FREE WHEELIN’

FREE WHEELIN’

BRIAN RATHJEN

IT’S HOW YOU SAY IT?

My mother was a great one to remind me a few thousand times over my youth that “Brian… It is not what you say, but how you say it.” WTF, Mom? Umm – I mean, to what do you refer, dear mother?

OK, the original redhead in my life had a point – she usually did.

This thought of her words came ltering back into my mind the other day when we (meaning I) had to stop to use the men’s room at the traf c circle in Harriman State Park.

For as long as I remember there has been facilities right here, and they are usually open and clean each time I have needed to heed nature’s call.

Hey, in my 60s, and guys like me are allowed, ok?

As we rode up to the island, in the center of the traf c circle, along Seven Lakes Drive and Arden Valley Road along the eastern edge of Lake Tiorati I could not help but notice that the once “Motorcycle Parking” had been rescinded. Above the sign for the “Comfort Station” (the bathrooms) it now clearly stated Motorcycle Parking Not Permitted.

The pavement that was once marked for motorcycles had been taped over.

“Hmmm, what’s up Doc?”

We pulled in along the very edge of the circle, on the outside along the curb, Shira’s rear wheel in the cross-walk.

The park was surprisingly empty this ne Sunday in spring.

I looked over the signs wondering why they had decided to nix the bike parking but then, heeding “The Call” quickly ran across the road to the loo. I would just be a minute.

As I did I spotted the Park Service Utility pick-up rolling down Arden Valley Road.

Whilst busy inside I heard the snap of a PA and the driver berated Shira about the No Motorcycle Parking.

“Motorcycles Park in the Parking Lot” Four times. Shira heard it the rst time… but he was persistent.

Victor Chang once wrote about The Thin Line Between Persistence and Stupidity. He likened it to the famous American General Oliver P. Smith who said in World War II, “We aren’t retreating. We’re charging ahead in a different direction.”

All I really heard was “Motor…waa waa waa.” Like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Shira pointed at the bathroom. Realizing we were not in the lot, but on the side of the roads – safely I might add – he began to squawk that Shira was in a crosswalk. Not parked, but stopped with a running machine. Shira smiled inside her helmet, shrugged her shoulders, and the State Park worker – the same one that for some reason had to work on a beautiful Sunday in the spring - drove on, giving her the ‘Look’. Shira noted his displeasure, as did I as I walked out asking if we just got taken to task about stopping here.

OK, I got it, and now you do.

The park has nothing against we riders. But, you would not know this by the beratement Shira got from a guy in a pick-up truck from across the road on a public address system.

Still, I have a thing about men yelling, rather than talking, to my wife and he could have been a bit more tactful. Rather than macho’ing it over Continued on Page 11