CLASSIC MORRIS

LESTER IS MAD AS HELL… …ABOUT THE DIABOLICAL WAY IN WHICH SPEED LIMITS ARE ENFORCED WORDS LESTER MORRIS

Fortunately the traffic was quite a bit heavier than it had been earlier in the morning, because the swine who was just setting up shop when I rode home again would have caused my bank balance – such as it is – to have a large dent placed in it, had his nefarious business been set up earlier.

I had thundered through that quiet area much earlier in the morn, perched precariously upon a very swift, home brewed special which consisted of a highly-modified, 1200cc Harley Davidson engine mercilessly shoe horned into a Japanese frame which had originally housed a very early, 1000cc four-cylinder Yamaha power-plant.

The frame had been smartly anodised in a metallic gold, with highly-polished,contrasting alloy engine plates, the hand-made, sculpted fuel tank and tin-ware in a deep, British Racing Green colour, the Dunlop alloy rims shod with fat tyres. A neatly shaped, very supportive, long – if single – saddle helped take the edge of the firm suspension system, which had also been extensively modified. The original, most impressive (if dangerously ineffective) stainless steel twin disc brakes on the front had been thoughtfully replaced by cast-iron discs with their much better co-efficient of friction, which resulted in a great, ‘two-finger’ front anchor. The rear brake was a smaller, single disc and for some odd reason, was stainless steel.

The blast along the Bells Line of Road in the cool morning air was a joy, to say the least, even if the suspension was a tad too firm for my liking, the bike steering to a hair, even over some very uncertain road surfaces. I sat at the side of the road for a time thereafter to admire the view and grin at the passing peasantry, then turned back, cursing the limited lock of the ‘Lock Less Monster’, which made it a real handful to turn the thing around at low speed as well as in heavy traffic. I s’pose I might be getting a bit long in the tooth, because that wasn’t such a hassle all those long years ago!

So there I was, burbling quietly along with streaming traffic on the Old Northern Road near Dural, when I espied a fellow up ahead who had just illegally parked his double-cab, canopied ute on the grass verge and had climbed out of the vehicle, a small sign underneath his arm. The ute was painted in a soft cream colour, with a strange, orange and yellow chequered strip emblazoned down the side of it, in much the same way as Police cars, Fire engines and Ambulances are decorated. I had a fair idea who this bugger was, but I pulled across into the small parking lot of a convenient road side coffee shop a little further along to watch him as he began to conduct his shameful business.

As I had approached him from the North I had observed that there was a camera-like device peering shyly backwards from just inside the darkened rear window of the canopy, and I knew only too well what that fiendish device was. I then ordered a coffee and a sticky bun, which dutifully provided me with a first-class excuse to sit quietly alongside the Harley’s tinkling engine as I watched this man at work.

He strolled very casually southwards for some distance before being seen to place a too-small A- framed sign on the grass, the notice bearing the legend “Your Speed Has Just Been Checked”, so my assumption as to what the device which was hidden out of sight inside the vehicle’s canopy was, was correct; it was, of course, the sinister, so–called ‘Speed Camera’.

This oaf then strolled casually back to his vehicle, an ill-concealed smirk upon his rough, un-shaven countenance, his protruding beer-belly thinly disguised by the ill-fitting, bright yellow, Day-Glo vest he was desperately attempting to fasten. I couldn’t help but notice that one trouser leg was considerably shorter than the other, which seemed to indicate – at least it did to me – that he was excited by what was about to happen.

It also appeared to me that this man was finding it very difficult to attach the Velcro fastener on the front of the large,imposing vest, which indicated that walking was enough of an enterprise all on its on its own, while attempting to do two simple things at once seemed to me to be quite beyond him.

The difficulty he was clearly experiencing put me in mind of a remark which an American President made several times about a Presidential candidate. Lyndon Johnson insisted that Gerald Ford was so dumb that he couldn’t fart and chew gum at the same time. That was probably not true; at least I fervently hope not, but I wouldn’t bet against that statement in relation to the bloke I was watching so closely.

The owner of the canopied ute was clearly a civilian, for he wore no uniform, although he had probably been issued with an ID card of some description to wave in the face of some chagrined motorists who may have suddenly noted the camera (or at least the little sign) as they drove past the ute at an ‘extreme’ speed, having suddenly discovered they had been travelling too quickly. The ‘offending’ road-user, I suggest, would have had every right to clamber out of – or climb off, had it been me – his motor vehicle to stride purposefully back and indulge in a loud conversation at (no, now with, at!) the clown who had so anonymously/profitably booked the suspect for ‘speeding’.

Whether a confrontation was on the cards or not, the hapless miscreant would soon be notified of the transgression when a windowed envelope with a Notice inside it would arrive at his address a few weeks later to officially advise him of this fact. The Notice would doubtless have demanded a large donation to the State’s Consolidated Revenue coffers as well.

No, the person who was laying out his calling card in the form of that little sign was clearly one of that army of deceitful businessmen who are said to have been contracted to the State’s police force to book offending road-users who had the temerity to drive a couple of clicks over the road’s obligatory speed limit. Little matter that the closely attendant, nigh invisible 60 sign stood just a few meters back from where the canopied ute was parked, and was at the end of a long area which had previously been marked by a clear 80, and then a 70, roadside sign.

The area was, and still is, a trap for the unwary, as well as a handy source of income for the State Government and for the oaf who was taking advantage of the simple error of a multitude of other road users.

To make matters a whole lot worse,I could clearly see that the offender had climbed casually into the cab of his anonymous, un-marked vehicle, torn open a large brown paper bag and had begun scoffing a large sandwich, the while un-corking a Thermos fl ask which obviously contained a libation of some description. Clearly, he needed little physical exertion in that job, for he settled down comfortably in his ute’s cabin, relying entirely upon the one-eyed Cyclops in the rear of the vehicle for his income, the device unintentionally abetted by the inattention of numerous road-users.

After he had finally finished his refreshments and had a stretch and a yawn, the man climbed slowly out of the cabin and casually strolled back along the green verge to a point several meters behind his offending vehicle to plant a very small sign in the tall grass (which rendered the sign almost invisible) to warn unwary road-users that there was a “Speed Camera Ahead!”

He then returned to the anonymity of his van and opened a newspaper, which he read for a while before opening what appeared to be a large, brightly illustrated colour-in book, in which he appeared to join the dots and colour in the mono pages.

As I sat there quaffing my third coffee and second sticky cream bun, wiping the traces of the first bun off the tip of my nose, my chin and the front of my shirt, I wondered idly if there was a standard remuneration available to this businessman, of if he worked on a basic stipend with added commission.

I can only imagine the advertisements in the Sydney Morning Herald calling for unfeeling swine like him who may have been interested in a business of this scandalous type.

Perhaps an ad for this enterprising business might read:- HELP SAVE CHILDRENS’ LIVES! RID THE NATION’S ROADS OF SPEED DEMONS FOREVER! ASSIST YOUR STATE TO PROSPER AS NEVER BEFORE; AND YOURSELF AS WELL!

“*Ideal, totally-secure business opportunity exists for enterprising owner/booker with own, suitably anonymous vehicle. Special electronic surveillance material supplied at slight initial cost, or can be hired at reasonable rates. *Rewarding position for civic-minded, un-caring person with no conscience.

Remuneration is by basic stipend and commission, with potential for high

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