Slicer, entry one of C Log: A weblog of experiences while commuting by bicycle
By Jayson Lorenzen
26 July 2008
Ever since the government's transportation division merged with the gasoline companies, our local branch office has been here at the corner of Gary and Mason. Once a public parking structure, the building is somewhat round in shape and as with all the new government bureaus the offices themselves are "mo-bispa". "Mo-bispa", pronounced "moe bee spay" from the short form of the words "mobile" and "spaces", are of course the large mobile-home like office vehicles deemed popular on TV, and part of the reason I have this photo and story to share, though the point is the building itself. I have ridden past the building many times and even had to visit it once to renew my bicycle permit the year I tried to skip paying the gasoline tax while renewing on line; after all, I did not even own a motorized vehicle. However not until looking at it while laying on my side with my head pressed against the sidewalk, did I understand where it got its nick name. The locals have always called it "slicer" and I always thought it was an analogy regarding how they slice the people to ribbons or such. However now I saw that at the right angle it quite resembles a gigantic meat slicer.
As I mentioned before, I do not drive a car, but use a bicycle and am thus considered something of a rebel for being one of the city's alternative transportation users. We are referred to as "Arutoran", a term actually coined in Japan and pronounced "ah rue toe ran" with a rolling "R" like in Spanish. The word comes from a shortening of the Japanese pronunciation of the English words "Alternative Transportation User", with the "User" portion left as implied by context, as with many things in the language. The are two primary Arutoran groups in San Francisco and I belong to the "Commuters", the more prolific of the two due to our use of helmets and better health care. The other main group are the "Messengers"; delivery persons and possibly the last people on the planet deriving a living through Arutoran. There is a third group in the SF Bay Area, based in Marin County, called the "Trailbikers" which I hold an associate membership with and actually represent in the city from time to time. Their issues often appear mild in comparison with city groups but believe me, the cowboy park rangers on Tam are not to be taken lightly.
How the photo and situation prompting this writing came about was thus. I was cruising inbound on Gary, opposite the flow of mobispa with a couple of messengers, a pretty girl with bright red spiky hair in a Ramones t-shirt with a skirt over cargo-pants and a dread-locked dude in dark cammos. Splitting traffic is one of the few activities where the various groups associate or even acknowledge the other's existence and we were all smiling and honestly enjoying one another's company I believe, when the girl and I turned off onto Mason and were suddenly removed from the street and unceremoniously dumped onto the sidewalk by a traffic control sweeper. The sweepers are a city ran squad of power mad minor traffic police keeping non-motorized obstructions out of the roads, and they are very diligent. Then, fortunately for us this patrol was not particularly busy and decided to assist us further. It is here where the photo and prompting for this story come in, for I had my helmet cam on this day, snapping action shots in traffic. When I looked up after the crash to the sidewalk and noticed the building and realized about the name, I fired off a couple of shots just before the officer's boot crushed my helmet the cement, so I would not hurt myself further. The assisting officer then noticed my camera and promptly removed it, but fortunately he did not suspect the WIFI link between the camera and my GPS recorder or realize how geo-tagged copies of my photos resided there. Thus, the capture reproduced here remained to me.
After making sure we were not injured bad enough to miss work and cost the city disability, and fines dutifully dolled out to us, we were free to go. The messenger quickly blended back into the river of cars, though her red hair stood out as she zigzagged in and out of open spaces keeping my attention for some time, and I headed off to the office to post the photo and story of how it came to be taken, before the details blurred too much.
I hope you enjoy the fresh look at the structure and this narrative.
