Judge finds fault with fixies

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Faithful readers know about my love for fixed-gear cycling — these are super-simple bikes that have no gears and don’t coast. When the wheel turns the pedals turn. sort of like a big Big Wheel. Well, Uncle Fester was kind enough to send in this link to a recent court decision that fixies must have brakes. I do have a front brake, but the real hardcore riders like urban messengers, use their leg muscles to slow down or lock up their rear wheels into a controlled skid. Now the judge is saying a brake is a brake and locking the rear wheel does not a brake make. This will spawn some serious protests among the fixie crowd who are among the most militant in the burgeoning urban bike kulture.

“Yesterday at the Multnomah County Courthouse the law came down against fixed gear bicycles.On June 1, 2006 Portland bike messenger Ayla Holland was given a ticket for allegedly violating Oregon Revised Statute (ORS) 815.280(2)(a) which states,

A bicycle must be equipped with a brake that enables the operator to make the braked wheels skid on dry, level, clean pavement. strong enough to skid tire.”

Singing the lost wallet blues …

Sunday, while shopping like a dervish for a dinner party, I left my wallet in the kiddie seat of my shopping cart, abandoned it in the parking lot, drove off, remembered — duh — turned around, found the cart. Wallet was gone.


Called Amex, availed myself of the services of that stupid card registry I paid for but never used and to my amazement, got off of the phone within five minutes with all cards cancelled, new ones ordered, new drivers license ordered, new social security card ordered …. all of it replaced except for the cash and the billfold. Sweet.

That meant that I couldn’t travel to Raleigh this week, which put me into a classic case of Protestant Work Ethic Guilt and Angst, which in turn drove me to heights of work-at-home productivity. Oh well. Worst things could happen than having to sit out this heat wave on Cape Cod.

This week also marks the first true feeling of being recovered from the Memorial Day bike accident. I don’t ache as badly, the migraines are under control, I am exercising, and don’t feel unsure on my feet any more. Yay. But I have no bike. Wife says a new bike = divorce court. This affair d’Landis has me totally devastated. I predict, as Floyd does, that the B sample will come in positive, he will be stripped of the yellow jersey, and yet … yet … I’ll continue to watch the pharmaceutical spectacle obsessively.

So — at home this week. Vacation next. Into the dog days of August and life is fine.

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