Weather: Sunny and warm.
Yeah, “Road Closed”… But why? Old Yeller and I find out…
So, where were you on the Fourth of July?
My girls went down to Owatonna, to visit my mother-in-law. I didn’t go along because she no longer has any place for me to sleep overnight, since my nephew moved into the guest room.
My daughter sleeps next to Grandma, Amy sleeps on the couch, and darn-it, I just have to stay home. As you can imagine, this just about breaks my heart.
Home alone… with a big dual-sport motorbike, a bright yellow scooter, and nobody to answer to.
Yeah, imagine a forty-something kid hollering and doing a victory dance around the house in his undershorts, and that would be a pretty fair approximation. On the other hand, if you’ve seen me with my shirt off lately, it might also spoil your dinner, so never mind.
I get up early, most days, and the Fourth of July was no exception. At six a.m., I was suited up and ready to ride. The plan was just to roll out of the driveway, pick a direction, and poke around the neighborhood while everyone else was still sleeping, or out of town for the holiday.
Of course, I brought the camera. As I stood there in the garage, looking back and forth between the two bikes, the pure simplicity and quiet stealth of the scooter won out over the superior capabilities of Frogwing. Today wasn’t a combat commute, after all, but rather a sort of clandestine reconnaissance, or “sneak and peek”, as we used to say in the military business.
The terrain would be smooth urban sidestreets, with almost no traffic at all, and for this, Frogwing would be overkill.
So I saddled up Old Yeller, and we putted silently out of the driveway. The wind blew us to the left, so that’s where we headed. Concord street ought to be interesting with no traffic…
I think this was a place for cattle barons to do business, back in the day. Now, it’s a fancy, yuppie wine bar and Italian restaurant, with lots of wasted space. But look at that architecture!
Old Yeller and I rolled down the hill onto my favorite local thoroughfare. As I’ve mentioned before, Concord Street runs along the Mississippi river bottom past huge old stockyards which have seen better days.
At least the smell is mostly gone now.
This is a part of town that is only beginning to suffer from the modern developer’s idea of modernization. You can still find evidence of the massive egos involved in turn-of-the-century architecture in this area. Somebody with medieval delusions of grandeur designed the building pictured above.
There was absolutely no traffic. I was able to park Old Yeller at the curb, walk leisurely across the street, and stand at the opposite curb to make the photograph. Then I sauntered back across, even stopping to gaze at the perspective from the middle of the road. The only things missing were tumbleweeds. I don’t know why, exactly, but moments like that give me a rush.
After that surreal interlude, we rode further down Concord, and scouted out locations for more detailed exploration in the future. Then we turned back towards West Saint Paul to find a place where I could watch the big “Taste of Minnesota” fireworks display, later that night.
Well, let me tell you, after several years of putting on this spectacle, the corporation that runs our local fireworks and food extravaganza have really gotten their greedy little act together. The CEO of this organization used to be on the city council. He has Connections, as they say.
All around Harriet Island, where the “Taste…” is held, roads were closed to through traffic.
There was no construction going on, no roads flooded or washed out, no hazards at all. Old Yeller and I investigated several of these closed roads to verify this fact. There wasn’t any enforcement around at this early hour, so I felt fully justified in exploring beyond the signs.
The conclusion I came to was this: the reason the roads were closed was to prevent anybody who didn’t pay for a ticket from getting a decent view of the fireworks display later that evening.
Ask anyone who runs this thing, and they will deny it, of course. But it was obvious to me from the saddle of a humble scooter that the only folks who would have an unobstructed view were those who paid for the priveledge. Well, it’s the quintessential American holiday, and capitalism IS the American Way, after all. Can we blame them for using the government to help them make a buck?
Oh, don’t answer that. This is supposed to be a motorbike blog…
So, like any resourceful rider, I decided to exploit this opportunity to own a few of these roads for an hour or so before the cops started patrolling. Now I was wishing I had ridden Frogwing!
I won’t detail our crimes here, but Old Yeller and I had a grand old time that morning. It was our very own Independence Day! There was no other motorized traffic whatsoever. We dodged the occasional rabbit and squirrel, and waved to the few bicyclists and joggers we passed. It was pure scooter bliss.
Come fireworks time, I was home, and asleep. I wasn’t about to buy one of their silly tickets. Besides, I had already celebrated my independence.
