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The Long Tongue of the Law

July 27, 2012

I rode to the local police station yesterday to report a lost camera. The guy behind the counter started quizzing me about how many miles I ride and thinking he was just an interested roadie I confessed I ride often, but not usually very far. I scoot around town, commute to work, mountainbike etc, but no epic distances. Then he asks me if I always wear black? What’s this, the fashion police?

Turns out the officer in question had a head-on with a car (on a road I ride regularly) and is lucky to be alive. The resulting head-injury forced him out of uniform and behind a desk. He was friendly guy, looking out for my safety after all, but I still felt like a naughty six year old as I stood there getting a lecture on the importance of blinkies and fluro.

North Shore Policing Centre

Nice bike-racks outside the bacon factory, I was pleasantly surprised.

My only come-back was when shown the big dent in the side of his head I piped-up with “well your helmet didn’t do you much good then, did it?” Pathetic I know, but it was a one-way conversation to that point!

It was only when unlocking my bike outside I realized that not only was my t-shirt black, my helmet, gloves, sunglasses, back-pack, socks, shoes and bike were of the same hue. This is no fashion statement, I missed-out on the fashion gene, it’s just a practical colour for dirty bike-ride’n boys. Black things tend to smell offensive before they look offensive in my experience, an admirable trait.

So I took his advice, switched on my rear blinky and pedaled away confident in the fact my poo-brown boardies would keep me out of trouble!

There is No New Black

Damn, even the tyres are black on my bike.

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