I haven't had a chance yet to start chapter two of my jail story, but I thought the following piece I wrote for my website on CA government and politics might be interesting to the biking community. Capitol folks were really excited about seeing the tour.
From Capitol Morning Report, Feb. 21 edition --
Thousands of people lined the streets around the Capitol for the finish of yesterday's stage of the Tour of California. JJ Haedo of Team CSC went flying past the VIP tents lining L Street en route to the victory. Levi Leipheimer with Team Discovery finished in the pack and retained his overall tour lead.
Before the medal ceremony Gov. Schwarzenegger addressed the crowd. He thanked the tour sponsors for putting on such a spectacular event showcasing our state's natural beauty. Then he declared that France can't hold a candle to us, which elicited a roar of approval.
We asked some Capitol folks in the crowd for their thoughts about the race and here's what they said.
--Asm. Lori Saldana - If there's such a thing as an adrenaline contact high, this was it. Total rush.
--Lt. Gov. John Garamendi - The crowd and the noise were unbelievable. We saw world-class cyclists racing at 40-plus mph, with teammates on the various squads helping push each other to the front of the pack for a mutual victory. That's not always how it happens in this building, (the Capitol) but it should be. I'm looking forward, hopefully, to seeing next year's event back here in Sacramento.
--Speaker's Deputy Chief of Staff Steve Maviglio (a bike commuter) - I rode my bike in today in solidarity.
--Political Dir. Paul Mitchell, EdVoice - Amazing. It was great to see so many Capitol people get a thrill out of cycling. I can't wait to get out on my bike.
--Lobbyist Justin Fanslau, whose clients include CA Bicycle Coalition - Watching the tour roar by me was a thrill. With so many spectators on hand and the sound that their applause and excitement made makes advocating for safe roads in California a privilege.
--Paul Hegyi, Chief of Staff, Office of Asm. Van Tran - Having the peloton blow by near 40 miles an hour was an exhilarating experience. The riders are so fast it created a cool gust of wind, a nice change from the hot air we're accustomed to at the Capitol.
--Secty. A.G. Kawamura, Dept. of Food & Agriculture - What a great way to celebrate health and fitness for our state. It takes discipline to be an athlete and discipline to work on being healthy. Eat more fruits and vegetables!
--Lobbyist Brendan Twohig, Twohig Consulting - These guys were going so fast I felt like I drank a glass of dirt from what came off the road. I loved it! Sacramento and Amgen did a great job.
--Senate Republican consultant Cory Salzillo -- Seeing the top pros in the sport of cycling charging down the streets of Sacramento was quite a thrill. It was great to see all of the sponsors, elected and local officials, and racing fans come out to support what is becoming one of California's premier sporting events.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Friday, February 9, 2007
13 hrs in county wearing bright blue spandex, chapter 1
"Hey you!," a gruff voice shouted from behind. "Come here."
I thought there's no way that command was intended for me, but I turned around to look anyway. Glaring at me was a police officer. He was stumpy and rumpled and obviously very perturbed. I wheeled my bike around and rode over to him.
"You bicyclists think you own the road," began a two minute diatribe delivered by one Officer Gish. I don't remember the specifics of the banality that followed.
I'd done a U-turn on a minor city street. The road stripe was dashed not solid. Recalling my driver's ed class from 15 years prior, I was pretty sure I'd broken no laws. I figured destiny dealt me an unfortunate encounter with an officer who wanted to vent, but couldn't cite me for anything. So I did my best to ignore the smelly vitriol blowing into my face.
For most of the rant, I looked over his head at a car flipped on its hood blocking the intersection. I'd done the U-turn to avoid being detoured onto a one-way street going the opposite direction I wanted to go. Dumbfounded barely describes my state of mind as I pondered how much this guy must despise cyclists for him to quit attending to a spectacular crash in order to berate me.
Two minutes is a long time for a berating. About half-way I grew to be as perturbed as Gish. I was on my way home from a 60 mile group ride where we race on a levee road out to the county line and back. I was tired and hungry and holding back a growing urge to tell this chump where to put his badge.
Two minutes was also enough time for the TV news van to arrive on the scene. Oh great, I thought. The reporter will see the flipped over car and a policeman dressing down a guy on a bike and think I had something to do with the crash.
Finally, Gish asks me a direct question. "What's your name?" he growled.
I looked at him expressing as much disdain as I could muster and lied. "Todd Martin," I said. Oh if I could have a do-over on that one.
In fact I tried. Gish shocked me and began writing a ticket.
"Um," I said to him in a conciliatory tone, "could we start over. Todd Martin's not my real name."
"Well who do you want to be this time?" Gish asked haughtily.
"I'll be who I really am, John Fairbanks," I replied.
"Do you have ID?"
"No. I'm on my way home from a long bike ride and I don't carry my driver's license with me when I'm riding."
"Hmmmm." Gish leans his head closer to the radio attached to his shoulder and calls headquarters to verify my name and address. Another ten minutes pass while he goes back and forth with the crackling voice from HQ.
Meanwhile, the TV crew is taking shots of the car. I look the other way to avoid having my face wind up on the five o'clock news. Lucky for me another officer appears from the opposite side of the intersection. He starts talking to the news crew so they don't come over to Gish and me.
Dispatch confirmed my identity and Gish goes about zealously writing a ticket. For what, I have no clue, but I sign my name anyway just so I can be on my way. It's obvious Gish wants to teach me a lesson by inconveniencing me as much as possible.
Before he tears off the ticket and gives it to me, he starts fumbling through his breast pocket. He stands in silence while his chubby fingers dig. Out comes a folded piece of paper which Gish slowly unfolds and holds up to the sun for examination. "What the hell is this guy doing?" I'm thinking. The piece of paper wasn't his intended target. He meticulously refolds it. This takes longer than the unfolding. Back in the pocket the paper goes. More chubby fingered fumbling and he's still not saying a word. Finally he finds the object of his inefficient search. It's a small ink pad.
"Gimme your thumb," Gish says to me in the same gruff tone he used to first get my attention.
"Why? " I reply. "I signed the ticket. You know who I am."
"Do you have your ID?"
"I told you, I don't carry it with me when I'm riding."
"Gimme your thumb!" Gish barks once again.
"Wh..." I was going to ask why again, but before I could finish saying the word Gish knocks me off my bike onto the ground. He rolls me over, pulls my arms behind my back and handcuffs me.
I'm off for a 13 hour adventure in county lock-up wearing bright blue spandex.
I thought there's no way that command was intended for me, but I turned around to look anyway. Glaring at me was a police officer. He was stumpy and rumpled and obviously very perturbed. I wheeled my bike around and rode over to him.
"You bicyclists think you own the road," began a two minute diatribe delivered by one Officer Gish. I don't remember the specifics of the banality that followed.
I'd done a U-turn on a minor city street. The road stripe was dashed not solid. Recalling my driver's ed class from 15 years prior, I was pretty sure I'd broken no laws. I figured destiny dealt me an unfortunate encounter with an officer who wanted to vent, but couldn't cite me for anything. So I did my best to ignore the smelly vitriol blowing into my face.
For most of the rant, I looked over his head at a car flipped on its hood blocking the intersection. I'd done the U-turn to avoid being detoured onto a one-way street going the opposite direction I wanted to go. Dumbfounded barely describes my state of mind as I pondered how much this guy must despise cyclists for him to quit attending to a spectacular crash in order to berate me.
Two minutes is a long time for a berating. About half-way I grew to be as perturbed as Gish. I was on my way home from a 60 mile group ride where we race on a levee road out to the county line and back. I was tired and hungry and holding back a growing urge to tell this chump where to put his badge.
Two minutes was also enough time for the TV news van to arrive on the scene. Oh great, I thought. The reporter will see the flipped over car and a policeman dressing down a guy on a bike and think I had something to do with the crash.
Finally, Gish asks me a direct question. "What's your name?" he growled.
I looked at him expressing as much disdain as I could muster and lied. "Todd Martin," I said. Oh if I could have a do-over on that one.
In fact I tried. Gish shocked me and began writing a ticket.
"Um," I said to him in a conciliatory tone, "could we start over. Todd Martin's not my real name."
"Well who do you want to be this time?" Gish asked haughtily.
"I'll be who I really am, John Fairbanks," I replied.
"Do you have ID?"
"No. I'm on my way home from a long bike ride and I don't carry my driver's license with me when I'm riding."
"Hmmmm." Gish leans his head closer to the radio attached to his shoulder and calls headquarters to verify my name and address. Another ten minutes pass while he goes back and forth with the crackling voice from HQ.
Meanwhile, the TV crew is taking shots of the car. I look the other way to avoid having my face wind up on the five o'clock news. Lucky for me another officer appears from the opposite side of the intersection. He starts talking to the news crew so they don't come over to Gish and me.
Dispatch confirmed my identity and Gish goes about zealously writing a ticket. For what, I have no clue, but I sign my name anyway just so I can be on my way. It's obvious Gish wants to teach me a lesson by inconveniencing me as much as possible.
Before he tears off the ticket and gives it to me, he starts fumbling through his breast pocket. He stands in silence while his chubby fingers dig. Out comes a folded piece of paper which Gish slowly unfolds and holds up to the sun for examination. "What the hell is this guy doing?" I'm thinking. The piece of paper wasn't his intended target. He meticulously refolds it. This takes longer than the unfolding. Back in the pocket the paper goes. More chubby fingered fumbling and he's still not saying a word. Finally he finds the object of his inefficient search. It's a small ink pad.
"Gimme your thumb," Gish says to me in the same gruff tone he used to first get my attention.
"Why? " I reply. "I signed the ticket. You know who I am."
"Do you have your ID?"
"I told you, I don't carry it with me when I'm riding."
"Gimme your thumb!" Gish barks once again.
"Wh..." I was going to ask why again, but before I could finish saying the word Gish knocks me off my bike onto the ground. He rolls me over, pulls my arms behind my back and handcuffs me.
I'm off for a 13 hour adventure in county lock-up wearing bright blue spandex.
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