Woman Ticketed For Sitting On Park Bench With No Kids

http://www.wral.com/irresistible/5029825/detail.html

Ummm.... I can understand the concern against pedophiles. But if a sicko wanted to watch a kiddie park, they'd lie about having kids/hide in the bushes/something.

And to simplify things a bit, this being a public park, does this public citizen get no right to sit on a public bench on public land.

And if she's waiting on an arts festival to start, to which the public is presumably invited, is she legal as soon as it starts, but up for a $1,000 fine and 90 days in jail if she gets there 30-seconds early? By whose watch?

… but state law is little cushion for a cyclist against a homicidal SUV….

While I lived in Wake Forest, north of Raleigh, a local radio show on G105, hosted by Bob Dumas and Madison Lane, went on air with callers advocating harassing and even driving into cyclists, denying bike’s rights to share our roads.
This raises some rather draconian opinions of mine. But this is a family newspaper.
To make a long story short, state law gives bikes the same rights as cars, the cycling community raised a fuss, the radio station didn’t care, the cycling community raised a bigger fuss, advertisers started pulling their money from the station, the station got bad PR, the show got cut for a while and I got an apology email from one of the company HQ bigwigs.
When you’re out on the road it seems like way too many cars are passing way too close – even snuggling up to you as they go by. Some of this is perhaps an illusion enhanced by unconscious caution – the desire not to wind up like a splattered bug on the grill of a car.
Happily, I’ve been quite pleased with the caution shown by Cleveland County’s motorists. But the spat with the radio station does highlight some concerns cyclists have about their rights to ride and survive.
To learn a little bit more, I called someone who knows a thing or two about bike rights, cyclist Dennis Johnson.
One of the more dangerous actions he sees is improper passing – not leaving enough room, passing on hills… “They obviously can’t see and know what’s coming ahead,” said Johnson.
But our rights come with responsibilities. To learn even more about the statutes, I spoke to highway patrol Sgt. Dennis Johnson (yeah, same guy), who has North and South Carolina’s regulations online at www.dennisjohnson.net.
“Sometimes the cyclists feel that they’re… fair game,” he said, encouraging motorists to “just basically treat them with the same courtesy that every other vehicle on the road should be treated with.”
One difference between the two states’ laws are that in North Carolina all cyclists younger than 16 must wear helmets. In South Carolina it’s optional, he says.
Most motorists don’t wear helmets, but a lot of the other laws are equivalent to those of motorized vehicle. Just as a car driving around at night without its lights would be ticketed, in NC bikes are required to have a front light at night and a back light or reflector.
I’ll admit, though, that obeying the rules of the road can sometimes be tricky. Pulling up to a stoplight, a cyclist doesn’t always trigger the light’s sensors embedded in the pavement. You might wait a long time before a car comes along to switch the light. You could try a right on red, but what when that would put you on a divided four-lane highway you’d rather not ride….
I’ll check into that and put what I find on my blog at jderrickstar.blogspot.com.
In the meantime, for more information check out the NC Department of Transportation cycling and pedestrian site: www.ncdot.org/transit/bicycle.

When the clothes run out....

Has anybody noticed Anderson Cooper of CNN, who’s been down in the gulf for not one but two hurricanes at this point, has been wearing the same clothes a lot lately? That blue t-shirt and that olive drab one with the epaulets? And then he started wearing the two in a combo – trying to spice up that reporter-sent-into-the-field-without-sufficient-supplies-for-who-knows-how-long wardrobe.

How can we reporters be better prepared for such circumstances? Clothes that can be easily laundered in the field? Major media organizations, maybe the AP, pre-positioning supplies where we know we’ll be needing them? Kind of like how the Army conveniently keeps tanks the around the world just in case? We know that journalists will be sucked to N.C.’s outer banks every year – why not bury a batch of MREs?

Just kidding.

“I wear this helmet because Mrs. Myrtie loves me.”

“I wear this helmet because Mrs. Myrtie tells me to.”
When a dear family friend and fellow cyclist found out I was riding a broken-down bicycle named Freddy around Europe while I was studying abroad, she had some loving, yet emphatic, advice:
“John, wear your helmet.”
When I got back from overseas I taped a piece of paper with the flags of all the countries I’d ridden in on one side of my helmet. On the other side I taped my above reason for wearing it.
If zooming around at up to 30 mph only a small slip from a rough ride on the asphalt wasn’t enough reason for cyclists to be concerned with safety, we’re sharing the road with some rather larger vehicles.
State law says that bicycles have the same road rights as anyone else.
But state law is little cushion against a homicidal SUV.
Happily, I’ve been very pleased with the great courtesy shown by Cleveland County’s motorists. But this does touch some concerns cyclists have about their rights to ride and survive, and will make a nice second column next week.
But for now anyone interested in learning a little more about cycling safety can go to www.ncdot.org/transit/bicycle, which offers safety guidelines, free cycling maps of N.C. and an online “Interactive Crash Data Tool.”
It’s a program where you can enter in different variables (helmet use, drunk driving, cyclist’s direction) and it spits out the reported accidents in North Carolina. Without devolving too deeply into math, in 2003 no cyclists confirmed to be wearing helmets were killed in accidents. 17 were.
So I’ve been an avid helmet-wearer for years. I showed Mrs. Myrtie my helmet a few years ago and she gave a minor critique.
It now reads:
“I wear this helmet because Mrs. Myrtie loves me.”

Be Prepared....

You never know when your newspaper is going to send you into a hurricane zone on short notice, so it helps to be prepared. Even before we’d decided exactly who was going on Friday afternoon, I was making a list of my useful emergency toys…
Sleeping bag, tent, flashlight, blanket …
Fortunately I already had all that stuff in my car.
Now sometimes my preparedness may seem a little odd to folks. I remember students in my campus youth group thinking it was strange that I carried Band-Aids in my wallet.
But on a weekly basis one of them would cut their hand open on a knife/can/music stand or something. They would need a Band-Aid and I’d try very hard not to say “I told you so.”
… first aid kit, tarp, wood saw, tool kit, hack saw blade, rope, small crampons…
All the woodsy equipment and training are holdovers from my scouting experiences and have come in useful during the hurricanes of Eastern North Carolina where I’m from.
While my family’s power was out after Fran, I had my old camping stove to cook on.
When I gave myself second-degree burns on said stove (I thought it had cooled off. You could actually see the imprint of the stove in the palm of my hand) I knew how to do first-aid.
… food, water, radio, compass, army shovel, another flashlight…
Heading down to the Mississippi Friday night, Megan, our reporter, asked if I had the equipment to change a busted tire. While we were in Laurel, the photographer from our host paper, the Laurel Leader-Call, got a flat.
… tire pump, full-sized spare, jumper cables, fire extinguisher, vehicle manual…
And not that my venerable, versatile, roomy, reliable, efficient and eager Toyota Camry would ever fail me, but what if something happened I couldn’t fix?
… St. Christopher medallion, Native American medicine bag, Japanese Shinto traffic-safety charm (I like to cover all the bases – be prepared!)…
But driving along the coast on my own one day from Slidell to Biloxi I saw devastation that no one can really prepare for. And that touches another of the basic scouting tenets.
I remember trying to stuff my new sleeping bag into its stuff sack during a camporee when I was about 11. Shoving the big, fluffy mummy bag, currently in my car trunk, into its tight bag that winter morning was like cramming a dachshund into a soda can and I was getting frustrated. My scoutmaster saw what was happening and came over to my tent.
“Well, John, if you were alone in the woods, that would be a problem,” said Mr. Farrell, “but there are a lot of other guys out here I bet would be willing to help.”
No matter how self sufficient we think we are, we aren’t. The most important things in an emergency can’t fit in a backpack or car trunk – our own good sense and the good will of others.
This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep that sleeping bag in your car.
It means you should keep an extra at your apartment – you never know when you can help out and equip someone else.
Maybe even a journalist.
…knife, file, can opener, screwdriver, awl, pliers, wire cutters (and that’s all on the same multi-tool)….

"Frailty, thy name is..."

Ophelia.

The problem with her is you never really know her mind. Will she stay? Will she go? Does she really love Hamlet?

Help! Is there an English major in the house?

"Hey nonny nonny...."

A few more Laurel shots

More Laurel Pics

More Laurel Pics

Laurel, Miss.

I'll work on captions and some more photos as I get the chance. But for now, here you go....

... my Dad was very explicit about Steve: “John, hurt that man.”

There is a strange connection between my Dad nearly killing himself taking my gear backpacking and me getting improved gear.
On his bill.
You see, my Uncle Fred has been big into camping all his life. He has this buddy, Steve, who has done 100-mile ultramarathons (and even talked me up for a 40-miler once), and they go backpacking.
Every once in a while they persuade my Dad to come along, run my Dad into the ground/nearly send him to the hospital, my Dad says he’ll not do that again, a few years go by, he heals, and they persuade my Dad to come along….
This has been going on now at least 30 years.
Last year my Dad went with them into the Yosemite backcountry. And I got a new backpack.
He said the straps on my old pack had gotten hard. They had.
I called Fred and Steve for advice on what to get. Most folks seem to be going with internally framed packs these days – they have a little better balance for things like rock climbing – but I still like the old fashioned externals. I don’t generally rock climb with a backpack on and I like having basically unlimited packing space – if it doesn’t fit, just strap it on.
Steve and I have interests in ultralight stuff, but for basic use on the trail I went with a more versatile Kelty Trekker 3950 that I hope to use this fall with these folks.
Dad’s sporadic attendance aside, Fred and Steve have a stable group they go hiking with on a yearly basis. A few years back they were on the Appalachian Trail in New England. After that trip I got one of these collapsible water bags with a tube sticking out of it so you can drink while you’re using your hands to scramble over rocks. And Dad started hiking in running shoes.
Up in New Hampshire, I think it was, they ran into Earl Schaffer, the first person to hike the entire 2,200-mile Appalachian trail. He was making his third thru-hike when my Dad met him in 1998 – he was 79.
Emil isn’t far behind. When I went backpacking with them on the AT for a week around West Point two years ago he was 72. And he could outhike most 20 year olds. He’d start off from camp a little early, I’d pass him, I’d stop for a break, he’d trudge on past…. And I started hiking in running shoes.
Good-spirited Joey, he dresses, um, colorfully.
And Steve? Who always seems to have more miles in mind than we do in our feet? Before the hike my Dad was very explicit about Steve: “John, hurt that man.”
Can’t you feel the love?
Anyway, the next year Dad went on a trip out to Yosemite with them.
Hearing the stories upon his return, I got a newfound respect for the dangers of altitude sickness.
And an air mattress.
And a new backpack.

Shooting hurricane damage in Mississippi....

Megan and I arrived in Laurel at dawn on Saturday. We’d driven the entire night from Shelby on short notice, madcap packing and cheap cola. That part was me.
More than anything else, this reminds me of the hurricanes of eastern North Carolina, where I grew up. Thankfully there has been no major water damage this far from the coast, but the pines snapped off halfway up, the brush piles in the roads, the trees through the houses….
It’s going to be a long time and take a lot of help before things get back to normal here. Some people around are predicted to be without power for weeks if not months. And without a stable supply of gas, even when people do have charity to give, they can’t get there. Roads are rough. Utilities are iffy. There is a curfew.
But telephone service is coming back. More gas stations have more gas. Stores are starting to reopen. I bought a milkshake at a drive-thru – a simple ordinary act that tasted devine….
What’s most incredible to me, though, are the high spirits people are in. When folks come to a stoplight that isn’t working, they patiently wait their turn, do unto others… and then calmly proceed in a very British fashion.
I’ve heard about the random acts of kindness I remember from bumper stickers and past hurricanes I’ve been through. How folks from my entire neighborhood banded together into a roving band of chainsaw-wielding driveway-clearers, just like the stories I’m hearing here of private citizens’ random, drive-by food distribution.
A police officer just came to the door to at the paper where we’ve been camping out, the Laurel Leader-Call. He was checking on the reporter here who had a flat tire.
Darn these people are nice. What’s wrong with them?
Perhaps they are digging into the post-hurricane labor I remember – the chainsaws, rakes, and trucks that never seem to end until at some point you see the satisfying progress being made and are pleased all the more thanks to the pains involved.
Possibly people are remembering the joys of lending a hand, cooking a meal for a neighbor, the satisfaction or helping a stranger….
Maybe folks have learned that no matter how bad things get, there is always much more to be thankful for.
At least that’s what they’re teaching me.

Well, here's one I've been meaning ot get on here a while....