Every time you get into a car, there is a non-zero chance that you might get injured, or worse, die. The probability of this happening depends largely on where you're driving and, of course, how much you drive. However, there are a few different ways to measure this statistical risk. A recent Bloomberg article by David Zipper highlights one ongoing debate.
The three most common methods are:
Road deaths per capita
Road deaths per registered vehicle
Road deaths per distance traveled
In my opinion, options 1 and 3 seem the most relevant. Option 1 is useful because it measures a citizen's overall risk and allows driving risk to be easily compared to other causes of death (which tend to be measured on a per capita basis). The limitation is that it is harder to compare a country where everybody drives to a country where few people drive.
That's where option 3 comes in. In theory, it provides the best indicator of road risk by accounting for distance traveled, which is the primary argument for why it's commonly used in the US where the car is king. But it does "dilute" the fatality count the more people drive, and it hides overall car dependency. In his article, Zipper likens this approach to measuring cancer deaths per cigarette smoked.
In any event, here is how both methods appear in the International Transport Forum's 2025 Annual Road Safety Report (which is cited in the article):
On a per vehicle-kilometre basis, the data appears much more gradual. But on a per capita basis, the countries with the highest road fatalities appear much more as outliers. Here, you can more easily see that, broadly speaking, a person in Colombia is nearly ten times more likely to die in a road-related incident than a person in Norway (pretty much the gold standard when it comes to road safety).
Perhaps the answer is to just look at both figures to make sure you're not lying to yourself.
Cover photo by Tom Barrett on Unsplash
Charts from Road Safety Annual Report 2025
The City of London, also known as the "Square Mile," is the financial district of London. Some 678,000 people work in the area, nearly 9,000 people live in it, and millions visit it each year. So it's an intensely used square mile (~1.12 square miles or ~2.9 square kilometers). Given this intensity, do you think that it would be reasonable, or even possible, for all 678,000 people to drive their own car to work and not experience crippling traffic congestion?
Obviously not, and the data reflects that:
Motor vehicle usage within the City of London is nearly a third of what it was in 1999. This is a result of moves like the city's Congestion Charge (introduced in 2003) and new Cycling Superhighways (introduced between 2015-16).
Cycling increased 57% from 2022 to 2024. Personal bike usage increased 36%. Shared dockless bike usage increased 4x and now makes up 17% of all people cycling. During daytime hours (7am to 7pm) cycling represents about 39% of all on-street traffic, which is nearly 2x the amount of cars and private hires. And based on current trends, cycling is forecasted to become the dominant all-around mode of transport within as soon as two years.
People walking, wheeling, and cycling now make up three quarters of all travel, up from two-thirds in 2022. This is a huge percentage.
For more data, check out the City of London's City Streets 2025 Summary Report.
Cover photo by Frans Ruiter on Unsplash
Last week in Japan was the first time I had ever driven a car on the left side of road. I spent a summer working in Dublin many years ago but I never once drove while I was there.
To be honest, I thought it was going to be more awkward than it was. But other than accidentally turning on the wipers a few times (they were on the opposite side to where turn signals typically live), it came to me pretty quickly.
I also noticed that left-hand traffic seems to impact the flow of many other things in Japan. On sidewalks, for example, people walk on the left. And on escalators, everyone stands on the left (and walks on the right), whereas the opposite tends to be true in Toronto.
Japan is also an orderly and rule-abiding place and so these conventions are widely followed. On more than a few occasions, I realized I was swimming upstream and then quickly switched sides.
What’s interesting is how this directional convention permeates so many aspects of everyday life. Which begs the question: where and when did it start? Do the "rules of the road" always influence everything else?
The answer seems to be that nobody really knows. There are many unproven theories. Some suggest that it has to do with how horses were ridden and walked, and that ~90% of people are right-handed.
But I couldn’t find anything definitive. What we do seem to know, at least anecdotally, is that once a side is chosen, it broadly impacts how people generally move around. Pay attention the next time you're on a busy sidewalk.