Off the seat of a bicycle
Chapter 23)   Officer James creates a felony from a bike infraction
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I was night-riding without a headlamp through campus on the well-lit sidewalk, just as I did every night. But this night a campus policeman, James S.B., whistled at me from across the street … the mf … whistling at me like a heel dog. You can feel the anger because it sounded like my father heel-dogging me over social baggage like butt-scratching or not wearing slacks. Like my father, James’ actions were so unnecessary.
 
Raised in the wilds, I was furious, or was I furious for being raised in the wilds? I dunno, but my only thought was, what kind of shitheel thinks he can claim right over my life? Fuck that guy. This was my cow pasture, I shit here every day, not you.

Intentionally, I measured my pace on the bicycle and kept meandering along the sidewalk, letting James catch up in his 3-wheeled scooter-cart.

I chose the exact spot for the confrontation, and could’ve slipped away anywhere, but chose that spot because it was perfect for doubling back and putting him completely out of position. It was a planned insult, just like Bones hurling a coke bottle through the apartment window. Except he did it to my apartment instead of his so I would be blamed. Anyway, it was long ago.

James stopped me, and I waited for him to step out of his little cart with a ticket book wearing a hat that seemed too cocked to fit. And then I rolled off down the hill, pausing at the bottom to blare out these exact words, ‘one of these days you guys are just going to have to grow up, and I’m going to be a hard one to catch.’ Which prophetically turned out to be true, but also was the cause of my demise: My big mouth.

After farting my words, I cranked the bike to escape down the sidewalk, but James was a good street boy and calculated the interception perfectly and threw himself down the steep hill like a missile … and clipped my back wheel and knocked me over and then jumped on me.

The dam fool was hanging on my back when I stood up and it scared him. I was big and it was dark. He started to reach for his gun and I told him with my eyes that I would take that thing away from him if he drew it. In the end it was his training and not me that stopped that screw from firing 6 rounds in my chest. He was crazy and I could feel it.

A group of students was approaching from behind him, and when James turned to look, I used the moment to moderate the situation and say, ‘let’s go back to your vehicle and talk about it.’ I remained calm in confrontational situations, a talent learned from my hurricanal raising, but James was rolling turds down his pants. It was the fruition of all that he had prepared to do.

I gathered my bike and picked up the lock and chain which had flown off my neck and together we walked back along the sidewalk. It had been a hard collision, and unknown to me, James sprained his thumb after throwing his hand in my spokes. He must have been a football player but I was completely unhurt.

After the students passed, James started wrestling my left arm trying to put a cuff on my wrist but I twisted away and reared back with my lock and chain. I was gonna cold-cock him hard no matter if students were nearby or not. This cow was not going to be herded by no rent-a-roper.

We walked up the hill where I expected to get admonishment and a ticket, but James rushed to the cart and radioed, ‘officer in need of assistance.’ And then the guy, I swear to god it’s true, ran back down the hill to get his hat. When things get exciting, the true man comes out, so the perfunctory officer ran back to get his silly hat.

While he was retrieving the heraldic emblem of his stature, I put the drive-chain back on the front sprocket and mounted to ride away. The single-speed track bike had a 52-14 sprocket-ratio that was geared for a slow take off and it took forever to pedal the first few dozen yards. I looked back and James was fever-running up the hill at me like a boy fetching his first kill. He was going to catch me too. I couldn’t believe it. He was fast. Short, but fast.

In the draw however, the cards came up for me, and a pick-up truck backed out just ahead, creating a sliver of space. I pulled hard right and shot the tiny gap between the truck and the next parked car, and the brief acceleration from turning combined with cover from the truck cut James out, and I was blasting full bore and he was smoke in the mirror when I came out the other side. He hurled his handcuffs, and they hit the cement and slid in a perfect shot under the bike.

That was one angry cop. Sirens were coming a half mile away, so I flew quick into the woods like an owl, finding the darkest spot to ditch my bike before crawling under bushes nearby to sleep.

It was the sound of James’ cart that woke me. He was flitting around in his motor cart, going first one way, and then lurching through the parking garage, and then rushing off east. This is the disadvantage of motor vehicles; they’re limited to cement, and the entire time I was watching him 200 yards away from the trees.

No wonder our society is constantly pouring concrete; the moneyers are chaining you to a motor vehicle so you can be numbered and stamped while passing through endless toll booths in a procession of milked cows. Moo-ve in line they say. But my work on a bicycle denied this gooey procession of ownership down to its root.

Hand it to James though, he created a full-blown felony out of a bicycle infraction. (as if I played no part)

Even dumber, his following search told me exactly how to get away. First, I could see where my adversary was, simple enough, but even better, nobody was helping him by the way he was driving. If other people were involved, especially on foot, he would be driving cautiously around the corners, but he wasn’t. He was driving in a motorist’s rage, and doing so tipped his hat to me.

He should’ve staked out a vision line and sat quietly to see if the deer emerged from the forest. But a calm, ‘vision-line’ guy would never tackle a bicyclist over a dubious traffic infraction. Nope, it took a fella like him and a fella like me to create the situation. But the difference was simple: we both projected social lunacy, but his was better because he wore a badge. The badge means you care (enough to run back for your hat).

Chapter 24) Arrest-and-sentence
Chapter 25) The-sex try
Chapter-26) Followed by the police
Index of chapters