Opened the door this morning to get some of that complimentary continenal breakfast so ubiquitous amongst the hotels scattered by the exit ramps across the country to find a loose chain hanging from the sprocket.
Craap.
Now, I ordered a replacement chain before I left, but RK sent me a 520, when what I needed was a 530. I sent it back, but didn't get the replacement before I had to leave for this trip. The tensionsers were almost out to lock, but I figgered the chain had another 3,000 miles in it. What could I do? I had been anticipating this trip for years. Had to hit the road.
Now, this morning in the parking lot up in Roanoke, the chain was loose, but the sprocket was still good, so I put the wheel out to maximum, loaded up the duffle bag, and off I went.
After lunch in Rogersville, TN, another look at the driving gear, reveals the chain hanging much looser chipping teeth off the vortex sprocket.
Decision time. Roll in through Knoxville, or chance it down to deals gap.
Despite the impending damage, the bike is running fine up at highway speeds. If I roll through Knoxville, I could get on the 75, and probably put on some miles on the 75 through Georgia, but then I'd miss Deal's Gap.
Deal's Gap is an international motorcycle destination, and there's a good chance I'll be able to find someone around there with a chain breaker/riveter to take a few links out and tighten this slopping licorice stick up.
Got off at rte. 338 to heading south to the great smokey mountains. Pulled over at a tourist center (actually a front to lure unsuspecting tourists in for a time share presentation) in Kodak, TN, and spoke with the girls at the counter. All the motorcycle shops are closed today and tomorrow, so the soonest I'll be able to get the bike fixed is on Tuesday. After much deliberation and consideration, I decide I'll try to hit the road, and put some miles on. About 5 miles down the road, the chain jumps the sprocket. Speedo at 10 mph, riding the shoulder I made it back to a hotel in Kodak. Survey the terrain, it's pretty bleak. 3 hotels, 3 gas stationjs, a Kristal burger, Subway sandwich shop, Flapjack Cabin, crappy chain Barbecue and a fireworks superstore. Not even a bar.
So I ask the girl at the counter in the hotel where there's something to do. She says Pigeon Forge, 15 miles up the road. Pigeon Forge is the home of Dollywood and I saw a brochoure in the hotel for a cheesey Elvis impersonator, so I figured I'd try to make it up there.
I barely made it up the first hill, chain sliding around a stripped sprocket when a couple cops pull up.
"Having some trouble with your motorbike?"
"Yeah, the chain's loose and the sprockets stripped. I'm trying to make it down to Pigeon Forge. Is it the rest of the way straight, or is it hilly like this?"
" Oh, it's pretty hilly. You gunna need a tow truck for this?"
"Naw, I'll just ride down the hill back to the hotel."
"What hotel?"
"There were three hotels about 1/2 a mile back. I'm gonna stay there."
" You sure you don't need a tow truck?"
"Yes. Thanks for the offer though."
"Alright well, y'all have a good night."
"Yeah, you too."
Head on back to the hotel and check in. Call up Papa Biker and have him overnight my chain breaker, some sockets and wrenches, and a couple spare sprockets. Order a replacement master link and extra piece needed for the chain breaker from Rebel Sprockets.
Back in the room with a 12-pack of Miller and a bag of Pork rinds. I fucking hate pork rinds, but this is the South, and I'm gonna be here for a couple days, so what the hell.
God hates me.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
I Love Virgina part 2.
There was a second leg to the Skyline drive run down further through the Blue Ridge mountains, but the goal was to make it to Knoxville, TN, and my second couchsurf tonight, so a bit chilly, and hungry from the ride, it's off to route 81 to put on as many highway miles as I could, there were about 350 left to go.
On the highway, riding along at just a little quicker then the speed limit. 50 miles to Roanoke, just passed a state trooper busting up an unlucky brother. Sun is setting, air's getting colder, stomach is rumbling, and the right hand starts to get heavy. Throttle twists counterclockwise. The engine humming along like a turbine, suddenly the needle is in the healthy triple digits. Suddenly that state trooper from a few miles back is on me.
Fuck.
Hopefully they don't arrest in Virginia for triple digit speeds.
Fuck. They do.
Trooper (nicest, most polite cop I've ever met BTW) says I've got to follow him back to the station. They sit me down, and a glimmer of hope when the magistrate can't get the computer to connect to the mainframe, and they debate what to do with me.
"How much money you got on you boy?"
"Hundred bucks. Wait, I stopped for gas. 85."
"Well, he ain't even got any money on him"
"Come with me"
They take me on back for booking, and I get my call.
"You got any friends or family you can call?"
"Nope, I'm 500 miles from home"
"See that number on the wall, that's the bail bondsman. Try him"
Dude asks tons of questions, and says he's on the way.
They catalogue all my stuff, and there's alot of it, I'm out for 11 days. Spread your cheeks, lift your sack, take a cold shower, and smile for the camera.
Got me a set of navy blue sweats that don't compliment my biker boots at all, and a plastic crate full of blankets and liquid soap in a packet. A crappy mattress and it's off to jail with me.
On inside I get to meet the best of rural Virginia. They're all very interested to meet me.
"Wudjoo do?"
"Speeding."
"Damn, they arrest you for that? How fast was you going?"
"Hundred. How come you're in here?"
"Stabbeed my woman 7 times in the chest."
"...uh...(thinking to myself: Please bail bondsman, get here soon)"
The guys inside seemed friendly enough, and I stretched out on the bunk and started getting in to a National Geographic article on the Untouchables of Indian. It was actually quite comfortable, and I was hoping the bail bondsman wouldn't get there until tomorrow so I didn't have to buy a hotel room. But he did, and I got out at 10.
Bondsman was a very friendly dude, and we wound up Bull Shitting for about an hour. Bond was $500, and this greedy fuck wanted $150. I had agreed to that on the phone, but found out inside that it was supposed to be 10%, so I asked him about this. He said some shit about his minimum being $100, so down to the ATM I went, and got his filthy lucre. I was suprised at the high caliber of these rural Virginia girls, even the chick working behind the counter was a cute blonde. Prolly dumb as dog shit too. The very best kind.
Made it on down to Roanoke, and stopped to the only place in town open late with food, the Texas Tavern. Decent Chili dog. Where's the closest cheap hotel.
On the highway, riding along at just a little quicker then the speed limit. 50 miles to Roanoke, just passed a state trooper busting up an unlucky brother. Sun is setting, air's getting colder, stomach is rumbling, and the right hand starts to get heavy. Throttle twists counterclockwise. The engine humming along like a turbine, suddenly the needle is in the healthy triple digits. Suddenly that state trooper from a few miles back is on me.
Fuck.
Hopefully they don't arrest in Virginia for triple digit speeds.
Fuck. They do.
Trooper (nicest, most polite cop I've ever met BTW) says I've got to follow him back to the station. They sit me down, and a glimmer of hope when the magistrate can't get the computer to connect to the mainframe, and they debate what to do with me.
"How much money you got on you boy?"
"Hundred bucks. Wait, I stopped for gas. 85."
"Well, he ain't even got any money on him"
"Come with me"
They take me on back for booking, and I get my call.
"You got any friends or family you can call?"
"Nope, I'm 500 miles from home"
"See that number on the wall, that's the bail bondsman. Try him"
Dude asks tons of questions, and says he's on the way.
They catalogue all my stuff, and there's alot of it, I'm out for 11 days. Spread your cheeks, lift your sack, take a cold shower, and smile for the camera.
Got me a set of navy blue sweats that don't compliment my biker boots at all, and a plastic crate full of blankets and liquid soap in a packet. A crappy mattress and it's off to jail with me.
On inside I get to meet the best of rural Virginia. They're all very interested to meet me.
"Wudjoo do?"
"Speeding."
"Damn, they arrest you for that? How fast was you going?"
"Hundred. How come you're in here?"
"Stabbeed my woman 7 times in the chest."
"...uh...(thinking to myself: Please bail bondsman, get here soon)"
The guys inside seemed friendly enough, and I stretched out on the bunk and started getting in to a National Geographic article on the Untouchables of Indian. It was actually quite comfortable, and I was hoping the bail bondsman wouldn't get there until tomorrow so I didn't have to buy a hotel room. But he did, and I got out at 10.
Bondsman was a very friendly dude, and we wound up Bull Shitting for about an hour. Bond was $500, and this greedy fuck wanted $150. I had agreed to that on the phone, but found out inside that it was supposed to be 10%, so I asked him about this. He said some shit about his minimum being $100, so down to the ATM I went, and got his filthy lucre. I was suprised at the high caliber of these rural Virginia girls, even the chick working behind the counter was a cute blonde. Prolly dumb as dog shit too. The very best kind.
Made it on down to Roanoke, and stopped to the only place in town open late with food, the Texas Tavern. Decent Chili dog. Where's the closest cheap hotel.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
I love Virginia!
Friday night I made it down to Winchester, VA and crashed with Tim and Leesa. Great couple, just a great experience all around. I had to hit the road right after breakfast, but I wish we could have had more time.
Get to the entrance to Skyline Drive at Shenandoah around 1:30 am, the park ranger tells me there's an entrance fee, so I had to turn it around and pull some cash out of the machine back in town. When I get back, instead of a friendly park ranger, there's a sign in the booth that says to pay when exiting. Yeah right. The ride starts off at an incline climbing in altitude the side of a sheer drop. Off to the right, a magnificent view of the valley, to the left, the Blue Ridge Mountains rolling off into the distance, painted the deep red of late fall. Long, sweeping twisties through some of the most beautiful country in, well, the country. 100 miles of mixed terrain: mountains, and deep woods, and meadows, and views, and just amazing.
Once the incredibleness of the surroundings sets in after about 30 miles, and road concentration starts to set in, I start thinking about how to take these turns quicker, and smoother. I like to think I'm pretty good, generally I take the posted speed limit, and double that, and that's the minium speed to take the turns at. But I remember an article I read in Bike magazine about leaning in to the turns, really getting in to them, hanging off the bike, ass sliding side to side getting in to the turns. And I start thinking "How are you supposed to slide your ass from side to side when it's planted on the seat?" Here comes the breakthrough.
Get your ass off the seat.
I remembered another article, most probably from the same fine publication, discussing the differences between the quintessentially American cruiser, and European (in origin) sportsbike, and how they reflect the respective cultures from which they developed.
America being a big country, with lots, and lots of long, straight roads begat the cruiser. With a relaxed riding position, it's designed to be comfortable for long stretches, on straight roads. Big, fat, heavy, loud, comfortable, and very cool looking, They're quintessentially America. But they handle like a bloated hogzilla. They're even fucking called Hawg's fercrissakes. Cowboy's rode across the plains with their asses planted in the saddle.
Europe is a collection of relatively small countries. There aren't any super-mega highways. Lots of cool, windy, twisty roads. European sportscars are designed for handling over acceleration. This is where horse racing developed, and motorcycle racing. How to horse racing Jockey's ride their thoroughbreds? They're in a forward leaning crouch, over the torso, with their heads close to the horse's head. They don't sit down in the saddle, they ride bent at the knees, standing up in the stirrups.
So I got my ass out of the seat. Bent at the knees, standing on the pegs.
It was a revelation. It added another 20 mph to my run.
Phenomenal. Until I lowsided pulling over to check directions. I killed the road and the twisties, but got taken out by a pile of gravel. Always the way it goes.
Nice guy from Texas pulled over to help me get the bike back on the road. He stopped short from telling me to slow down. But I know he wanted to.
Get to the entrance to Skyline Drive at Shenandoah around 1:30 am, the park ranger tells me there's an entrance fee, so I had to turn it around and pull some cash out of the machine back in town. When I get back, instead of a friendly park ranger, there's a sign in the booth that says to pay when exiting. Yeah right. The ride starts off at an incline climbing in altitude the side of a sheer drop. Off to the right, a magnificent view of the valley, to the left, the Blue Ridge Mountains rolling off into the distance, painted the deep red of late fall. Long, sweeping twisties through some of the most beautiful country in, well, the country. 100 miles of mixed terrain: mountains, and deep woods, and meadows, and views, and just amazing.
Once the incredibleness of the surroundings sets in after about 30 miles, and road concentration starts to set in, I start thinking about how to take these turns quicker, and smoother. I like to think I'm pretty good, generally I take the posted speed limit, and double that, and that's the minium speed to take the turns at. But I remember an article I read in Bike magazine about leaning in to the turns, really getting in to them, hanging off the bike, ass sliding side to side getting in to the turns. And I start thinking "How are you supposed to slide your ass from side to side when it's planted on the seat?" Here comes the breakthrough.
Get your ass off the seat.
I remembered another article, most probably from the same fine publication, discussing the differences between the quintessentially American cruiser, and European (in origin) sportsbike, and how they reflect the respective cultures from which they developed.
America being a big country, with lots, and lots of long, straight roads begat the cruiser. With a relaxed riding position, it's designed to be comfortable for long stretches, on straight roads. Big, fat, heavy, loud, comfortable, and very cool looking, They're quintessentially America. But they handle like a bloated hogzilla. They're even fucking called Hawg's fercrissakes. Cowboy's rode across the plains with their asses planted in the saddle.
Europe is a collection of relatively small countries. There aren't any super-mega highways. Lots of cool, windy, twisty roads. European sportscars are designed for handling over acceleration. This is where horse racing developed, and motorcycle racing. How to horse racing Jockey's ride their thoroughbreds? They're in a forward leaning crouch, over the torso, with their heads close to the horse's head. They don't sit down in the saddle, they ride bent at the knees, standing up in the stirrups.
So I got my ass out of the seat. Bent at the knees, standing on the pegs.
It was a revelation. It added another 20 mph to my run.
Phenomenal. Until I lowsided pulling over to check directions. I killed the road and the twisties, but got taken out by a pile of gravel. Always the way it goes.
Nice guy from Texas pulled over to help me get the bike back on the road. He stopped short from telling me to slow down. But I know he wanted to.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Key West Turkey ride.
In about two hours, I'm going to be on the road to Winchester, VA. Tomorrow morning, I'll be riding Skyline Drive through Shenandoah to Knoxville, TN. Sunday morning, Deal's Gap, Dragon's Tail, and Cherohala Skyway, ending the day in Savannah, GA. Spend a few days under the sun in Miami, and then off to Key West.
I've wanted to make this trip for years, but they took away my license in 2006, and I didn't have the chance in 2005. This year I've got the bike, and the license, and the motivation. If it was a choice between sitting around a dinner table all night with three condescending humorless accountants, or nightclubs & E on white sandy beaches, swimming in crystal clear waters while drinking Mai Thai's, well, that ain't no choice at all.
3 of the best rides in America on one trip. I woke up with that nervous anticipation you get as a kid on Christmas morning. I can't wait to get out there on the road.
This is going to be an annual pilgramidge, so anybody out there want to make the ride next year, gimme a shout.
Here's the route:
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&hl=en&geocode=1932037673482937650,38.919880,-78.193690%3B17378530705292756068,38.767870,-78.232480%3B1788691951501113967,38.661390,-78.317260%3B770619417151806217,38.545580,-78.390710%3B14559284942800649887,38.364630,-78.555180%3B12548960267934763408,38.097790,-78.781210%3B16186435554723444439,35.557290,-84.010570%3B8622334245503131432,35.339820,-83.813780&time=&date=&ttype=&saddr=nyc&daddr=202+N.+Washington+St.,+Winchester,+Virginia,+22601+to:US-340+%4038.919880,+-78.193690+to:Skyline+Dr+%4038.767870,+-78.232480+to:US-211+%4038.661390,+-78.317260+to:Skyline+Dr+%4038.545580,+-78.390710+to:Spotswood+Trail%2FUS-33+%4038.364630,+-78.555180+to:Skyline+Dr+%4038.097790,+-78.781210+to:knoxville,+tn+to:US-129+%4035.557290,+-84.010570+to:Tapoco+Rd%2FUS-129+%4035.339820,+-83.813780+to:35.362176,-84.306335+to:savannah,+ga+to:777+S.+Federal+Highway,+Pompano+Beach,+FL+33062+to:miami,+fl+to:key+west,+fl+to:600+S+Persimmon+Avenue,+Sanford,+FL+32771&mra=dpe&mrcr=2&mrsp=11&sz=9&via=2,3,4,5,6,7,9,10,11&sll=35.619349,-83.768005&sspn=0.962278,1.851196&ie=UTF8&z=9&om=1
I've wanted to make this trip for years, but they took away my license in 2006, and I didn't have the chance in 2005. This year I've got the bike, and the license, and the motivation. If it was a choice between sitting around a dinner table all night with three condescending humorless accountants, or nightclubs & E on white sandy beaches, swimming in crystal clear waters while drinking Mai Thai's, well, that ain't no choice at all.
3 of the best rides in America on one trip. I woke up with that nervous anticipation you get as a kid on Christmas morning. I can't wait to get out there on the road.
This is going to be an annual pilgramidge, so anybody out there want to make the ride next year, gimme a shout.
Here's the route:
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&hl=en&geocode=1932037673482937650,38.919880,-78.193690%3B17378530705292756068,38.767870,-78.232480%3B1788691951501113967,38.661390,-78.317260%3B770619417151806217,38.545580,-78.390710%3B14559284942800649887,38.364630,-78.555180%3B12548960267934763408,38.097790,-78.781210%3B16186435554723444439,35.557290,-84.010570%3B8622334245503131432,35.339820,-83.813780&time=&date=&ttype=&saddr=nyc&daddr=202+N.+Washington+St.,+Winchester,+Virginia,+22601+to:US-340+%4038.919880,+-78.193690+to:Skyline+Dr+%4038.767870,+-78.232480+to:US-211+%4038.661390,+-78.317260+to:Skyline+Dr+%4038.545580,+-78.390710+to:Spotswood+Trail%2FUS-33+%4038.364630,+-78.555180+to:Skyline+Dr+%4038.097790,+-78.781210+to:knoxville,+tn+to:US-129+%4035.557290,+-84.010570+to:Tapoco+Rd%2FUS-129+%4035.339820,+-83.813780+to:35.362176,-84.306335+to:savannah,+ga+to:777+S.+Federal+Highway,+Pompano+Beach,+FL+33062+to:miami,+fl+to:key+west,+fl+to:600+S+Persimmon+Avenue,+Sanford,+FL+32771&mra=dpe&mrcr=2&mrsp=11&sz=9&via=2,3,4,5,6,7,9,10,11&sll=35.619349,-83.768005&sspn=0.962278,1.851196&ie=UTF8&z=9&om=1
Thursday, November 15, 2007
I got another fucking ticket tonight.
So I got the letter from the Traffic Violations Bureau on 10/29 about that headlight ticket I got back in September saying that I needed to come in and answer the ticket by 11/19 or my license was going to be suspended, and I was going to be default convicted if I didn't take care of it by 12/19. So I headed on down to the TVB on Rector st. right after work tonight because Thursday is the only day of the week the TVB is open later then 5, and I needed to take care of this before leaving for Key West tomorrow.
Now, I decided to take Broadway down because that's the most direct way. Now, I know there's a police checkpoint on Broadway, and they pull over every bike that drives by. That's why every time I have to get down there, I make a detour around the checkpoint, so I don't have to deal with their bullshit, but tonight I had to get there fast, and I figgered that since everythings all right and tight with the bike, I'd be OK. I was wrong.
I get down to Broadway and Cedar St. around 5:20, and Officer Rosebeak decided that a motorcycle driving down Broadway in mid November presented such a serious threat to the safety of lower Manhattan that it needed to be pulled over.
At this moment I've got a split second to decide what to do. Pull over and toe the line, or twist the throttle. and ride away. Last time I passed this checkpoint and they pulled this shit with me, I just rode away. And I got away just fine. But tonight, for some reason, I stopped. I tell him I need to get to Traffic Court before they close, which is two blocks away. Officer Rosebeak says that's not his problem and he doesn't care.
So Officer Rosebeak looks over the bike, see's I've got the inspection sticker and the plate is in the right place with the registration sticker on it.
Officer Rosebeak: So, why isn't your plate bolted on?
NYC Biker: Because I take it off every time I park the bike.
Officer Rosebeak: Why do you do that?
NYC Biker: Because I've had my plate stolen from me 3 times already.
Officer Rosebeak: What's with those headphones?
NYC Biker: They're earplugs to protect my hearing.
Officer Rosebeak: Are they earplugs or ear phones?
NYC Biker: Both. They block out the noise because motorcycle riding is very noisy. I'm trying to protect my hearing.
Officer Rosebeak: Are they attached to anything?
NYC Biker: Yes.
Officer Rosebeak: What?
NYC Biker: And Ipod.
Officer Rosebeak: Alright, give me you license and registration and insurance.
NYC Biker: Here you go.
Officer Rosebeak goes to his copcar to write me a ticket.
10 minutes pass. I go over to his copcar.
NYC Biker: Is it alright if I park my bike, go to traffic court, and come back in 20 minutes?
Officer Rosebeak: No. Your traffic court isn't my problem.
So I go back to my bike, and stare at my watch. Officer Rosebeak gets out of his copcar and starts walking in my direction, so I walk over there to get my shit back.
Officer Rosebeak: I told you to wait by your bike.
* Please note: Officer Rosebeak did NOT tell me to wait by my bike. Broadway at Cedar St. in lower Manhattan is one of the busiest intersections in the country, with tons of vehicle and pedestrain traffic, and it's a police checkpoint with tons of cops around. Officer Rosebeak was just being a dick and a P-I-G Pig.
I get my shit back, mutha-fucka wrote me up a ticket for driving with earphones. So I ask him:
NYC Biker: Do you ride motorcycles?
Officer Rosebeak: Yes, we ride Harleys.
NYC Biker: So then you know how loud it can get with the wind noise.
Officer Rosebeak: Yeah well, you're not going to ride around while wearing earphones.
NYC Biker: (Thinking to self: Fucking dick)...
I grab my shit back and leave.
I totally could have bounced on this POS, but because I stopped, and did what I was supposed to do, I got stiffed with a ticket from an A-hole cop. What's the message here?
I need to stop stopping for the cops. I fucking hate those guys.
Now, I decided to take Broadway down because that's the most direct way. Now, I know there's a police checkpoint on Broadway, and they pull over every bike that drives by. That's why every time I have to get down there, I make a detour around the checkpoint, so I don't have to deal with their bullshit, but tonight I had to get there fast, and I figgered that since everythings all right and tight with the bike, I'd be OK. I was wrong.
I get down to Broadway and Cedar St. around 5:20, and Officer Rosebeak decided that a motorcycle driving down Broadway in mid November presented such a serious threat to the safety of lower Manhattan that it needed to be pulled over.
At this moment I've got a split second to decide what to do. Pull over and toe the line, or twist the throttle. and ride away. Last time I passed this checkpoint and they pulled this shit with me, I just rode away. And I got away just fine. But tonight, for some reason, I stopped. I tell him I need to get to Traffic Court before they close, which is two blocks away. Officer Rosebeak says that's not his problem and he doesn't care.
So Officer Rosebeak looks over the bike, see's I've got the inspection sticker and the plate is in the right place with the registration sticker on it.
Officer Rosebeak: So, why isn't your plate bolted on?
NYC Biker: Because I take it off every time I park the bike.
Officer Rosebeak: Why do you do that?
NYC Biker: Because I've had my plate stolen from me 3 times already.
Officer Rosebeak: What's with those headphones?
NYC Biker: They're earplugs to protect my hearing.
Officer Rosebeak: Are they earplugs or ear phones?
NYC Biker: Both. They block out the noise because motorcycle riding is very noisy. I'm trying to protect my hearing.
Officer Rosebeak: Are they attached to anything?
NYC Biker: Yes.
Officer Rosebeak: What?
NYC Biker: And Ipod.
Officer Rosebeak: Alright, give me you license and registration and insurance.
NYC Biker: Here you go.
Officer Rosebeak goes to his copcar to write me a ticket.
10 minutes pass. I go over to his copcar.
NYC Biker: Is it alright if I park my bike, go to traffic court, and come back in 20 minutes?
Officer Rosebeak: No. Your traffic court isn't my problem.
So I go back to my bike, and stare at my watch. Officer Rosebeak gets out of his copcar and starts walking in my direction, so I walk over there to get my shit back.
Officer Rosebeak: I told you to wait by your bike.
* Please note: Officer Rosebeak did NOT tell me to wait by my bike. Broadway at Cedar St. in lower Manhattan is one of the busiest intersections in the country, with tons of vehicle and pedestrain traffic, and it's a police checkpoint with tons of cops around. Officer Rosebeak was just being a dick and a P-I-G Pig.
I get my shit back, mutha-fucka wrote me up a ticket for driving with earphones. So I ask him:
NYC Biker: Do you ride motorcycles?
Officer Rosebeak: Yes, we ride Harleys.
NYC Biker: So then you know how loud it can get with the wind noise.
Officer Rosebeak: Yeah well, you're not going to ride around while wearing earphones.
NYC Biker: (Thinking to self: Fucking dick)...
I grab my shit back and leave.
I totally could have bounced on this POS, but because I stopped, and did what I was supposed to do, I got stiffed with a ticket from an A-hole cop. What's the message here?
I need to stop stopping for the cops. I fucking hate those guys.
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