed their experience with the team and demonstrated how to safely use bear spray.

And as news of the attack rippled through the Northwest biking community, the women have each used their platform to broadcast best practices for riding in the wilderness. They’ve put messages in online forums and petitioned others on the trails to carry bear spray and a knife – two tools they wish they had brought back in February. And they’ve made those changes themselves, biking in groups and riding with defense and first aid equipment. Schmidt-Williams has even considered bringing a firearm on her rides.

“I don’t think that we’re immune from it happening again just because it happened to us once,” Bilotta said.

Though the six months since the attack have taken the women in different directions, they are united by near-constant reminders of the harrowing experience. Something always happens to bring that day back into the spotlight “just when you think maybe it’s calming down,” Bilotta said.

Most recently, that was the July announcement that Bergere’s teammates were awarded the Carnegie Medal, which recognizes “extraordinary acts of heroism.” According to a Carnegie Foundation spokesperson, the women will be presented with their medals this fall at a ceremony held locally, but details aren’t finalized.

The award is an honor to the cyclists, but they have mixed feelings. “It just seems to me like we’re getting an award for something that you’re just supposed to do,” Wolf said. “The award is that we all got to live.”

The ceremony will give the women and their families a chance to enjoy a true moment of celebration. While some are still struggling to find their place in the celebration and within the group, it’s a chance to be together.