He awoke with a start, like someone had unloaded a .45 inches from his head.
He'd been deep into a dream, one that had carried him back in time 10 years.
He was blasting down a desert highway on his stroked Panhead, nitrous bottles
strapped on either side of the bike. The last part of the dream he remembered
was the roar of his exhaust followed by an earth-shattering explosion.
Sam, or "Chopper", as his friends called him, was 38, tall and muscular at
210 pounds. Raking his fingers through his graying hair in an attempt to clear
the fading images of the dream, he sat up and swung his long legs off his
"required" bed. Legislation had recently been passed that mandated people of
specific heights to sleep on beds of standardized material and size
specifications. This was done in effort to control the number of back ailments
in the country and improve the productivity of the work force. Half bent over,
his elbows on his knees, Sam rubbed his eyes. Then, scratching the back of his
head, he thought about his old ride and wondered why he'd had that dream. He
hadn't ridden for years.
Back in 1992, after the national helmet law passed, 30 percent of the
nation's riders gave up the sport of motorcycling. The legislature, pleased
with its accomplishment, decided to enhance the Safety Act of 1992 and
abolished motorcycles from the road shortly thereafter. The majority of the
public supported the Act and within three years motorcycles could be owned but
not ridden on public thoroughfares. People kept building them in their garages
and basements, though, and minor injuries resulted in the process. Bike
building was then outlawed, and subsequently, home workshops altogether. The
only way a person could own a motorcycle was to have it professionally encased
in Plexiglas and installed in his residence like a display case in a museum.
Sam's Panhead was in such an enclosed state, trapped behind plastic in his
living room.
The dream had caused Sam to remember all the ludicrous laws of the last
decade. He shook his head in disgust and disbelief as he began to flashback on
the legislation that was thrown at motorists. He remembered the uproar when
the first automotive helmet law was enacted in Indiana. There was quite a stir
until the Center for Disease Control released some documentation demonstrating
the projected cost savings for preventing automotive head injuries. The money
saved was astronomical. Within a year all states followed Indiana's lead and
adopted the law.
Sam couldn't think about that crap anymore. He stood up and went to the can.
He leaned over the sink and studied his face the amount of silver in his
closely cropped beard seemed greater this morning, and the wrinkles around his
eyes were more pronounced. Looking in the mirror brought him back to the harsh
realities of his everyday life. He remembered that he had to go in for a
cholesterol/urine test that day. He recalled the days when drug testing was
being rammed down the public's throat, and how everyone thought it was a good
thing at the time. But like most laws, it got out of control and was soon
extended to include cholesterol, fat, nicotine, and alcohol.
Sam washed his face and walked into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator
and stared inside. He wanted an egg so bad he could eat the shell. But new
refrigerators had been installed with a device that permitted nuclear families
only one egg a week, per family member. In his frustration, Sam found an old
screwdriver in a junk drawer and began to pry open the cheap metal door that
controlled the egg supply. He was having some success when a loud, obnoxious
squeal sounded from the back of the 'fridge.
"Shit," he yelled and let his hand gripping the screwdriver go slack. The
anti-tampering alarm built in almost every home appliance (to prevent non-
professionals access to the inner workings and family members from by-passing
coded requirements) was sounding. Fortunately, he hadn't permanently damaged
the gate, or the alarm would have continued to sound, ad nauseam, until
security arrived to investigate the problem and repair the device.
Toasters had been outlawed, as were barbecues, because of the carcinogens
they produced. Sam pulled a piece of wheat bread out of his plastic basket and
smothered it with nonfat spread and low-calorie jelly.
Caffeinated coffee had also been regulated to extremes, so it became an
underground substance like marijuana had been since the '50s. It was difficult
to obtain, and the video monitors required in kitchens could often detect its
presence, much like heat cameras could find pot plants growing under other
vegetation. And legislation had been passed to prevent the use of kitchen
appliances in other rooms. To enforce this law, most devices were permanently
affixed to walls and counters. The bottom line was, you couldn't take the
coffee maker into the head to make a cup of the real thing.
Sam leaned against the counter. He was a broken man whose existence had been
reduced to nothing more than going to and from work each day. He was dejected,
disillusioned, and distraught. Risk and adventure, the things that had kept
him alive and excited in his youth, had been removed from life. Now, in the
year 2000, the only way a person could get some action was to rent a video and
pop it in the machine. To get a feeling for the old days, Sam could rent a
"run video." The only problem was that these tapes were severely edited by the
FCC to remove any reference to illegal activities. There weren't any bar fight
scenes, drugs, drinking, or wild sex bad for the heart.
When Simul-Act had been developed it wasn't half bad, especially for the
porno industry. Surround screens were installed in homes, following the
surround sound theme. Playing one of these videos was, in some instances,
better than being there. Sam remembered walking into a friend's pad, and
seeing him standing in the center of his living room, dressed in full ski
gear, as powdery slopes whooshed by him on the screen. His buddy was acting
out every motion of skiing down the hill. The weather was perfect, the snow
pristine, and his skiing abilities were refined. Sam laughed as he recalled
his old riding buddy's reaction when he'd discovered Sam's presence. "Well, I
sure as hell won't break a leg," he said defensively.
Sam's fist slammed against the kitchen counter. He looked across the slick
Formica to his encased bike. Then it dawned on him that he was also late for
his mandatory exercise class. The chairman of the president's health program
had convinced Congress that if it was mandatory for children to take physical
education classes, it should also be a required program for adults. So, two
more amendments were added to the National Health Bill. The first required
adults to attend two aerobic sessions a week and the other abolished salt from
the diet. For a while, before the Health Enforcement Agency had closed all the
salt plants and established helicopter patrols over all the salt mines, salt
cost more per gram on the black market than cocaine.
Highly selective and sensitive sensors had been developed by the government
to detect drugs in the home. The right to privacy as guaranteed through the
Bill of Rights was blocking much of the government's enforcement, but it was
easy for Congress to convince the public that the cocaine sensors were needed
and wouldn't detect anything else. In no time they were installed in all new
homes. But then marijuana sensors were passed, then alcohol, then nicotine,
and finally salt. And, of course, the video monitors in kitchens were
acceptable due to the high-risk machines those rooms contained. Most people
with kids fell right in line. If a latchkey youngster was about to do or eat
anything harmful in the kitchen, these monitors would alert authorities
immediately and alarms would sound throughout the house. These sensors
virtually eliminated the need for baby sitters. Although the irony was that
the cameras now baby-sat adults.
Just then the phone rang. Sam had barely said hello, when his bro Red said,
"Chopper, this is Red. I can't talk long the phones. You wanna ride? Pack your
piano and gear and have Starving Students #3 come to pick it up. Ask for Rick.
Tell him you're moving to Las Vegas."
"But, wha...?" Sam attempted to interject.
"This is our last chance," Red said. "You won't be going back, Sam. It's a
commitment to the old ways. I gotta go. It's either your life or theirs. You
decide. Won't be no cake walk, though." And with that, he hung up.
Sam had heard about outlaws who had tried to hide and maintain the old
lifestyle. The problem was twofold, though. The publicity against these
diehards portrayed them as idiots who couldn't understand all the good this
barrage of legislation was doing for them. I mean, who the hell would want to
eat salt if they knew that it might take 15 minutes off their life expectancy?
The general public began to look down their noses at anyone who wouldn't
conform. Autopsies were performed regularly on the recently deceased and
grieving families were publicly shamed if nicotine, alcohol, or even a high
fat content was found in a family member's blood. The costs were immediately
publicized for everyone to see. If he had lived two more days he could have
made "X" amount; instead he died and cost "X" amount.
The other half of the problem was law enforcement. All these mandatory
regulations, sensor devices, and monitors were making a very few very rich.
Enforcement agencies making significant gains in public burden reductions were
realizing much higher government grants and budgets from the general fund.
However, the national debt didn't appear to drop, as these agencies had
promised, while enforcement budgets were skyrocketing.
It was hard to move without being monitored in one way or another. A sick day
was investigated. Traveling vacations, which were almost unheard of and highly
regulated, had to be approved through an Itinerary Check Committee.
Sam paced his small, confined apartment like a caged cat and wondered whether he could ever ride free again.
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