Rick DeShane and Susan DeShane v. Stewart Joslin

Let’s get one thing straight: this is not your average fender-bender. We’re not talking about a dinged bumper at a stop sign or some passive-aggressive honking over a parking spot. No, this is a full-blown, million-dollar, cross-country, RV-versus-bicycle showdown that sounds like the plot of a low-budget action movie — except it’s real, it happened in Tulsa, and someone is now suing an out-of-state RV driver for $1 million after allegedly being violently struck without warning while just… minding his business on a bike. Yes, you read that right. An RV. A bicycle. One man flying through the air (allegedly), the other possibly just trying to parallel park like a normal person — or, well, maybe not so normal, given the lawsuit.

So who are these people? On one side, we’ve got Rick and Susan DeShane — a married couple living their best Owasso, Oklahoma life, presumably enjoying quiet suburban walks, maybe some backyard grilling, and, in Rick’s case, a passion for cycling. Nothing in the filing suggests Rick was doing anything other than being a responsible adult on two wheels — no mention of spandex crimes, no reckless wheelies, no TikTok stunts. Just a guy, on a bike, on a street, on May 10, 2024. On the other side? Stewart Joslin — a Connecticut man, from Hamden, no less (which, for the record, is about as far from Tulsa as you can get without hitting the Atlantic Ocean), who somehow found himself driving an RV through the heart of Oklahoma. Why? The filing doesn’t say. Was he on a cross-country road trip? Escaping alimony? Filming a YouTube series called RV Diaries: Midwest Meltdown? We may never know. But what we do know is that at some point, Joslin’s massive motorhome and Rick DeShane’s humble bicycle occupied the same patch of Tulsa asphalt — and things went sideways. Fast.

Now, the actual crash is described in the petition with the kind of dramatic flair usually reserved for 911 calls: “all of a sudden and without warning,” Joslin’s RV “struck Plaintiff violently.” That’s it. No details about speed, no traffic signals, no witnesses mentioned, no police report cited — just bam, out of nowhere, a cyclist is allegedly flung into the ether by a rolling suburban fortress. Was Rick in a bike lane? Was the RV turning? Was Joslin checking his mirrors, or was he too busy microwaving a Lean Cuisine in the back? The document doesn’t say. But the implication is clear: this wasn’t a “who had the right of way?” situation. This was, according to the DeShanes, a total ambush. A hit-and-almost-kill. A moment so sudden and so brutal that it didn’t just injure Rick — it allegedly shattered his peace, his health, and his marriage in measurable ways.

Which brings us to why they’re in court. Legally speaking, the DeShanes are throwing the entire civil litigation playbook at Joslin. They’re suing for negligence — meaning Joslin failed to drive with reasonable care — and negligence per se, which is a fancy way of saying he probably broke a traffic law (like failing to yield or driving recklessly) and that violation directly caused the crash. Then come the damages: economic damages (medical bills, lost wages, bike repair — or, let’s be real, bike obliteration), mental anguish (because getting plowed by an RV would mess anyone up), and loss of consortium — a legal term that sounds like a business partnership but actually means Susan is suing because the crash damaged her relationship with Rick. Maybe he can’t carry groceries, maybe he flinches at the sound of diesel engines, maybe he cries during RVs for Dummies commercials — the point is, their marriage has allegedly suffered, and Oklahoma law says she can get compensated for that.

And then… there’s the punitive damages. Oh, sweet, spicy punitive damages. These aren’t about covering costs — they’re about punishment. They’re the legal system’s way of saying, “You didn’t just mess up — you were that guy.” The DeShanes want the court to slap Joslin with extra money not because of medical bills, but because, allegedly, his behavior was so careless or reckless that he needs to be taught a lesson. And not just any lesson — a million-dollar lesson.

Now, let’s talk about that number: $1 million. Is that a lot? For a bike crash? Well… yes and no. In the world of personal injury lawsuits, a million bucks isn’t unheard of — especially if there are long-term injuries, surgeries, or permanent disability. But here’s the thing: the petition doesn’t actually list Rick’s injuries. No broken bones, no brain trauma, no hospital stays. Just the allegation of harm and a demand for big money. So is this a legitimate claim for life-altering trauma? Or is it a high-stakes bluff meant to pressure an out-of-state defendant into settling fast? After all, Joslin lives in Connecticut. Fighting a lawsuit in Oklahoma means hiring local lawyers, flying in for court, dealing with a foreign legal system — all while being accused of turning a man into human road pizza. From a strategy standpoint, it’s not hard to see why the DeShanes’ attorneys might go big: scare the RV driver into paying up before things get messy.

But here’s where we, the peanut gallery, start side-eyeing the whole thing. The most absurd part? The complete lack of detail. This isn’t a 50-page complaint with diagrams, dashcam transcripts, and witness affidavits. It’s four pages. One of the key facts — the actual moment of impact — is described in a single, dramatic sentence with zero supporting evidence. No police report. No traffic citations. No mention of whether Joslin stayed at the scene or called 911. Did he flee? Did he help? Did he say, “My bad, bro, I didn’t see you in my 30-foot blind spot”? We don’t know. And yet, a million-dollar demand has already been lobbed like a legal grenade.

Are we rooting for Rick? Sure. Cyclists are the underdogs of the road — literally and figuratively. They’re vulnerable, often invisible, and regularly treated like road debris by drivers who think their SUVs are tanks. If Joslin did plow into Rick without looking, then yeah, he should pay. But are we also a little suspicious of the Connecticut angle? A little wary of the “without warning” bombast? A little curious why a case like this jumps straight to punitive damages and a jury trial demand before any discovery has even happened? Absolutely.

This isn’t just a lawsuit — it’s a narrative war. On one side: the little guy, the cyclist, the victim of a sudden, violent assault by a rolling steel beast. On the other: a mystery man from the East Coast, possibly just a bad driver, possibly a monster on wheels. The truth? It’s probably somewhere in the middle. But until then, we’ll be here, popcorn in hand, waiting to see if this case becomes a cautionary tale about RV blind spots — or a masterclass in how to turn a bike crash into a legal blockbuster.