Old 03-23-16, 11:43 AM
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Bikes: Schwinn Racer 3/spd; '73 Windsor Carerra Sport; Raleigh Colt; Raleigh ten-speed; Ballis; Windsor Carerra Sport

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crotch rot, etcetera...

Originally Posted by njkayaker View Post
There should be a serial number on the underside of the bottom bracket.

The "contraband" thing is silly.

Lots of new bikes don't have metal badges on the head tube.

It's quite likely that vast numbers of legal bikes in California are not registered.
Hey, some of the most ingrained and unavoidable phenomena, are silly; while for myself, getting a required by law California state bicycle license at least at one point seemed a reasonable and relatively painless, easy thing to do. No doubt, guessing, only a minority of folks there ever do get their bicycles registered and licensed; which I'd imagine few people selling bicycles in various sorts of retail outlets, ever try to promote or even alert a person too.

I did get my bicycle returned to me, with no attempt at their retention of that by the cop shop; though now, I wonder if I'd actually presented the bicycle there-or merely asked about getting a license? I sure remember being disturbed by the situation-a huge investment of time & expense both and also very creatively rendered I'd put my heart into, before I'd gotten things straightened out; and have to imagine these sorts of regulations may get employed selectively enough to be considered prejudicial, against certain folk. Without the license, I'd of been vulnerable at any time to having my bike seized and likely taken away from me permanently without recourse-if my own situation were difficult, particularly; so well worth being copasetic.

There have been times and I'd imagine still are places, where cars aren't required to be licensed; as for instance guns may someday be-so that getting oneself organized could be a worthwhile venture, even if odious? I'd guess with bicycles, registration and licensing is mainly to combat theft; so I'd be curious how universal California's law has become? If a lax phenomena, as is easy to suspect; perhaps having a license isn't too effective a theft protection, where I'd imagine the owner is usually the only person typically bothered-for evidence of compliance with the law?

One aside, sort of funny if not too closely related; was when I refused to sign a traffic ticket, given me for supposedly running a stop sign while I was on this bike-done mid afternoon in the middle of the week in Eureka, CA the fall of 1998. An easy day to recall the approximate date of, since only a day before the sister of a woman I'd been breaking up with, after our five months' love affair; got killed in a car wreck...single parent mother of teen daughters, raised living in Orange county with the two elder sisters' parents. Said to be ballerinas, I'd not until now imagined that as something occasioned by the painful & abrupt loss of their Mom? My former lover, a self-described "theatrical person" she'd once claimed I'd not understood about her. <http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_5052336>

That next day found me missing a county bus which had arrived and left too early which is rare, so that I'd ridden fourteen miles in order to make an acupuncture appointment with Ryan Vodden also a karate teacher in Arcata, CA. Following my treatment-whose wife and mother of their three sons is an annoying psychothe******..."the most facetious excuse for a livelihood yet invented" my koan about the trade; I'd emerged onto a secondary arterial California Street, from behind a building which was built close to the sidewalk I'm convinced made impossible any accurate sighting of my running that stop sign from as far away as the policeman had to've been, considering how long he'd taken to apprehend me-let alone as with any survivor cyclist, I'm not in any way given to lack of notice of such things as large and impressive let alone potentially dangerous, and didn't recall at all seeing that cop while also glancing a long ways in the direction he'd come from which in hindsight at least seemed a nearly vacant span of space nearly to Harris Street, the first perpendicular street with a stop light many blocks south.

Only near the end of the next block, had an Eureka city police officer in a black & white squad car, come up and stop me; someone a Hmong who later going to the county jail I found I terrorized inadvertently, by suggesting he'd perhaps planted something on me-whose stop turned out to be a faux illegal drug check, actually harassment of an older middle age man with a full beard, riding around town midday on a funky looking old bike.

I'd been inspired by someone a regular caller to KMUD-FM's call-in talk weekly morning talk show Thank Jah It's Friday; who'd been a vociferously demonstrative disabled Vietnam veteran, a cannabis rights activist-often phoning to tell about himself and specifically trying to get people to ask for writs of habeus corpus when detained by law enforcement. I'd tried to do, though to date have never figured out what I'd of needed to done to actually accomplish that...which since has become a disallowed though once fundamental aspect of American democracy, going the same route as bankruptcy for individuals-certainly a sleazy corruption of government, in either case. <http://www.kmud.org/>

The cop had gone through a little cardboard box I'd had nearly full of library books on the bike's rear carrier, looking for some pot or other drugs; who then asked if he'd find any needle drugs inside my half full pouch of Drum cigarette tobacco-rather than taking the trouble to look himself he'd been holding in one hand, which is what made me irked enough to suggest he'd tried to plant drugs on me: whose reaction seemed to imply his own fear of the bureaucracy, he was employed by. Or, perhaps simply a thespian; which is one of the human arts I'm least likely to feel I'm being manipulated by, or in other words I'd probably make a lousy poker player.

In Eureka not a light situation, since a place known widely as "the most corrupt town on the west coast" for a panoply of reasons, as urban hub of the most lucrative and largest illicit cannabis growing region in the country-which during 2006 a well known cannabis advocacy organization NORML got a lot of notice about, claiming this as the nation's largest cash crop, with more retail sales & revenue than corn & wheat combined...all tax free. Where so-called "hippies" actually a far different and more stringent culture and society than the kindly folk who also like the herb, the Mexican mafia, and reactionaries like the Ku Klux Klan allied with neoNazis, all compete with one another and internecine too-making living there about as close to a war zone as imaginable.

Despite the stupid romanticization of the area which draws so many people without means to live there, with no tax base since hardly any industry; who end up stressing out local individuals and/or organizations who have to attempt helping the least advantaged. Where there's a constant shortage of housing at all income levels; and where lots of more well off folks often also end up also attracted by similar romantic notions, who are frequently disillusioned in most difficult ways.

Another acupuncturist Kevin LaPorta I'd gone to nearly four years, for instance murdered during 2002 in one of the most horrific killings imaginable; snuffed by the grandmother of his nineteen month old daughter, whose mother he'd never married and been in a custody battle with. A kindly, athletic man with a neatly trimmed beard & little pony tail and a pleasure to be treated by, who was diminutive and balding and had an undergraduate degree in psychology; with some property in the mountains east of Fortuna, CA where he'd raised yaks & other animals while commuting three times a week on Monday, Wednesday & Friday to his physician gig.

I'd ended up in their pokey on a Thursday, so had to sit in the can until Tuesday when I got taken before superior court judge Marilyn Miles-a looker a person would like to take home to their mother; she'd wanted me to take time served, to pay the fine. I refused and instead a few weeks later went before another magistrate in a far more pedestrian & modest facility where the charges were dismissed due to failure to prosecute. Interestingly, right in front of me had been another bicyclist also stopped for allegedly running a stop sign with his bike; whom that same judge also dismissed charges against, while lecturing the policeman about how irksome the local cops were-for ticketing bicyclists running stop signs, when they'd many far more serious matters a lot more pressing to pursue.

The first night I was in lock-up, I'd been put into a large room of cots with several other men; then the next morning had to face an uniformed officer who'd looked as if he'd spent lots of time pumping iron, asking me what gang I'd been a member of...so idiotic a suggestion I simply turned my back on him and began to walk away-when I got put into a hammer lock and escorted thus, all the way to a solitary confinement cell. There, I'd been able to contemplate some art a prior occupant we'd imagine; had sketched on the wall above where the foot of my cot stood: An image of the Xtian "fish," stood on that's tail, to present an iconic image of a woman's open crotch. With some accompanying dialogue as well as a similar and more crude representation of the alternative gender's genitalia, as if approaching a sexual union together.

When I got took from there to the court room, this was with an uniformed woman in a county sheriff's deputy's garb; whose black on green lettering name patch above her left chest pocket proclaimed her as a Ms., Miss or Mrs. "LOVEALL" I still think rather strange.
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