Traffic Camera Fraud

There's a new web site up and working now in Arizona, CameraFraud.com, and it deals with the injustices of the new speed camera system being implemented in Arizona. The State of Arizona has decided to roll out it's biggest stealth money confiscation scheme so far. It's hard to imagine there is anything more phony than car and motorcycle dealers charging "doc fees" but speed and red light cameras fall into that category and are worse as far as I'm concerned.

Some research will show anyone that cares to confront the truth that automatic traffic ticket camera systems are far from fool proof and in fact have been shown to increase traffic incidents contrary to what the State Department of Transportation proclaims on it's web page.
A 2008 University of South Florida report found:
"Comprehensive studies conclude cameras actually increase crashes and injuries, providing a safety argument not to install them.... public policy should avoid conflicts of interest that enhance revenues for government and private interests at the risk of public safety."

You can find reference information here and here.

Many city and state governments are lured by easy money under the guise of "road safety" but no one is fooled by this bit of political slight of hand. The issue is money, not safety. That was well proven by the State of Arizona's FY09 budget summary which stated "Prompt enactment and implementation of the new highway photo enforcement legislation would provide revenue needed for responding to growing needs."

I object in principal to photo enforcement systems as not only as another step towards "Big Brother" government but also as an abdication by the government to properly police our streets using a police officer who is far more able than a machine to judge the complexities of a traffic situation.

The usual response by officials is "don't speed and you have nothing to worry about." To that I pile of sanctimonious equine fecal matter I say that no one needs a questionable ticket issued by a robot just so the State can raise money when they don't have the courage to raise taxes or cut services. "Just don't break the law" is the sort of government-speak one expects from fascists, communists, and others devoted to the growth and expansion of the government who employs them.

Perhaps you are thinking that I am angry because I am one who recently received a citation via an automatic ticket system somewhere. You would be incorrect in thinking that. I have not received such a ticket in Arizona or anywhere else. I have no axe to grind here except to object to the government pursuing additional revenues in an inappropriate and unjust way. The times in my four plus decades of driving that I have been cited by a traffic officer were straight forward (perhaps with one exception), the officers were polite, professional, and I paid the fine without complaint. Sometimes I like to head out on some country road and ride fast and if I get popped, so be it. You play, you pay. My concern is with a fallible camera system set to maximize profits for the government and it's contractor or photos reviewed by blind people before the citation is mailed.

No one is perfect which is why camera systems are bound to err and safe drivers are likely to get a citation when they miss a light by as little as 1/100th of second. By the way, the Arizona State speed cameras are supposed to be set to trip at 11 mph over the posted limit. I've been told that the State highway patrol wanted them set to trip at 6 mph over. That shows you how much the police leadership wants to nitpick in pursuit of control and money.

Watch your speedometer; how often do you find yourself more than 5 mph over a posted speed limit if only for a moment? What about 11 mph over? 25 mph zones on side streets or 35 mph zones on wide, lightly traveled city streets should prove lucrative hunting grounds for our ravenous government unless every one of us drives prefect. Roads where the speed limit changes from 45 mph to 55 mph and back again in a matter of a mile or two will provide and ideal speed trap location because you see the speed limit changes at the sign, not 10 feet beyond it. Expect the State to exploit this. The money potential will be too good to resist.

In the desperation to raise money some governments even involve enforcement trickery. Given time and after traffic cameras take root more than they have already you can be sure that police departments will resort to gimmicks in their effort to make you a perfect driver. That is the goal, isn't it? For all of us to drive perfectly and never make an error?

You government officials were elected to govern honestly, not to backdoor citizens rights and pocketbooks. An honest government should not need to use some Orwellian electronic device supplied by a foreign company to do the financial heavy lifting for them. If the government needs more money it can cut costs or raise taxes and fees honestly. Traffic cameras are a fraud and a shame and the State of Arizona and every city who uses them ought to be ashamed of their actions.

[Note: I am not affiliated in anyway with the web sites www.thenewspaper.com or www.CameraFraud.com]

Scooter Diva

Watching the fair and lovely Debbie get used to her new scooter has been great fun. The last time I saw her smile so big was when someone dumped three wiener dog puppies on our porch (no, we didn't keep them but found someone to take them since we have three dogs already).

Yours truly being a generally curious person and wanting to be supportive of Debbie's scootering I felt a need to see what I could learn about the world of scooters, a world I've mostly ignored in my decades of motorcycling. I've learned a great many things already. The world of scooters is a bit like a parallel universe to motorcycles but with smaller wheels. Many scooterists are in fact weird and geeky just like I've always thought they were but then they are just being who they are and not pretending to be what they are not unlike the yuppie biker poser for whom a Harley is merely a fashion statement. I appreciate the willingness of scooter people to not take themselves too seriously, something of which too many motorcycle riders are guilty.

Debbie seems to be getting into the scooter thing pretty well. She had a birthday this past Saturday and I won't tell you which one but suffice to say she's still younger than I am. When I asked her a week or so back what she wanted for her birthday she e-mailed me a list of goodies for her Ruckus including a new rear shock, a storage bag, and an "invisibility cloak" (bike cover). In the end the Birthday Mallard (the birthday counterpart to Santa Claus at our house) brought her a some nice chrome bits and a "BattleScooter" t-shirt to celebrate her first half century on earth. Oops...

I suppose as Deb gets into the whole urban battlescooter thing she'll next get some combat boots, a faux german helmet, and spend her time looking at scooter performance websites for a nitrous bottle to boost the Ruckus's horsepower beyond 5. Yes, they really make Nos systems for scooters.

In my wanderings around the 'net to learn about scooters I've visited a number of scooter forums which are mostly light hearted places but still as devoted to technical stuff, travel, and weekend riding as your average motorcycle forum is. Of the scooter forums I've visited my favorite so far is one in which I cannot even post a message. The site is "Scooter Diva".

"Ah, Doug" you are thinking, "you old perv, reading scooter girl forums like some peeping Tom hoping to see lacy knickers." Nope, I stumbled across the Scooter Diva forum via a link on a Ruckus forum and was delighted in what I found. In particular the sub-forum "Scooter Virgins" is great fun. I know what you nasty old bikers are thinking. Stop that.

I was delighted not because I caught ladies talking about sex or about what secret pick up lines that would actually work on them (I'm married now, pick up lines would be useless info) but because the women are much more honest about their newbie riding experiences than we men are. I found I really enjoyed the pleasure the women were taking in discovering the very basic parts of riding on two wheels. Especially in the Scooter Virgins sub-forum the women talk about the thrill of things like their first 30 mile ride, the first time they road over 50 mph, the first time they rode to work and back or rode after dark, all those little adventures which are part of every motorcycle rider's experience and for some, a part of a now very distant and more innocent past. The experience of the newbies brought back a lot of fond memories for me. When guys are noobs they talk about their first crash, the first animal they hit and killed, their first speeding ticket. Women do have a slightly different perspective on the whole two wheel deal.

I fear that a life time of riding big bikes, expensive bikes, some of the best motorcycles money can buy, has left me a little bit jaded at this point. I may actually need a scooter or some little bike so I can ride along with Debbie on her Ruckus to keep an eye on her but also to help me reconnect with what it was about motorcycles that got me hooked on riding forty plus years ago.

As The Wheels Turn - Part 10

SuperMoto Scooter?

This whole scooter riding thing may have more potential for fun than I thought:



Hat tip to The Scooter Scoop blog for the link.

As The Wheels Turn - Part 8

Year One On Two Wheels

OK, so I give the fair and lovely Debbie all the money from the sale of our Gold Wing so she can fulfill her life long dreams of travel and adventure. I'd have thought just being married to me would be enough adventure for her but apparently not. Now, what's the first thing she spends my motorcycle money on?? A scooter! Not just any scooter but a 49cc Honda Ruckus. Two wheels and an engine are the basic components for fun most anytime in my world. That's my kind of woman!

Debbie's pretty much never ridden on anything with two wheels and an engine except as a passenger but she's had this lingering interest in having her own scooter. We've looked at them, she's sat on them, learned which controls did what, how to put the scooter on and off the center stand by herself but never actually would commit to buying one. This "scooter dream" has been lingering for a year or so now. Yesterday when I spotted a 2003 Ruckus sitting out front at a local used car lot I mentioned it to her. "Let's go look at it!" she said. Cool, I'm good with that.

So off to the car lot we go. Seems they took it in trade and didn't really want it so they sold it to me cheap, a 2003 Honda Ruckus with just 375 miles on it. Out the door price: $1056 including tax, license, and $299 in phony "doc fees." My first thought of course was that we could flip the Ruckus on Craig's List and make a fast $500. There's that car salesman heritage again. Debbie nixed the idea before the last words of the suggestion left my lips.

Saturday morning arrives. Debbie rounds up her riding gear, I load the mighty Ruckus in the back of the truck and off we go to a local dirt area we've come to call "The Dumpster Highway." Yes, that is a bit of a play on the name of the famous Dempster Highway that runs up to the Arctic Circle. Riding the Dempster Highway is the current "in" adventure for motorcycle riders and riding the Dumpster Highway a couple of miles from our house is still an adventure if you've never ridden solo before. Adventure is where you find it. Sometimes you don't even need to leave town or spend a lot of money. The fact that the field we went to is littered with the usual dumpster dumpings from our local idiots who are too lazy to go to the town dump (for free, yet!) means that dodging a bit of broken glass, old refrigerators, shipping pallets, and about a million empty shotgun shells only adds to the sense of adventure. Fortunately there's still enough clear, flat ground out there to be suitable for some basic riding fun.

After I unloaded the Ruckus we spent a few minutes going over the details of operation again. Debbie has some ATV riding experience so the auto trans of the Ruckus was not too strange to her and she rides a bicycle regularly and pretty well so it was just a case of combining some existing skills along with words of wisdom from the old fahrt. You'll note from the photos that she's geared up the same as if we were heading out on the late, great Gold Wing. Falling off at 12 mph from a scooter is no different than falling off from 12 mph on a Gold Wing. It's the same miles per hour and the same earth that you hit. Of course the scooter won't crush you like a bug if it lands on you but you get my drift.

You might be asking yourself why I didn't sign her up for an MSF course. Trust me, there's a reason for that but we'll save the explanation for another time.


I gave here a simple task to start and set her on her way: Start, ride straight 100 yards or so, and slow to a stop.
Riding straight was a piece of cake. Getting turned around was a little more challenge but was mastered without a tip over.






Later I laid the Ruckus over on it side so she could practice picking it up. I showed her how first. Much easier than picking up the Gold Wing which I may or may not have dropped in our driveway once.








After the straight line practice I set out some cones and we worked on figure eights. Notice the correct helmet position looking ahead into the apex of the turn. If she'd gotten a knee down she'd be another Valentino Rossi for sure.

After she felt comfortable she began wondering around the area as she wished. She's got an independent streak (which I greatly appeciate) so I didn't make anything too regimented except the safety gear issue and she's in total agreement with me on that.

She thought it would be fun to ride through the ditch but changed her mind at the last moment. Good choice for a newbie. Later Debbie would tackle a less angled crossing without a problem.

Next came a high speed pass. The draft from the Ruckus nearly pulled the camera from my hands.



Then came the scary part.


Debbie stopped out at the cones, picked them up, put them on the front of the scooter and rode back over to me. "I want to ride it home!"

Errrk....uh.... hmmm...

I had to ponder that one for a minute or three. She was handling the scooter very well but riding in the dirt isn't riding on the street, not by a long shot. Still we were only two miles from home and we live on the outskirts of a small town so traffic on a Saturday morning would be zilch. No license is need for under 50cc bikes in Arizona so I decided to let her test herself on the road, just a little. No major streets would be crossed and the greatest hazard would likely be the smell as we passed the waste water treatment plant. Various instructions were given and I opted to follow along behind in the pick up. If someone was going to pass her they'd have to get past me and the F250 first. Besides, at 25 mph the 7.3L Ford diesel gets pretty decent mileage.

Not much danger of the Ruckus exceeding the 45 mph speed limit.

You can see what I mean about a small town and empty streets on a Saturday morning.

A quick turn into the neighborhood, down a block or so and...

Safely home!

Whew...

As for me, I didn't ride anything on two wheels today, not even the Ruckus, and truth be told I had about as much fun as I've had all year. It would have been waaaay cooler if she'd bought the H-D Crossbones but of course teaching her to ride it might have been a bit tricky so I'd have had to ride it for her "just to break it in" and I think she would have caught on eventually that she was never going to ride the Crossbones. Debbie is happy with the Ruckus, fairly safe, plus she still has plenty of money left for that cruise thing.

What's In A Name?

My friend Jim visited a Harley shop recently and wrote me later in an e-mail "There were some rough looking bikers in there. Beer bellies, lots of black leather, tattoos, beards. And the men looked pretty tough too!"

My last post generated some kind comments and interesting ideas about what constitutes a "biker." Over at the Mr. Motorcycle blog there's some good thoughts on the subject and with which I am in general agreement.

I've never considered myself a real biker though, hence my unwillingness in the previous blog entry to post a picture of me standing next to a new Harley Crossbones. I am not much into playing pretend and I'd prefer to make fun of myself than be mistaken a poseur.


Rather than a biker I have always thought of myself as a through and through motorcycle enthusiast. I'm not an expert about anything in particular in the motorcycle world but I love almost all of it. I've spent most of my life around and riding motorcycles, made my living from them sometimes, and spent what some would say was foolish amounts of money on motorcycles. I have no regrets. As for the biker label, there is a reason why I never wanted to be a biker in the sense that I know the term and reason for that pre-dates the not only the riding experience of a lot of people but even pre-dates their existence and mine.

When I first became interested in motorcycles I was about 12 years old. As with anything that catches my interest I wanted to learn about motorcycles, poke at them, understand them, and ultimately own and ride one. They scared me a little but rather than scare me away the feeling pulled me closer for some reason. That period of time when I got hooked on bikes was the early 1960s so my ideas about what motorcycles and motorcycle riders are had their formation in a time when motorcycling was in many respects extremely different than it is now. Honda was just starting to run about telling everyone that you meet the nicest people on their bikes.

No one considered Hondas real motorcycles. Real motorcycles were ridden usually by ruffians -- bikers. The upright and virtuous American Motorcycle Association with their white pants wearing officials at races and sanctioned, uniform wearing road clubs or well organized racing clubs was quick to point out that their crowd were the good guys and only one percent of all riders were the bad guys. You see, those one percent folks were...bikers! Some bikers still wear a "1%" patch proudly. It has a much deeper meaning than just a jacket decoration.


Many years back my younger brother bought himself a Yamaha 400. Might have been his first bike, I'm not sure. He called me and told about his "bad" black bike and his "bad" black jacket and his "bad" boots, sunglasses, etc. etc. etc. I replied. "One day you're going to be sitting at a stop light on your bad black Yamaha, wearing your bad black jacket and your bad mirror sunglasses and some biker who really is a bad guy is going to ride up, hock a big one on your boot and then we'll see how bad you really are." Darrel grew up in time, went through a fair number of bikes himself, and currently rides a black Suzuki VStrom 1000. I don't know that he thinks the VStrom is "bad" but he seems to like it a lot. No, that's not my brother on the left, that's "Psycho" on his KLR650.


In 1963 or so to be a biker was not seen a positive thing in any way by anyone outside of those who made up that group. To be a biker was a genuine anti-social thing. Forty or fifty years ago a biker was a rough character, an untrustworthy person (except to other bikers). A biker was someone who smoked unfiltered cigarettes, had a tattoo, rode a loud motorsickle down your street late at night, shot pool in smoky bar rooms, consorted with women of easy virtue, and settled his arguments with his fists or a length of drive chain. Biker and hoodlum were pretty much interchangeable words. Mr. 1960 Biker probably didn't have a job or if he did it was something no decent person would aspire to as a career. Nice girls did not hang around with bikers, decent people would not associate with bikers, and young men of promise were inculcated with the idea that "You are known by the company you keep." Wally and The Beaver would have understood it was certainly not good to be known as a biker. It all sounds like a silly stereotype now, doesn't it? But there was a time when it was reality. For a few, it still is.

To better understand this early image of the biker watch the old Marlon Brando movie "The Wild One." The movie looks corny now, seems trite, but it was very much a reflection of how people saw "bikers" way back when dinosaurs roamed the earth in 1950. You will even see some nice, proper motorcycle racing people chase off the bikers. Worse, "The Wild One" along with a few later movies, indelibly stamped the negative biker image on the wider American social consciousness and to some degree that negative image is still there.

Note also in "The Wild One" how many bikers rode something other than a Harley. In fact if you look through custom bike magazines from the late '60s or '70s you'll see that a fair number of customs were based on British bikes, not American bikes. Bikers rode anything and everything (except "ring ding Jap bikes").

The term "biker" has evolved quite a lot in the last 50 years and that is for the good. For many riders now, regardless of their positive demeanor, grooming habits, employment, or lack of a rap sheet, to be called a biker is a badge of honor. We take some of the patina of the original biker, the spirit of rebelliousness, and call it our own even while we know it's at best only partly true of a modern biker. Calling yourself a biker now is more a statement of the importance of motorcycles and motorcycle riding in your life.

Those that I, being an old fahrt, would refer to as "real bikers" still exist. If you've been around motorcycles very long you know who they are and they pretty much fit the old stereotype before it was a stereotype. It's their life though, it's who they are. They didn't borrow their lifestyle from anyone else. As one told me recently "I didn't choose this life it chose me. I tried to get away but I always came back." Being a real biker isn't necessarily and easy ride.

If you think of yourself as a biker in the modern sense of the term then more power to you as long as you're serious about bikes and riding. If you're just playing the biker game though, remember that someday you're liable to run into a real, old style biker who just might call your bluff and hock a big one on your boot. Then we'll see if you settle the argument with your fists, a length of drive chain, or a weak smile.

As for me, I'm just an motorcycle guy, a guy who got bit by the motorcycle bug a long time ago and never found or even wanted a cure. If that makes me a biker by the modern definition then that's OK.

Besides the photos of yours truly, all of the people in the photos in this entry are people I know, have ridden with, or have met at bike events. I do not know if any of them consider themselves to be bikers but I'm certain they are all serious motorcycle riders. My kind of people.

Born To Be Mild

I found myself with a bit of free time yesterday and in the vicinity of certain motorcycle shops so it only made sense to visit said shops and look at bikes. As the fair an lovely Debbie was with me she would at critical moments whipped out her point and shoot camera to document some of the fun for all of you.

We visited a Kawasaki shop, a Honda / Yamaha / Suzuki "powersports store" (ugh), a Euro bike dealer now stocking choppers along with Ducati & Friends, and yes...two Harley shops. How could I not stop and eyeball the darkly alluring bad boy bike, the Crossbones, the bike which brought about a whole series of intense, high level discussions at the 40on2 Estate?

I did indeed plant my keester on a Crossbones and I like it a bunch. The version with the silver tank really captures the bobber look better than the all black version does and I can image no end of fun bombing around Arizona on that bike. I even stood next to a very rowdy looking Jack Daniels Edition Harley. The Jack Daniels bike was fun except that I quite drinking nearly 30 years ago and didn't like JD even then.

To be honest, in looking at the pictures Debbie took of me sitting on the bikes I looked ridiculous, like some middle aged, chubby, engineer poseur imagining he was a biker, hence the slight editing of the photos for the blog. I am not a biker, I am what I appear to be and as much as fun as it may be to imagine a Harley would make me look like my occasional riding associate, Imo, I look like me: A motorcycle enthusiast but fairly ordinary no matter what. There's a lesson there for all who think riding a Harley makes them a real biker. See if in the photo below you can guess which guy is Imo and guy is me.

And just to mess with notions of stereotypes, for the last several years Imo (on the left) rides a Yamaha RoadStar ratbike:

I would never actually buy or not buy a bike based on how I looked on it. Motorcycle riders can all be a little image conscience (don't tell me you never rode past a big store window and didn't check out your reflection) but truly I do not care what anyone thinks of what I ride, how I dress when I ride, or how much or how little I ride. What does all this mean? I don't know. I just went bike shopping and motorcycle fever combined with a lack of access to large sums of cash and an empty garage has addled my brain.

Back at the Harley shop Debbie was curled up on a black leather Harley logo'd sofa by the Harley logo'd pool table next to the Harley logo'd juke box and reading a book while eating free popcorn as I continued to browse bikes and tell stories to the sales guy. H-D has done a wonderful job of marketing their shops to wives. Someone finally figured out that non-riding wives and girlfriends just might have some influence on their mate's purchasing decision.

H-D also does a superb job of styling and nailing down the fit & finish on their bikes. I'd be pleased to motor about on the Crossbones or any of several Harleys upon which I looked and liked. I suspect that the Harley Fat Boy would fit me better than the Crossbones, you know what I mean?

I finally wandered over to Debbie and said "I told the salesman I'd take the Crossbones. Give me the checkbook please." She looked at me with much skepticism, not unlike the way she does after reading most of my blog entries. She said "Yeah right. I don't see the salesman doing the happy dance so I know you're just teasing me."

Sigh.

A Worthy Ride

As the fair and lovely Debbie pours over cruise ship brochures humming happily I am dispiritedly browsing Craig's List and Cycle Trader looking for some sort of motorized two-wheeled vehicle commensurate with my experience, riding preferences, need for speed, general reputation as a motorcycle enthusiast, and worse...my budget. Since my motorcycle budget is now slightly less than what the average Harley owner spends on beer in a month or the average BMW owner spends on one tune-up it is mighty slim pickin's for ol' Doug. No matter, sometimes the search is half the fun and I try to be open to new directions and ideas about what constitutes motorcycle riding fun. Still, I have my standards.


I'd rather have the Heinkel scooter with the sidecar.

As The Wheels Turn - Part 7