The Great Anti-Motorcycle Legislation Story
THE GREAT ANTI-MOTORCYCLE LEGISLATION STORY
"It's Been Decided For Your Best Interest."
H.V.STEPHEN LARSSON
CASE NO. 45-0-39 W.V.," said the doctor. "W.V.?" questioned the young intern. "Webley Vickers Mitty syndrome. It's quite prevalent these days. It's a side effect induced by overpopulatamous neurosis," answered the doctor. "Nurse, where is the patient?"
“Catatonic Ward B, Dr. Hyde,” replied the nurse.
“Have you observed him?”
“Yes. He’s sitting on a bench, or rather he’s straddling it.”
“Straddling it?”
“Yes, doctor, he has one leg on either side and he’s leaning forward. He extends both arms in front of himself, as though he’s holding a railing, and he keeps twisting his right wrist while opening and closing his left hand and, and...”
“Yes, go on.”
“Well, he keeps making these strange noises.”
“Hmmmm. What kind of noises?”
“It’s rather hard to describe, Dr. Hyde. Everytime he twists his right hand he makes what 1 believe is called a rasberry. You know, it sounds sort of like anal flatulence.”
“I see. Anything else, nurse?”
“Well, yes. Yes, there is. Every so often he chants—kind of under his breath, you know. Something like, ‘Velocette Thruxton, rah rah. Hell with them, hell with them, blah blah.’ ”
“Hmmmm. Antisocial tendencies. I see, I see. Any other details?”
“No, not that I can think of, doctor.” “Thank you, nurse. Administer a sedative to the patient and show him in.” “Certainly, Dr. Hyde.”
As the nurse left the room, the doctor removed a cigar from his desk drawer and slipped off its celluloid wrapper, which he crumpled with a crackle and tossed into a nearby wastebasket. He then lit the cigar. The intern watched the door expectantly.
A few minutes later, a young man walked in.
“Archetypal pattern: kid next door,” whispered the intern.
“Keep quiet,” whispered the doctor, then in a loud voice, “Come in, come on in, son. Pull up a couch and lie down. Now tell us your name.”
“Dan Daedalus,” the young man replied diffidently.
“Well, Danny, seems you were a bit upset yesterday. Tell you what, boy, why don’t you tell me all about it from the very beginning.”
“Do I have to?”
“Well, son, you know this is a free country. You’re only required to do what has been decided in your best interests. In one word, boy, yes.”
Dan Daedalus sat down and quietly began speaking.
“I awoke early yesterday morning. Since I had no immediate responsibilities, the morning was mine. I went outside to see, weather-wise, what kind of a day it was. It was perfect. The sky was blue, a light blue from one horizon to the other. It was the kind of sky and the kind of blue you can see miles and miles through. That’s how perfect it was. And, it was flecked and decorated here and there with those white, puffy clouds I think they call cumulus.”
“Yes, yes, go on.”
“Well, it was a perfect day. Just enough breeze to make the neighbor’s laundry talk as it was lightly windsnapped, just enough breeze to keep the day comfortably warm instead of hot. A perfect day for motorcycling. So I ran around to my backyard, after unlocking both the inner and outer fences. Within minutes I had the alarm to the back porch turned off and the combination lock undone. Then I took care of the steering lock, front wheel chain and lock, and bike alarm siren, and rolled the bike out onto the driveway.
“I dashed inside to get my riding gear and legal requirement check list, then proceeded with the countdown: Snellapproved safety scatter shatterproof hel-
met with safety scatter shatterproof face shield, A-OK; safety scatter shatterproof face shield washable windshield wiper, A-OK; people puncture proofing neck, chest, back, arm and leg plastic plating, A-OK; friction-free non-buckling boots, A-OK; scatter shatter wind and weatherproof windshield and wiper washer, A-OK; Proto-benzo-novum-non-flammable fuel in the cast stainless non-collapsible steel cylinder, full and A-OK; stop, slow, turn and bank, head, tail, and emergency lights, A-OK; safety solid rubber bumper tires and rear trainer wheels, A-OK ; steel safety straps and cast chromium crashbars, A-OK; driver’s license, cyclist license, board of health permit, and insurance policies, A-OK. I was all set to go.
“I mounted and started the engine. After warmup, I eased her into gear and let out the clutch. Ah, beautiful day, beautiful world. At the end of my street, I was stopped by a mounted officer. His horse seemed to be grinning smugly. I turned off my machine and hurriedly went through my check list. He took out his ticket book. I asked him what was wrong. He silently wrote out the summons. I again inquired what my violation was. He handed me the slip of paper and said, ‘This morning they passed a law against motorcycles. You’re being charged with possession.’ Aaargggahh-h-h Velocette Venom, shiss boom bah!”
“Nurse, nurse!” shouted Dr. Hyde.
“Velocette Thruxton, rah, rah, rah!”
“Nurse, nurse!” shouted the intern.
“Hell with ’em, hell with ’em, blah, blah.”
In ran the nurse with two burly attendants. A sedative was administered, and the limp form of Dan Daedalus was carried out.
“Well,” said the doctor as he relit his cigar, “what do you think?”
“Brain transplant. Only hope,” replied the intern.
“Right you are. Check the file and let’s see what’s available.”
The intern went to the filing cabinet and began to rummage through it. “Here’s one,” he said, as he pulled out a folder. “This one was a congressman.”
“Cause of death?” queried the doctor.
“Obesity.”
“Fine, that one will do. I’ll stop by the parts bank on the way home and put a hold on it. You can perform the operation in the morning. Well, I suppose it’s time to close up shop, as they say.” The doctor began straightening the papers on his desk. “Are you going partying tonight?”
“I suppose so. I haven’t a date and it is a holiday,” replied the intern. He removed a page from the wall calendar. The newly exposed page displayed a picture of a bleak winter snow scene. Beneath the picture, in black block lettering, it stated, January 1, 1984.
