Incredible Disappearing Motor Cop

I think I've mentioned it before, but police officers unnerve me. Fact is, there's a lot of laws out there, and if they feel like busting me, I'm sure there's something I'm doing that isn't strictly legal.

Also, I've been informed on several occasions that I look suspicious.

Motorcycle-riding police unnerve me extra because, for one, they don't wave back and for two, they're better at being invisible than I am.

This afternoon as I rode home from work, I took advantage of a lull in traffic and opened up the throttle a touch. Not much at all, compared to traffic. Of course, 75 in a 55 is still 20mph over the speed limit. If you're counting.

There was another rider behind me, and he actually passed me as I moved over. I gave him a wave as he went by, and noticed another biker out of the corner of my eye. I gave that fellow an up-nod, and then noticed he was a cop.

So I gracefully slowed to a more prudent speed. Which is to say, I dropped anchor and wondered if traffic school might be fun.

I sort of expected the cop to pass me. Usually, they do.

This one didn't. I moved over another lane and continued decelerating until I was moving at a totally legal 56 mph. Except for in Wisconsin, going exactly the speed limit seems to be like a big flashing light screaming "I'm up to something! Follow me for days."

He didn't pass. I got a little more nervous.

He continued his "not passing" ways.

I checked my mirrors to see if there were any pretty red and blue lights back there. There weren't.

And there was no cop.

Where the Hell did he go, I wondered. And how did I get out of being pulled over?

I see four possibilities:

1. He was in a good mood and let it slide.

2. He felt a certain bond with another motorcyclist stupid... er... rugged enough to be out in this kind of weather.

3. He was messing with me.

4. It was too hot out, and there was no cop, just me losing my mind as my skull-fluids boiled.

But seriously, do they give those guys ninja-vanishing lessons? Irondad?

Ask and Receive

Hey, looky here! A place to work on your motorcycle, including tools you probably don't own. They even have motorcycle lifts. It's even sort-of close to home!

U-Fix-It Center

I still think it'd rock to get a group of like-minded nuts together to rent out a warehouse space and set up a motorcycles-only space to work on bikes, hang out and watch people working on their bikes, and so on. It'd be the Dust Devils WC (Wrenchin' Club), complete with (shoulder) patch.

That might be a little too hippie for Arizona, though.

It Is Not Possible to Ride A Vespa Reasonably

Hey there, been a while. Sorry for the huge gap in posts but I've been in a bit of a creative slump. On to today's moto-ponderment.

The speed limit in downtown Phoenix is 25 miles per hour. Everyone drives at least 35 mph, but that's another issue.

Yesterday I took the Vespa GTS to work, partly to give it a bit of exercise, and partly because that thing is just so much darned fun. I could take the Vespa on the freeway if I wanted, but I usually don't. Scooters were meant for surface streets.

Anyway, on my way home last night, I stopped to wait for a red light fairly close to my office. An officer of the law stopped immediately behind me. This was a bad spot for me to be in.

You see, the Vespa is crazy fast off the line. It does 0 - 30 in no time flat. I can, and frequently do, find myself going 50 mph without realizing it.

I did my level best to roll easily away from the stop light, I really did. I still wound up going 35 in a 25. I assume the police weren't interested in me, but just in case I backed it down to 25.

25 is an impossible speed to maintain on the Vespa. Seriously.

Eventually, the officers took pity on me and passed so I could resume puttering along at 35. Then I noticed the second police car behind the first. Argh.

Anyway, no ticket, but a whole lot of struggling to control a high-strung scooter around the police. That bike was made for hooliganism. It's fast, it's has incredible handling, and I can't really feel the speed the way I can on the Speed Four.

I strongly recommend you get one, if you're able.

Enforced Simplicity

Have you noticed how much stuff people carry around day to day? Coffees, cellphones, mp3 players, maybe a folder of compact disks for the car, wallet, keys, lunch, maybe a book, notebooks, clean underwear and on and on...

What is all that stuff?

I get annoyed with my courier bag with a couple notebooks, pens, lunch, a sunglasses case and a cellphone. Seriously, it feels like a friggin' anchor on my back and it's not really that much stuff. If I drove a car every day, I imagine I'd find more shit to bring with. I used to do things like stop for a smoothie on the way to work, which was one more thing to carry around. The trunk of the Rat-Buick, back in the day, was a veritable storage locker with every possible item I could ever need (except, you know, the thing I needed right away).

Luckily, I don't drive a car anymore, except in dire circumstances. I ride my motorcycle instead. Which kind of makes carrying superfluous items impossible. The motorcycle suits me because I prefer to travel very light. I've got a tank bag for traveling, which can be combined with my courier bag bungeed to the back seat if I feel like pretending I'm a truck. Under the seat is my tool kit and a tire repair kit. So equipped, I'm ready to conquer the world - or at least the world within a twenty-four hour riding range of home.

There have been several times in my life when I've lived out of my suitcase, essentially, for prolonged periods. The curious thing I've found is that I rarely miss the stuff I don't have with me. In fact, it's pretty liberating not having to deal with all that junk. While all the suckers with a doodad for every possible contingency are still packing, I'm having a cup of coffee and ready to roll - if I haven't already left.

So it's not that having stuff is bad, exactly. More that if you've got something, it better be something you'll really miss if you don't have it. Something you don't really mind carrying. If you look around, you'll probably notice a whole bunch of stuff you haven't even touched for years, except maybe to move it to a different spot. Seems kind of silly, doesn't it?

This is why I'm all for having a small house. And small transportation. If there's not room to stash it or carry it, then I probably don't need it. Enforced simplicity, for me, anyhow, is a good thing.

It was... Pleasant?

I think I may have mentioned the crushing, oppressive heat we've been having this week. I got into my gear this morning (around 6:15) expecting more heat.

Instead, it was surprisingly pleasant all the way to work. It couldn't have been above 80. Hell, it felt kind of cool, really. Back to school weather.

Doubtless it was a fluke, and the heat will be back with a vengeance by noon, but I'll take whatever respite I can get.

One Hundred and Too Many Degrees

I am very spoiled when it comes to my parking situation for work. I've got a nice, covered, mostly-secured garage where the Triumph can comfortably wait for me to get out of the office and back to the more important task of carving up the roads in Phoenix.

Well, this week I'm out of the office and instead spending my time at a training facility in order to be the best nerd I can be. Overall, this is pretty sweet.

However, the parking situation at the training facility, to put it kindly, sucks. Outdoors, wide open, no shade to be found. I'll tell you what, although I'd rather ride than be stuck in a cage, hopping on a black Triumph that's been sitting in the August sun in Phoenix is not comfortable.

Apart from the odd heat making me wonder if I've somehow wet my pants, the tank is hot enough to burn my legs through my pants.

I can deal with all of this, of course, but I'd really rather not.

Tomorrow I'm bringing a towel to cover the more important contact points on the bike...