Hey, didn't you see the sign?
"Hey, you can't do that!"
I received an invitation to go to a lunch-time party and since I seldom get invited to anything, the idea of dining on Long Island in Boston Harbor at the opening day ceremony of Camp Harbor View had a certain appeal.
Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not on the "must ask" society list. I had written a short video for Camp Harbor View, and a small check to the cause, and was thrilled to be part of it all.
As I have a severe case of "Sweeney envy" I thought it would be a great day to hone the fitness, as my massive frame is difficult to carry through an entire day. The plan was to rig up the big fat cannondale, fill the panniers with various clothing outfits, and ride to work, then ride to the party, then ride back to work, then finish the day with a ride home.
70 miles on a 50 pound bike is a pretty big day for a man of my stature, so I was pleased with the prospect. The ride in was uneventful, and I was at my desk by 7:30 am good and early. Got some work done, so when it was time to duck out at 11:15, the guilt was gone before I was.
I hate to be late, and I was, about 15 minutes or so, when I approached the guard house at the entrance to the island. There was a long line of cars, a red light, and no one to be seen. Maybe it was the heat or the fact that I was late, but I just put my head down and went, blowing through the gate, barreling toward the party.
Who could be out here, anyway?
Just up the road a piece, I came across a dozen police cars at the firing range on Moon Island. Keep going.
I've passed under Long Island Bridge by sailboat and commuter boat many times, this was my first ride over it. The surface was a bit sketchy, a waffle-style metal grate that buzzes when you ride on it. For the first time all day, I was grateful I was riding the fat cannondale with the fat tires, rather than the faster but twitchier Trek with the skinny tires.
As I buzzed along the grate, I enjoyed the scenery, the boats on the Bay, the seagulls in the air, the police cruiser barrel assing down the other lane toward me with blue lights ablaze.
"Hey, you can't do that. No bicycles on the bridge. No bicycles on the island. Didn't you see the sign?"
When it's hot and I'm on the limit, I don't see much except what's in front of me, but when faced with a young police officer, who appears to be upset and highly motivated, I have three answers, "Yes sir. No sir. No excuse, sir."
The officer informed me I was to be removed from Long Island and if I would put my bicycle in the back of the police car, and my person in the back of the police car, he would escort me off the island.
As the cannondale has big fenders and a giant rack, it does not go into the back of a car willingly. Even Mike Sheehan's monster SUV, with the hatch that opened like the mouth of Jonah the whale, would choke on the cannondale if not placed just right.
I took the front wheel off the bike. Didn't fit.
I took the back wheel off the bike. Didn't fit.
But it was hot and the officer had things to do, so we pulled the hatch down as far as it would go and as I bounced along in the back of the police car, sitting on the rubber seat, glancing at the door handles that would not opening, staring through metal grates, I decided to always live on the right side of the law.
As a cyclist, you are the lowest form of humanity on the road. Perhaps a drunken homeless person would get a bit less respect than a cyclist, but it's tough to think of anyone else.
After numerous questions, the officer decided I may not be a nut case, and decided to allow me to attend the party. He turned the cruiser around, and brought me to the gate of the party. I peeled in the parking lot, toweled off, and attended a beautiful party.
When it was over, I was escorted back to the front gate, whereupon I changed in the bushes, got back on the bike, and pedalled my way back to work.
I received an invitation to go to a lunch-time party and since I seldom get invited to anything, the idea of dining on Long Island in Boston Harbor at the opening day ceremony of Camp Harbor View had a certain appeal.
Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not on the "must ask" society list. I had written a short video for Camp Harbor View, and a small check to the cause, and was thrilled to be part of it all.
As I have a severe case of "Sweeney envy" I thought it would be a great day to hone the fitness, as my massive frame is difficult to carry through an entire day. The plan was to rig up the big fat cannondale, fill the panniers with various clothing outfits, and ride to work, then ride to the party, then ride back to work, then finish the day with a ride home.
70 miles on a 50 pound bike is a pretty big day for a man of my stature, so I was pleased with the prospect. The ride in was uneventful, and I was at my desk by 7:30 am good and early. Got some work done, so when it was time to duck out at 11:15, the guilt was gone before I was.
I hate to be late, and I was, about 15 minutes or so, when I approached the guard house at the entrance to the island. There was a long line of cars, a red light, and no one to be seen. Maybe it was the heat or the fact that I was late, but I just put my head down and went, blowing through the gate, barreling toward the party.
Who could be out here, anyway?
Just up the road a piece, I came across a dozen police cars at the firing range on Moon Island. Keep going.
I've passed under Long Island Bridge by sailboat and commuter boat many times, this was my first ride over it. The surface was a bit sketchy, a waffle-style metal grate that buzzes when you ride on it. For the first time all day, I was grateful I was riding the fat cannondale with the fat tires, rather than the faster but twitchier Trek with the skinny tires.
As I buzzed along the grate, I enjoyed the scenery, the boats on the Bay, the seagulls in the air, the police cruiser barrel assing down the other lane toward me with blue lights ablaze.
"Hey, you can't do that. No bicycles on the bridge. No bicycles on the island. Didn't you see the sign?"
When it's hot and I'm on the limit, I don't see much except what's in front of me, but when faced with a young police officer, who appears to be upset and highly motivated, I have three answers, "Yes sir. No sir. No excuse, sir."
The officer informed me I was to be removed from Long Island and if I would put my bicycle in the back of the police car, and my person in the back of the police car, he would escort me off the island.
As the cannondale has big fenders and a giant rack, it does not go into the back of a car willingly. Even Mike Sheehan's monster SUV, with the hatch that opened like the mouth of Jonah the whale, would choke on the cannondale if not placed just right.
I took the front wheel off the bike. Didn't fit.
I took the back wheel off the bike. Didn't fit.
But it was hot and the officer had things to do, so we pulled the hatch down as far as it would go and as I bounced along in the back of the police car, sitting on the rubber seat, glancing at the door handles that would not opening, staring through metal grates, I decided to always live on the right side of the law.
As a cyclist, you are the lowest form of humanity on the road. Perhaps a drunken homeless person would get a bit less respect than a cyclist, but it's tough to think of anyone else.
After numerous questions, the officer decided I may not be a nut case, and decided to allow me to attend the party. He turned the cruiser around, and brought me to the gate of the party. I peeled in the parking lot, toweled off, and attended a beautiful party.
When it was over, I was escorted back to the front gate, whereupon I changed in the bushes, got back on the bike, and pedalled my way back to work.
posted by joe berkeley at 5:48 AM
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