This is a public service announcement.

Let's put our hands together for yet another hostile and power hungry Austin police officer.

(Photo by Allison)
Jason Mistric, Badge 4856

We've gotten to the point now where if you do run a red light and a cop does see you and let's say he has nothing better to do, then he has the RIGHT to throw you in jail.
Never mind the ticket, your going to jail.

Does this make any sense to you?

Is Austin the New, New York?

Here's a documentary I saw months back that has a few "sign-sign" tales of what's occurring in our own city.
Still We Ride : Part One
Part Two
Three
Four

Though I think it's safe to say that maybe Mister Mistric is a bit on edge due to the fact that his first occupation as Vin Diesel's stunt double was a bust. It's been very apparent that the Austin Police Department has progressively been interested on what goes on at the last Friday of the month.
I wonder how much time and tax dollars they wasted on having helicopters spy on us as we peacefully (minus a few hot heads) ride. Speaking of which, the Austin Police Department spent $3,161,093 on fuel in 2007 and has already spent $2,874,468 this year. The logical thing would to produce this wasted money into something that would protect cyclist.

Such as Shared lane markings, colored bicycle lanes, advance stop lines, and bicycle may use full lane signs. How about putting some of that money into educational courses for drivers and cyclist?
For those of you unsure what I'm typing about it's about the incident that occurred this March Mass ride. Those who know me, it's clear on how much I love my bicycle & cycling. Also for those of you who do ride and would love to join me, let's ride!
What better time to enjoy the spring then on your beautiful bicycle?
Don't dare let their tactic to scare us from riding work

I've been meaning to post some links up to inform a few of you who ask me constantly how I'm aware of everything that goes on in the Austin Bike community.
Here are a few of my daily web search:

Austin on Two Wheels

ATXBS

Let's Take The One

Thy Neighbors' Bike

And here are a few I tend to Geek out on:

Yehuda Moon & the Kickstand Cyclery

Bike Snob NYC

And here's a little history lesson for those of you not familiar with mass.


History of Critical Mass in Austin, Texas from Simon Evans on Vimeo.
I've made it my new year's resolution to participate in every mass ride this year and so far I've yet to miss one. With this last one I'm glad I got to witness the abuse of a badge with my own eyes. I was infuriated for hours. The thought of the arbitrary abuse of power we had all witnessed with our own eyes... The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed me as i stood a mere feet away. My heart sunk and the only thing that happened was my voice shouting in confusion, "Why is he in handcuffs?!" "What did he do to be put in cuffs?!" The other joined in, in fear and concern. What were we to do?

I shudder to imagine what it feels like to be subjected to power of abuse & absurdity that infect the world.
A slap of a uniform is all it takes to allow such absurdness.
SPEAK UP!

Don't dare fear it, fight for what you know is right.
Know YOUR Rights.

Often the hearts of men and women are stirred.

The burn is stinging with such ease.

The scars prove that there was something to be learned with each hiss of the iron.
Tracing steps back to it's original source.

Laying captive to it's threat.

Casual tongues tend to prance in seclusion.
Romancing the sounds is my main concern, won't you please step outside?

Welfare Bread.

What recession do they speak of?
Coins have been tossed at me and around me with generous praise!
"El Bandita!, El Bandita!"

The pictures are evidence and the laughter is enough to bring a small child back to life.
Innocence was revived back in the pits of drunken summer babes.
Wide eyed and ready for the next shed of skin, feels like birth again.
Fresh, Red, and Slightly Slimy.

The stick fits.

It's taking me until this morning to finally shake off the toxin's that were doing god knows what in my body.
(Don't worry Kayla I'm still flirting with the idea of a Turd wearing a toxic shirt drinking a smoothie)
And thanks to the alter ego of "Rad Dude" thanks Robert.
A ceremony will be conducted Saturday night to burn that hat... Or just praise it for all the radical times it blessed us with.

Things I've learned to appreciate this past week:

.Me
.The strong women in my life
. Free
. Mrs. Beas, 1808 and the entire east side
.The power of tacos
.Messenger bag for having secret zippers for beer smuggling
( waterloo I'm not paying you 5 dollars for a 12oz high life & that went to every venue)

.Swedish Eyes
. The fellow who let me drown him in beer during Circle Jerks.
. Kayla throwing her bra off during Black Lips
. Drummers from Brooklyn, Drummers PERIOD.
.Always them
.My brother
.Magic Princess blow job
.hot dogs
. Goner Records
.East Side Pedal Pushers for praising me that I haven't converted Algar into fix
. Parker & All the Memphis Kids
. Knowing a bartender during Saint Patrick's day
. My will power

Living in Texas, having bar-b-q and tacos at any given time, and loving myself more than ever.

DUCK!

A bullet might graze you soon enough...

Cortejo Fúnebre.

Falling asleep seems more like a chore these days than it does a privilege.
But I do suppose that's the advantages we take for granted, or at least I do. The sounds of destruction slither into my ear, "Bombers kill dozens in Iraq as fear of new violence rises." "A series of night time raids in recent months killing women and children."
While all along there I lay wrapped in the silence and contentment of my room.
Proceeding to dress, while the words of destruction have an opposite effect and seem to compose me over. Am I less human because of this? The dis-taste for the first glance of sun rays quickly changes, the only thing to do now is to embrace it. Dashing down the familiar route to get to the familiar job. But, the sirens and rumbles of motorcycles and police sirens were not familiar. They marched down with sorrow and pride in their faces, each face expressed horror.

I wanted a piece of it.

Shakes from the engines shook me an inch away from my bike and as I tried to regain balance, he rode by...

Gray hairs polluted his head. Each strand showed tales of all the lovers he racked up in his age. Oh, How those women wear you down. Who was the first one to break his heart? Who whispered "love you" as they layed in the bliss which only beds provide. His love, was now his motorcycle and as he glanced over at me. Slowly he smiled with tears in his eyes. His cracked lips blew a brittle smile my way. Raising one hand up without much thought I whispered "I love you".
That crisp mouth fell and he wishpered it back.

Tipping my bicycle to side and letting the steel hit the concrete, walking over and jumping onto his rusty motorcycle. I wrapped my hands around his fragile & broken body without selling myself short with childish words. Just holding on as we made way to the cemetery to bury another one of the things he loved.

The end of the parade was now well on it's way, the light was green and the blaring horns behind me snapped me back into reality.

Down to Brazos Street where the people must receive their treats.



Farewell Motorcade Parade.