Monday, May 30, 2011

On your bikie

I wonder what real difference the Government believes the Anti-Bikie legislation hopes to achieve. A man today was ordered by the Adelaide Magistrates Courts, who had previously served his sentence for the crimes he was convicted of, because of a "long-established risk" he may commit a crime again. If everyone knows that Bikies are the personification of evil, then why cannot the Police prosecute them with previous legislation? Or is it a way so that the government can easily stand up, smirk, and go “look at how we are saving the world” on Twitter. I myself once had a run in with a bikie...

A few years back on a bright sunny Saturday afternoon, I turned onto Belair road from cross road, and as is tradition from those who sit in the right lane wanting to turn left, I had to change lanes. Upon completion, there was an aggressive rev from a deep thumping motorcycle.

I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a heavily bearded man in an opened face helmet with a moustache billowing romantically in the wind. His dress was leather over denim, big boots, and massive easy rider ape hanger handle bars; I had changed lanes onto the set of STONE. He did not look happy (they never do), and was expressing it with a shake of his head in the manner of a man who had this happen to him regularly.

The traffic lights at the intersection before me were green, and I breathed with relief as I could turn away from my lack of caution. But the motor cyclist followed me. Not unusual, when you think that the Belair road leads towards the hills, a motor cycle haven, but it seemed he turned to follow as a last minute decision.

He crept closer behind me. I thought that if worst come to worst, I could hurry into a public place where people could help me. Or at least some one could administer first aid. Then the lights ahead of me turned red and a feeling of dread overcame me; I would have to stop.

I started breaking. I looked through my car for possible defensive items. Just in case. The biker behind me indicated to change into the right hand lane. He stopped right near my door; there was plenty of room in front of him.

“Oi!” yelled the biker, signalling with his hands that I should wind down my window. I had electric windows, but lowered them all the same.

“Yes?” I replied trying to sound brave. I ended up sounding like a teenage boy whose testicles realised they could make anything I say turn into a yodel.

The biker turned his head and looked forward at the lights, back at me, and then yelled advice that I would never forget: “Your right rear brake light is out!”

I was stunned. I must have looked stunned because the Biker looked at me curiously. I uttered a thank you, the lights turned green, and our meeting was adjourned.

It is easier to show the voting/tax-paying public that you are combating crime when you splash your new laws all over the news. I understand why they do it, good things we expect are glossed over in our minds and we move on. Only bad things are remembered. For example, you always remember that bad waiter, the bad airline service, dodgy shopping trolleys, but when was the last time you started a conversation with a mate describing a service experience as “an acceptable level of competency that I expect as the status quo”?

I believe I should be able to talk to who I want, and I believe that the government should not be able to dictate who my friends can be like a parent worried that their child will come home with a tattoo on their face just because they hang around John from Noarlunga. Prevention is better than cure, but choices are better than totalitarian draconian rule.

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