It has come to my attention, after extensive communications with the powers that be and their lackeys, that our cities have no intention of clearing the snow out of our bike lanes. They also have no intention of moving or ticketing the cars parked in the bike lanes. All this is in spite of the fact that the winter months are the harshest and most dangerous to cyclists, who are the most vulnerable of commuters year round.

However, rather than bemoan our fates, I say we do what the city should be doing and get out there ourselves and shovel out the bike lanes! If the powers that be think it’s too much hassle or just don’t care, then it’s up to us to preserve our own safety with a little DIY action.

My plan  is this, and I hope you follow along:

We should be seeing the end of the coming precipitation by this Sunday eve. At that point I will venture forth, shovel in hand, and station myself at the nearest unplowed bike lane. I will then proceed to remove the snow from it! If I am able to complete one bike lane before my back is broken, I will move on to another and clear THAT bike lane. Where will I put the snow? Wherever! It’s not my fucking problem as long as it’s not in the bike lane, right?

I urge you to take up your icepicks and shovels and buckets of sand and join  me at the front line of the battle! If you have a specific commuter route you need cleared, start there! Call your friends! Bring a boombox and make a party out of it!

If you aren’t a cyclist but just want to help, email me at kamikazelove at gmail and I’ll point you toward a lane in need!

YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE FREE OF HARASSMENT

YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO HAVE  YOUR TAXES SPENT ON PROGRAMS THAT BENEFIT YOU!

FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT TO THE STREETS!

I emailed the Bicycle Transportation contact for Boston, Cambridge and Somerville about our choked bike lanes. Somerville got back to me, but only to tell me to send a request to 311. So I have, about a few streets. It seems that Cambridge only has a ‘request a sidewalk shoveled’ page here.  Please sign in and add your street or your entire route.

I have yet to find a form for the Boston environs, but you can always email Nicole.Freedman.bra@cityofboston.gov, who represents the interests of the cycling community.

Keep fighting the good fight, kids.

Any biker knows that for every conscientious, considerate driver, there are about one hundred self-important motherfuckers who’d sooner run you down than use their blinker properly.

I met one last night on the way back from a friend’s house at about 8pm. I was taking a left from Cedar St. on to Broadway when  I was almost swerved into by a big black SUV (Grimlocke makes the shocker gesture here). I quickly saw why – the bleached blonde behind the wheel was holding her phone up in front of her face in the middle of her view, reading and driving at the same time. Since her windows were open, I obviously gave her some much needed driving instruction,

“PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY!”

She retorted with a string of profanity that ended with threats of physical violence, and then she pulled over and exited her vehicle with a demand for me to, “Git off your bike!”. I did as requested.

She got about 1″ away from my face and began asking who I thought I was and what I was talking about, and when I reiterated that she should not be driving while texting, or reading texts, she claimed that she hadn’t been doing so. The next couple of minutes went a little like this:

Grim: You shouldn’t be looking at your phone while driving.

Bitch: I wasn’t looking at my phone!

Grim: Look, you and I are the only people here, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you hadn’t almost hit me because you were looking at your phone, so lying about it isn’t really going to help your argument.

Bitch: I wasn’t looking at my phone!

{{repeat}}

Once she realized that I wasn’t buying the lie, she took a different tangent,

“My phone is ALWAYS in my hand! I drive like that! Do you ALWAYS have both your hands on your handlebars?”

Grim, “Yes!”

Bitch, “But I saw you take your hand off to signal!”

Grim, “BECAUSE IT’S REQUIRED BY LAW, GENIUS!”

In response to my insult on her intelligence, she responded with, “YOU are the one wearing a HELMET!”

Grim, ” ಠ_ಠ ”

After I was done boggling at her, I restated that I just wanted her to be more careful, and that if she kept looking at her phone while driving, she was likely to end up murdering someone. She then pointed to her license plate and indicated what she called the ‘thin blue line’. (I didn’t see what she was talking about, and said so.) She told me to go home and Google the ‘thin blue line’ and then I’d know who I was dealing with and what trouble I was getting into, because she was ‘local’, she claimed, and she was ‘connected’. I nodded sagely and continued to not have a clue what she was talking about.

At this point I was able to really take a look at her, and I realized that she was standing there cussing me out, all 5’1″ of her, in a baby pink sweat suit with a giant red rhinestone heart on the belly and a pair of fuzzy leopard Uggs. I couldn’t resist. I took out my phone and said, backing up,

“Can I take your picture? This is just too hilarious.”

As I brought the phone up to my face, she flipped out and started screaming that it was illegal to take her picture, to which I responded that it was perfectly legal and continued to try to focus on her. Then she flew at me with claws out.

I backed away some more, but she started clawing my face with one hand and yanking my phone with the other, so I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I headbutted her in the face with my helmet.

The look on her face was more fulfilling than a thousand beautiful sunsets.

She said something along the lines of ‘Don’t DO that!’ and came at me again as I continued to back up. Apparently having not learned the first time, she clawed at me again and received another headbutt to the face. That’s when the cops showed up.

The police were calm and respectful, and listened to her blatant and flagrant lies without much interest. They took her info and mine and gave us the ‘you may press charges of assault against each other if you so choose’ spiel. I thanked them and moved on. She was detained a bit because the address she gave them didn’t match that which was on her license. Sweet, sweet schadenfreude.

I walked my bike away a bit and got back on Broadway heading west. She caught up to me in the middle of the bridge over the railroad tracks and, spitting unintelligible profanities through the open window, tried to run me off the road. I was able to hook sharply up onto the curb, but I was jolted off my bike and had the wind knocked out of me. She sped away down Boston Avenue, cackling.

Shaking and crying at this point, I called 911. I let them know I wasn’t hurt and not to send an ambulance, but I requested the officers that we’d just spoken to. I was transferred between departments three times. I gave them my name and phone number, and they told  me to wait there.

I waited at the intersection of Boston and Broadway for 20 minutes before realizing that no-one was coming. As my house was only a block away, I figured that if they really were interested in my situation, they could call and I could come out to meet them. Nobody called.

I’m fine, my bike is fine, but my faith in the justice system and the decency of motorist-kind are irrevocably damaged to an extreme degree. And this was just another day on the street.

I was hit by a car pretty bad last week. I was taking a left onto a completely empty Mass Ave from Garfield St. and was most of the way through the intersection when a woman in a big black SUV shot out of the bank driveway trying to go straight up Garfield. I ended up with a bent fork, buggered brakes and a very bruised leg. But this is where it gets interesting…

Callie (sp?), the woman who hit me, parked immediately and got out to see if I was ok. Meanwhile, a concerned woman walking by called 911. I waved them off when they came with the ambulance, but we decided to make a police report. And then Callie and I chatted and exchanged phone numbers, and she picked my bike up in her SUV and drove me to the Wheelworks on Elm. She even offered to pay for my damage.

I thought I was in the fucking Twilight Zone. Callie and I chatted and joked in the car, musing that we could tell people about how we became friends – “We met by accident!”  Lol.

The one onion in the ointment that reinforced bitter reality turned out to be the reaction of the cop that came to take our statements. Stout, bitter little officer 303 took us individually to the side and listened to our description of the accident. When she then brought us together to give us her accident report spiel, she made it clear that she did not believe my side of the story. Scowling, she pointed to where I indicated that I had fallen – just at the south west corner of the intersection. “You’re trying to tell me that your bike moved faster than that SUV??”, she demanded.

“No, I had already entered the intersection and was mostly through it when the SUV, which had previously been parked without indicating any intention of moving, exited the bank parking lot and hit me.”, I explained.

Scowling, the cop proceeded to lecture me about how I should have been more careful, and continuing to question my version of the story in the face of both the woman who hit me and the witnesses. I could only boggle at her. Why should she believe one of our stories over the other? Why would she treat the SUV driver with respect and deference and the cyclist, who had just been injured, with suspicion and hostility?

Ultimately, no-0ne was cited (Callie and I discussed the accident at length, and her attitude was a large part of why I wasn’t more adamant about laying blame.) and there wasn’t that much wrong with Krankenberry – nothing that the guys at Ace couldn’t handle in a day.

And then today… today..

Riding home from work, I was traveling up JFK on the way into Harvard Square when another black SUV pulled abruptly into the bike lane ahead of me and then jumped into reverse to park – directly into me.  I was quick enough to swerve out of the way, and on the way I laid a slap on the SUV’s flank and intoned, “Look in your mirror, Jackass.”  The driver retorted with some colorful language and I went on my way… only to be pulled over right in the center of Harvard Square by a cruiser who had been a few cars behind us.

Both cops got out of the vehicle and when I asked them what was up, the first said, “You ran a red light back there.”

Bullshit. I had not. The lights had been straight green until I hit the square and the last light I’d gone through was yellow. They didn’t push the issue, I suppose because they knew they were fucking lying.

He then began to lecture me about how cars are dangerous and I have to be more careful (I had been in the bike lane, riding at about 12mph. How I be more careful, holmes?) and how it’s my responsibility to protect myself because ‘drivers are not gonna pay attention to  you, and they’ll be hostile at you if you’re in the road’.

Umm… then why don’t you stop them, as is your job, and instruct them to be less hostile to cyclists and more observant?? Why the fuck are you stopping ME??

He then went on to tell me, ‘You can’t put your hands on people’s property.” That’s funny, I replied; I’ve been hit and run no less than three times in Cambridge – the motorist definitely ‘touching my property’, and after they drove off, when I called into the police, I was asked, “What do you want us to do about it?”. He stammered something about how that must have been the decision of the dispatcher, and I went on to ask about who I should speak to if I want to hold someone accountable for a hit and run even if I’m not injured. He didn’t have a good answer for me, and I could tell he was getting a bit uncomfortable. He told me to be safe and sent me on my way.

Who is teaching these officers how to interact with cyclists? Because whoever they are, they’re doing a pretty shit job.  If the people charged with keeping cyclists safe see us as liars,  miscreants, and essentially nuisances on the road, how can we ever hope to protect ourselves?

Even with all the work that cycling advocacy groups are doing to raise awareness and influence infrastructure, it still doesn’t seem as if anyone’s speaking to the police force about changing their perception of the cycling public. I try, each and every time I speak to the police, to adequately describe the hardship, persecution and neglect that we face every day, but ain’t nobody got time to listen to me.

I’m so sick of holier-than-thou cyclists applauding the recent attention we have been getting from the po-po. Oh, really? This means we have arrived? You don’t say? So what you’re saying is that if I call the police today and tell them I’ve been hit by an MBTA bus, and that I’m on a bicycle and not harmed physically, they won’t respond with, “What do you want us to do about it?”. And if I am knocked over by a car making an unannounced right turn and I phone the Allston police, I  won’t hear, “Sorry, there is nothing we can do unless you’re injured.”

That would be great! Unfortunately for all of us, it’s a pile of shiny crap. If I am in a motor vehicle of any kind, and I am hit by another motor vehicle, or hell, even a cyclist, the cops will respond within minutes. I’ve tested this and so have you, as do hundreds of drivers every month here in good ole’ Beantown. Try it if you’re on a bike, however, and the tune changes completely. Unless the cops are called by a startled bystander who just watched your head go through the windshield of an SUV, or as they watch your crumpled, broken body bleed out onto the pavement in the wake of an MBTA bus that made a quick and unannounced stop right through  you, you are going to be left high and dry by the same establishment that wants you to believe that you are ‘recognized and accepted’.

I hear a lot of bullshit every day, but rarely does such a whiffy grade of dook affect me so intimately.  Let me reminisce…

Do you remember not so long ago when I was hit by MBTA buses making sharp turns into their stops, while I was in the bike lane  not one or two but THREE times in two months? If you ride, you know exactly what I mean: you’re tooling along happily in your lane, and suddenly you hear a roar from  your left as a bus passes you at about 25mph. Just as it gets exactly half it’s length past you, it brakes and pulls sharply to the right, knocking you over, pinching you to the curb or sometimes knocking you fully over the curb. Each time this happened, I called the police and was told, “that’s not our jurisdiction”. Interesting. I called the MBTA police and was forced to leave a message. I never got a response. I left complaint after complaint on the MBTA website.  I never got a response.  After that I started chasing these buses myself trying to retrieve the identity of the  driver. “Give me your name, you just HIT ME!”, I hollered through the closed door. “I DON’T HAVE TO!” the portly bus driver lady hollered back. She had hit me intentionally, after a threat that she’d do so. I’m sorry, but if you are in your car and another car rams you intentionally, I daresay that is ASSAULT WITH A DANGEROUS WEAPON.

Or how about the call after call after call, and television spot, and email complaints, etc that I’ve sent to everyone from the Allston police to the Mayor, regarding the intersection of Cambridge St. and Harvard St.  At every single round of lights, all day and night, all year long, vehicles run this red at a rate of between 3-10 vehicles each time. This includes police vehicles, fire engines, schoolbuses full of children, MBTA buses, you name it. What has been done about this known issue that endangers the lives of hundreds of people, including myself, every day? DICK. SQUAT.

And then there was the time when, during a rainy, dank monday, a BMW driver taking a sharp right onto Waterhouse ST. from Mass Ave hit my wheel, stopped, and rolled down the window to shriek, “I oughta run you off the fucking road!!” and peeled away as I picked up my bike, retorting weakly, “…you just did.”  I called the police and they told me I could ride over to the station, with my taco’d wheel, if I wanted to give a statement, but that in all likelihood they wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

I feel so accepted! XD

(FYI, every single time I have been hit, I was following the law to the letter. Go figure.)

As far as I can see, cyclists are really a type of untouchable caste, undeserved of the same protection and attention as their ‘betters’ in cars or on foot. If I’m going to be untouchable, I’m taking all the perks, thank you very much.  As an invisible two-wheeled peasant, I am happy to look after myself, as long as I don’t have to kowtow to the same institutional bullshit as the vehicular vaisyas and the bureaucratic brahmins.

The cops’ methods of enforcement are similarly insulting. They will wait at particular ‘trouble intersections’ (read: wherever it’s easiest to park and reasonably close to a cafe) and hide behind a vehicle, watching for cyclist that run lights, who the cops will then grab bodily as the cyclist rides by.  I’ve only ever seen them at intersections through which it is completely safe for bikes to proceed through a red – great visibility, long pedestrian lights. I also only see them on bright, sunny days. It must be really swell to be able to avoid the streets during days like today, with the constant downpour and the foot-deep road lakes. Color me envious.

How about putting a patrol in Harvard Square Southbound, where I can flag you down and indicate the taxis parked in the bike lane, or the bus that just ran me off the road during the curve in front of the COOP? Oh right, it ‘s because you’d end up giving more tickets to motorists than cyclists. Man, life is hard for the long arm of the law.

The situation is like a heavy-handed after-school special on Lifetime. The protagonist is a delinquent teenager (la cyclistas, obvs), disobedient and destructive. We want them to shape up and we wonder why they act out so ferociously.  And then we’re treated to a snapshot of their home life. GovernMom is preoccupied and removed, preferring to buy the child’s love with gifts and privilege, while the Police Dadpartment is abusive, dismissive and hypocritical. Who will steer this kid through the confusing and traumatic journey through adolescence? Will Cindy the Cyclist give up her coke habit, dump her bad news boyfriend and finally apply to her college of choice?

I wouldn’t keep your fingers crossed.

There has been a lot of rough talk against cyclists lately, namely because of the San Fran incident in march that killed a 71 year old man. Long story short, the cyclist was going fast, pushed through a yellow and then slammed into the elderly man as he emerged into the crosswalk, killing him. Now, you’re going to hate me for what I have to say next, but guess how many fucks I have to give? Boo. Fucking. Hoo. There are people calling for the cyclist’s freedom over this, and vilifying bikers of all stripes because of it. Really, people? This was ONE INCIDENT. Sure, the cyclist may have been a bit negligent, but he didn’t break the law any more than every fucking Masshole douchecannon does every day by pushing through yellow lights, or turning left on red against a pedestrian light.

One incident involving a negligent cyclist killing a pedestrian, compared to tens of thousands of incidents every year involving negligent drivers injuring or killing pedestrians and cyclists. Innocent people of all ages and states of health. Would this poor gentleman, who my heart does hurt for believe me, have suffered the same fate were he a hale man of 30, 40, 50? Likely not. Studies show that the people most vulnerable to cyclists are the elderly and infants, not the average pedestrian. Meaning that putting more pressure on cyclists for this one incident is an unnecessary knee jerk reaction. But who would expect less from our incompetent lawmakers and enforcers and the under-informed and self-righteous masses? Ultimately, people who actually ride every day as their main form of transportation should be legislating for and against cycling. Sadly, that’s not likely in this extremely cycling-prejudiced society.

The Cambridge PD can suck it.

So it finally happened. I proceeded carefully through a red, after stopping, along Mass Ave in Cambridge and lo, two buzzcut headed bullies in blue stopped me and tried to ticket me. Natch, I got out of it, though I’m not going to say how. What I will say is this; don’t try to out run them. They have motorcycles, and they will be pissed if they have to exert themselves, the chubby bastards. Also, don’t try to out talk them. Like most authority figures, it’s a lost cause to try and reason with them logically. Just out think them. It’s not that hard.

Good luck, my fellow rogues!

Ok, I really gave it a shot.

When I was hit by buses on my daily commute, I complained to the MBTA, the police, and our local “Bike Czar”.  ZERO ACTION

When I was repeatedly hit by cars while riding in the bike lane, adhering to the regulations of the road, I followed the same trail of bureaucracy and it led NOWHERE.

Remember this? I filled out quite a few of these complaint forms, and filled them with details of each violation and violator.  NO ACTION

I have repeatedly reported violations, to the point of  going on television (human interest, haha) to showcase the shortcomings of MBTA operators. Since then, the rampant negligence, hostility, and sometimes murderous intent of operators has remained unchanged. This tells me that though reports are being made, they have NO IMPACT on the daily lives of MBTA employees.

Now, the rumor is that Cambridge Police are stepping up cyclist-oriented ticketing. I’m sorry, what WHAT? If you, like me, ride these streets daily, you know that motorists make the monster share of traffic violations. Left on red, running through red, double parking, illegal u turns, harassment of other motorists, hit and runs – give me ten minutes and I can go out and grab at least ten examples on my phone camera. Between Brookline and Somerville, I’m hard pressed to see 5 cyclist run reds, but I have to witness motorists break the law at EVERY CYCLE OF LIGHTS AT EVERY INTERSECTION.

Again. WHAT THE FUCK, Cambridge Police?

If you want to protect cyclists, maybe you should TICKET MORE MOTORISTS.

Maybe this is community backlash brought on by the significant increase in T fares that seem to be on the horizon. Fellow cyclists, have you ever ridden by a 66 bus in October, the people inside sardined against the glass, and really taken a look at their faces? You can tell they’re seething with hate inside, choking on their projected image of the smug, healthy and happy cyclist cruising to work at their own pace every day. I can see how that kind of human wreckage could be feeling significant schadenfreude over this ticketing barrage.

We do not deserve it, and I for one will not fucking stand for it. I will not accept a ticket. Nor will I accept driver’s harassment, threats, taunts and assaults. I will defend myself in whatever manner I see fit, and do everything in my power to avoid street attention by our corrupt and misguided group of overlording institutions.

I gave it my best shot, I really did. Now I guess I’ll be dedicating this blog to the daily thrill of my rebellion. Stay tuned!

Greetings, dear readers. Sorry I left you stranded for so long. It is once again September, which means another summer is over, I am a year older, and the Burning Man cycle has drawn to a close. It’s been alternately a very fun and exciting year and a slow, stressful, painful one. I’m happy to say that I learned a few things, though I won’t bore you with the details. What I will do is show you some pictures from the Burn. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep up this blog a little more consistently this year. I’m still working on the same activism issues I was last time around, but at this point bureaucracy has ultimately failed me. You may be seeing fewer interviews or email correspondence and an increased number of mug shots. I’m sure there won’t be any complaints. Anyhoo, let’s roll this pumpkin!

This was my favorite Mutant Vehicle - a giant scorpion with flame-throwing claws and stinger.

This one isn't bigger on the inside, but it was big enough for our purposes.

Reunited with the kids of Camp Here. You can't find a better group of people on the playa.

Reunited with the beloved hammock where Crash and I fell in love. <3

Squirt gun: check. Boffer sword: check. Bring it.

Gutternaught the chopper returns to the desert in all her creaky, badly lubed glory.

This year I camped with some of my old friends from SCUL. This edifice is the brainchild of MegaSeth, second from the left.

Ok, I’m not really gonna write poetry. I’m no Vogon.

So I lied. (You’ll get used to it.) No Carpunching Gauntlets this time, but it’s only because I haven’t managed to trash pick or road rescue a pair of leather gloves yet. Give it time. The universe will provide.

The weekend before last, The Esteemed Goondocks (mah haus) participated in the first annual Porchfest. If you ain’t been told, Porchfest was a free music event showcasing artists from the area on the porches of the public. Our magnificent Count Sethula, of Goondocks Dungeons, slung delicious foods at passersby, while various and sundry bands sweated and wrought musicky havoc in the FUCKING SUN, CAN  YOU BELIEVE IT? A great time was had by all, but I completely failed to take pictures because I’m dumb like that, and because I can’t be bothered to wear anything with pockets to carry a camera in while I’m in leisure mode.

Here is one picture yoinked from thesapphiresun.com:

Can I just say I love my fucking neighborhood? I live in Ball Square, and prior to the ‘fest my delicious roommates flyered the vicinity in preparation for causing a neighborhood ruckus. I fully expected a bit of dour buzzkill from the older folks who abut us, but nay! Everyone in the ‘hood came out to play, and hung out on their porches to catch the music and the beautiful, nourishing sunshine. We were actually encouraged to repeat the affair as much as we like! I’m thinking that the future of the ‘Docks may be ripe with live band house parties, at least until we’re shut down and deemed an ‘unlicensed club’. Bring it on.