Still No Parking

I was downtown (St. Paul) this afternoon for work crap. Because I expected to get in and out fast, I rode the bike. Boy was that a mistake. It has been about two months since the end of the semester and the last time I rode into downtown St. Paul and the number of “No Motorcycle Parking” signs has blossomed like dandelions in my backyard. There must be hundreds of places motorcycles are not allowed to park.

If you think future planners are including two-wheeled vehicles in their plans, you are not paying attention. They are slowly working to eliminate every advantage motorcycles and scooters have in light of what everyone in transportation knows will be the next step: self-driving cars. Between our hooligan ways and our marginal contribution to traffic, emissions, and general usefulness, we’re about as popular as cops and as expected to survive into the next generation as dinosaurs.

Join the Club?

A lot of folks think they are joining a "club" of some sort when they buy a motorcycle and start riding it on warm sunny days. If there's a warm weather club, the cold weather riders are practically family.

Today's ride into a couple of business meetings and work was the first near-freezing ride of the fall. Winter in Minnesota is on the way, although next week is supposed to be warm again; at least, during the days. Twenty miles and two stops later, I'm on my way into school and stuck at a stop light about 5 minutes late for a morning recording session. I am freakin' in love with my Aerostich heated gear and thinking about how uncomfortable I used to be on days like this before I had electric gear. One of St. Paul's "finest" is trying to make a left turn from the lane to my right. He's dressed like the cop in this picture, except his gear is leather. I think that includes his face mask. He looks close to frozen. He sort of wobbles into the intersection, comes to a stop because the car coming across from the other lane is moving too slowly for him to time the turn. Just before he took off for the turn, I saluted him as a fellow "rider in the cold."

When he stopped to let the opposite direction traffic go by, he saluted me back; with his middle finger.  Huh? Does a hand to the helmet mean something different in Minnesota? Maybe he was jealous that he had to ride a four-ton Harley while I was on my V-Strom.

Maybe that frozen leather gear soured his disposition? Would mine. I admit I was surprised to see the pudding bowl helmet with the gangbanger face mask on a cop. It's probably been there all the time, but I just wasn't looking. Honestly, I haven't seen the St. Paul motorcycle cops on the road much all year. So, my reason for thinking about them is pretty remote.

The whole incident did remind me that there is/was/always-will-be a "them and us" divide between the cops and citizens. Even when were are the only motorcyclists on the road together on a cold October morning, that divide keeps us apart. That nasty tax collector aspect of their job puts a barrier between them and us and I don't see that barrier growing any smaller in the foreseeable future. One of the guys at work thought it would have been quite a bit different if we'd have swapped salutes. I can't disagree with that.