A LETTER TO MY FRIENDS
Submitted by Ron Schmitt, IL Chapter “G”
For those of you who subscribe to the Motorcycle Consumer News Magazine and read former editor Fred Rau’s article on Motorcycle Parking in the July issue, it brought a smile to my face and a memory of my first accident in 1988. I was going to physical therapy three times a week to try to ditch the wheel chair and walker and get to one cane. I accomplished this, but it took 20 major surgeries and countless hours of therapy after each one. There was a small parking lot off of the west wing of the hospital where my therapy was located. If I got a handicapped spot I didn’t have to hop on the walker too far. But there was a booth at the entrance with a gate and an old man , who was a volunteer, who operated it. He would ask where I was going and open the gate. He wanted to make sure people were going to the right place in the hospital complex. I used to drive my car there. After they replaced my right hip, I was able to ride my side car rig. So, one nice day I decided to take the bike. I put the walker in the side car, the handicapped placard behind the windshield and pulled up to the gate. I was told “No bikes allowed here.” “For cars only.” He said there was a lot on the other side of the hospital which had a section for bikers. I explained that it was way too far away and I couldn’t hop that far. He wouldn’t open the gate. I turned off the engine as cars pulled up behind me. He said that he would call the police, which he did, and they came. I explained my story to the officer. He checked my driver’s license, insurance card, plate tag, and my vehicle tag. He told the old man that this was a street legal vehicle and that I could park it anywhere that a car could park. He also said to open the gate and stop making things more difficult for me. Every nice day after that, I took the bike to therapy. I pulled up to the gate, smiled, and said “Good Morning Sir.” He never even acknowledged me, but THE GATE WENT UP EVERY TIME!!!!
For those of you who don’t get the magazine, Fred’s story goes like this. He was riding with 23 other bikes. They pulled into a trendy restaurant on the beach-front in southern California for dinner at 7 P.M. Parking was mostly by valet, but if you did it yourself a sign said Parking - $5.00. They maneuvered the bikes into 6 spaces – 4 bikes in each. A young kid came over to collect. Fred gave him $30. The kid asked who he should get the rest from? “The rest of what? We took 6 spaces. 6 times 5 is 30.” The kid said “Oh no, it’s $5 per vehical - $120. “Fred asked if they could speak to the restaurant manager or owner because it didn’t seem fair to pay for more spaces than they were using. Ther kid said it wouldn’t do an y good because the parking was under contract separately and they were in control. “You have to pay the rest or leave.” Old Fred loves confronta-tion like this, especially if motorcyclists are taken advantage of. He said they would pay the $120 and then directed everyone to get on their bikes and move them to one space each. The kid said the bikes were fine where they were. Fred said “If we pay for 24 spaces, we’ll take them all.” They were told to stop, but didn’t pay attention. The kid went inside and came back with an older man in a suit, probably his boss, screaming “You can’t do that. We need as many spaces as possible for cars. It gets crowded here later. If you move the bikes I’ll call the police.” They ignored him. He called the police. The officer heard his side of the story and went to talk to Fred. He explained that they don’t like to park the bikes so close together because if one falls over, they all fall over. But they were trying to save as many spaces as possible and save some money to boot. The officer called the parking guy to come closer. He had a smug grin on his face, thinking he would win the battle. The officer told him “You have two choices. Let’em do it their way or charge the $120. That’s your right. But then they are entitled to one space each. That’s their right.” He started screaming and swearing at the officer and was told to stop or he’d be taken to the station right now. As cars were lining up in the street to get in, he said “Okay, Okay, they can have the 6 spaces for $30.” Then the officer said: “One more thing. If we get a call later on that even one bike was damaged in any way, we’ll be back and you won’t like what happens then.” As the officer left, he gave Fred a smile and a quick wink. It may not be a good thing to see a police car in your rear view mirror with its’ lights on, but Fred’s last sentence in the article was “Sometimes you just gotta love cops.” That’s exactly the way I felt that one day in 1992.