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August 12, 2007 was a typical summer day: warm and muggy. I was near the end of a three hour motorcycle ride from Atlantic City to New York, less than a mile from home. Upon exiting the FDR expressway at 42nd Street, attempting to turn west under the FDR overpass, I was flagged down by a traffic cop.

His partner was writing up another motorcyclist, so I gathered that I'd been snagged by one of those checkpoints the city sets up to harass *cough* target motorcyclists. I had no clue what grounds he might have for pulling me over. I wasn't speeding —the intersection is awkward, so I was going slow. I was wearing a full face helmet and my bike's pipes are stock (quiet as a Honda Civic).

It turns out, officer Nolan had good reason to get me off the streets, as I was clearly a threat to myself and to the public at large, a veritable ticking Al Qaeda sleeper cell dirty nuke briefcase time bomb. Why? Because I was riding with my face shield up! And my chic Italian sunglasses didn't qualify as protective eyewear, as required by New York State Vehicle and Traffic code, Title 3 Article 9 § 381.

7. It shall be unlawful, on and after January first, nineteen hundred sixty-seven, for any person to operate a motorcycle unless he wears goggles or a face shield of a type approved by the commissioner. The commissioner is hereby authorized and empowered to adopt and amend regulations covering types of goggles and face shields and the specifications therefor and to establish and maintain a list of approved goggles and face shields which meet the specifications as established hereunder.

That day, I asked the officer, "Isn't it kind of hot to have my face shield down when I'm going so slow?"

"You can wear an open face helmet like mine, and safety goggles like these.", he replied, showing me what appeared to be normal pair of sporty plastic sunglasses, similar to the kind that Paul Teutul Jr. wears.

"How are those safer?"

"See? They have little sponges along the inside of the frame."

OK. "My full face helmet is a lot safer than your half helmet. If I get into a crash, I kinda want to keep my face."

"Well maybe you got a better face than me. I don't care about my ugly face so much."

Now I'm getting creeped out.

Overall, Officer Nolan was reasonably polite and professional, his participation in state sponsored motorcyclist harassment aside. He even said he'd write on the ticket that I was wearing prescription eyewear. I took this as a sign of sympathy, of him trying to help me out should I contest the fine.

Too bad he neglected to bring his amicable side to court. I certainly didn't detect any pleasantries as he stood (literally, the entire time) testifying through case after case. And I can't fault him for getting testy after being cross examined by a Ducati riding, Armani glasses wearing, pencil necked spic like me. Picture me in dress shoes, gabardine slacks, long sleeve shirt and tie, him in full motorcycle cop regalia, tight riding pants tucked into 14" black leather boots.

In the three months between my ticket and my hearing, I had been telling people about my pending encounter with our legal system, vowing to fight this silly law all the way to the Supreme Court. "I'm not paying them anything!" I'd faux shout in Pacinoesque outrage. This particularly perturbed my wife, Courtney, who half expected to bail me out after being tasered out of court.

Contrary to what people told me to expect, there was no prosecutor present at the hearing. The officer, and to some degree, the judge, represented the state. I had often heard that if the officer doesn't show, you can get out of the ticket. Alas, the state has computers. These happily sort traffic cases by officer, and schedule hearings such that the same officer can testify in all the cases in a given courtroom. Who says Government isn't efficient?

A few people had lawyers. Most did not. A couple of people could barely speak English. Guilty. Case after case. Guilty. Guilty. It was like a machine. One guy got off —on a proverbial technicality. I think he was charged with driving without insurance, when he was supposed to be charged with failure to produce proof of insurance. He had a lawyer. Smart guy!

Most of the folks defending themselves didn't put up much of a fight. Their defenses fell into the following categories.

Feeble defense	The Man
I didn't do it	Yes you did
I couldn't help it	So you did it!
I don't want to get too many points	That's a good fellow
I'm pissed	And?

As I waited, I jotted down notes for my defense. It would center around five points.

• Safety To follow the letter of the law, would put me in danger of overheating, and of fogging up my face shield.
• The spirit of the law is to get people to wear appropriate safety gear, which I was.
• The law is vague Where is this commissioner's list of approved goggles?
• Targeting motorcyclists is a civil rights violation. Or should be.
• My state of mind I'm a safe rider.

I opened by asking the judge if I could cross examine the officer. I asked Officer Nolan if he remembered whether I was wearing a protective motorcycle jacket. I hoped to get him to say I was wearing a jacket and gloves, to bolster my forthcoming State of Mind argument.

"I don't know. Maybe."

I guess I'm no Perry Mason. I skipped ahead to a question that was less about winning my case and more about satisfying my curiosity. At this point, imagine the audience becoming hushed by my focused, Tom Cruisian intensity. Of course it didn't really happen that way. That is why you have to imagine it.

"Does anyone ever order, or suggest, or encourage you to target, or go after, or focus on motorcyclists?"

He paused for a second, then said, "Yes. Checkpoints."

I didn't think he'd admit it! If I had done my homework, I would not have been so surprised. In 1986, the Supreme Court of the United States, in a 6 to 3 decision, gave the state the power to use roadblocks, at least for stopping drunk drivers (Michigan Department of State Police v. Rick Stitz).

I dropped my Targeting Motorcyclists defense.

I presented what remained of my defense —my closing argument, if you will. The judge, the officer, and I went back and forth a few times to clarify various points of fact. The judge seemed to carefully weigh my points, which gave me hope. He mainly focused on whether my "Armani style" sunglasses (I didn't correct him), which had strong polycarbonate lenses (I brought a note from my optometrist stating as much), qualified as "approved goggles". Thinking out loud, he surmised that ordinary sunglasses would be more likely to fly off your head in a collision. Sensing the tide turning against me, I asked permission to interject. I related how the officer had shown me his approved goggles during the traffic stop, and how their only additional safety feature was the little sponges behind the frame. I.e., they were just as likely to fly off the wearer's head as regular sunglasses.

This is when Officer Nolan started in on me. Diatribe is too strong a word, and it misses the overall comic effect of his rant and my reaction. It went something like this.

"So do your glasses have sponges? Show me."

"I'm not saying they had sponges. I'm speaking as to whether they would fly off."

"What if you were wearing them backwards? Would that be in the spirit of the law?"

Uhhh... What?

"What if you were wearing your helmet on your elbow, or on your knee, or on the top of your head? Is that the spirit of the law?"

I felt like I was floating back into my skull, looking out through my eye holes at a Surrealist painting. I just stared at him for a second. I think Chandler from "Friends" would say I was caught off guard by the nanny-nanny-boo-boo argument.

The officer apologized to the judge and that was that.

I really thought I might get a not-guilty. I was optimistic, like in seventh grade, when I was lead prosecutor in Texas v. Jeff Gibson. That was our class mock trial. It was held in an actual court in downtown Houston. Our teacher, a tough law and order type, Vietnam vet, devised a crime with ample evidence pointing to Mr. Gibson as the one who dunnit. It should have been a cakewalk for any prosecutor, but I wanted to make sure there was no chance of failure. Together, my able yet attractive assistant prosecutor, Sandra, and I demolished the few pitiful witnesses Mr. Gibson had. My summation was a master work of oratory. Mr. Gibson didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell, unless you considered how popular he was. A smart, handsome, athletic type, he was liked by the ladies. Mr. Gibson, if I recall correctly, you wore your pants very tight. Yes that was the fashion, but some rebelled against it, while others reveled in it. Admit it! You reveled.

The jury then was mostly female. Jeff Gibson walked. Not guilty. Deliberation took less than twenty minutes.

I wasn't so lucky at my hearing. How did Jeff¹ get away with vicious, premeditated murder, while I got convicted of riding with my stupid face shield up? My fine: $10 plus a $30 surcharge. The surcharge is for pleading not-guilty. Really. That's standard.

I knew the judge was being nice, setting my fine so low, but I couldn't bring myself to gush with thanks. I had wanted to go all the way with this thing and now I had failed and pushing ahead with an appeal would be hard and probably fruitless and paying the fine would be easy. Just a little sell out, that's all.

As I handed over two twenties to the nice lady behind the wire glass, I asked what was involved in submitting an appeal.

"What'd they get you on?"

"Riding with my face shield up —no goggles"

"Oh man. No goggles? That's so sorry. Look, I understand it's the principal, but if you appeal, you have to pay $30 for a transcript. Maybe more, if takes it two tapes. Then a judge will review the transcript to see if the first judge made a mistake. In the end it's just going to cost you more money."

I thanked her. Her humanity, compassion and understanding would be the start to my healing process.

My friend Aquiles² tells me, "Ten dollars? Oh Max, you won. That's nothing. The judge may have said ""Guilty"", but you won. Ten dollars. You're never going to do better than that!"

Traffic court is on 125th Street. If you would rather not go to Harlem, you can enter a guilty plea and pay your fine over the Internet. My friend Chris asked me if most of the defendants were people of color. "As a matter of fact, yes. Almost all of them." "They're the only ones brave enough to go up there," he said.

If you are reading this because you are a New York state resident facing a similar traffic violation hearing, I suggest you try the following defense. Keeping in mind the law,

The commissioner is hereby authorized... [to] maintain a list of approved goggles and face shields

ask the officer to produce the list. Make them prove your glasses are not on the list. The burden of proof is on the state. Let me know if it works. Good luck. Ride safe!

¹By the way, he and I were friends. He was a great guy and, I assume, still is.
²Related story: Max Needs Bags