L
osing your reason for being is rather
difficult, isn’t it? All over the world, that is
exactly what’s happened to motorcyclists
as we surf the wild, but very restrictive waves
of the Corona Virus.
Or as I’ve come to call it, the Plague.
After all, if riding motorcycles is your thing,
your whole thing, and nothing but your thing,
then to be told you can no longer ride and
must instead sit in your house until the Plague
ends or the Zombies come for you (whichever
happens first), then you have lost your reason
for living.
Might as well catch the bloody Plague and
be done with it, aye?
New Zealand has some of the strictest self
-isolation clamp-downs in the world. None
of you are allowed out, unless it’s to hunt for
food (but only at the supermarket), seek
revenge, or drag yourself to the hospital
with your lungs leaking disease.
Australia, a much bigger place, is essentially
a dumpster fire of confusion about what is
permitted during the Plague. What we know
so far is:
The billions of dollars in fines usually raised by
the Highway Patrol are now not being raised
because people are not riding or driving as
much, but that money needs to be replaced.
So now the police are fining everyone for
everything. But using their “discretion”, which
few find any comfort in because police
“discretion” is very similar to police “intelligence”,
in that those words don’t mean what you think
they mean.
Millions of dollars in fines have already been
issued, and more is to come.
The police in Australia have also launched
a murder investigation at the hapless and
diseased crew of the Ruby Princess, which
you’ll recall was that wonderful cruise ship
which left Australia, Plagued-up New Zealand,
90 KIWI RIDER