June 26, 1999

Bubbles Won't Clean The Air

By Tooker Gomberg
Toronto, June 26, 1999

Imagine this courtroom filling with bubbles... I fantasised, sitting in Toronto's old City Hall this morning. The sombre and security-laden air sure could use a dash of levity. I could barely hear the arcane legal discussions taking place on the other side of the wall of glass that separated us, the audience, from the legal goings on.

A dozen of us cyclists were sitting in Courtroom 111 facing the Justice of the Peace in solidarity with fellow cyclist Davis. Just the night before he was blowing bubbles during Toronto's monthly Critical Mass bicycle ride.

A distorted police report was read, and then the JP, elevated above the courtroom floor, spoke sternly: "I suggest you grow up, Sir." He picked up momentum. "You should get a life, and realise there are others in the community besides yourself. You are a selfish individual."

With strict instructions to stay away from this group called "Critical Mass", and the posting of a $5,000 security bond, Davis was free to leave the courthouse. But justice was hardly done.

One Critical Masser was later heard to say: "After the revolution we'll make sure that that Justice has to go everywhere by bike."

The previous night, in tandem with almost a hundred cities around the world, the monthly critical mass ride got rolling with a couple hundred cyclists and lots of good spirit. The group took over one side of the streets as it snaked through traffic choked Toronto.

Bells rang as leaflets were distributed. For a brief hour the noise of misfiring engines and the hazard of speeding drivers was banished from our space, while chants of "compost your car" rose in the asphalt-cooked air.

Davis added a festive atmosphere with music belting from a boom box in a basket on the back of his bike. His whimsical bubble blowing, in a subtle way, reminded us of the air flowing around us and through our lungs. If only the soap bubbles would cleanse the filthy air! In Ontario alone 1800 people die annually from air pollution. In a city suffocating under a blanket of pollution, one might expect the red carpet treatment for those not smogging.

Instead, a lone cop car decided our pedalling pack needed to be watched. Perhaps out of boredom the police began picking individuals off, myself included, and rewarding us with fines from $105 to $185 for allegedly riding through stop signs or red lights.

The dwindling Mass wound through the Eaton Centre, a large downtown indoor shopping mall. Emerging at Yonge Street half a dozen cyclists "corked" the street with their bikes so motorists would have to wait while the Mass of cyclists crossed over.

A riled taxi driver tried and failed to squeeze by. Then a kamikaze motorcyclist on a supercharged red motorcycle barrelled through the line of corkers twisting a bike and shocking us all.

As the stunned cyclists turned and watched the motorcycle speed off at warp speed, a policeman appeared and began barking at the cyclists to get off the road. A few of us shouted back that he ought to radio for help to stop the dangerous vehicle. The cop seemed disinterested, and blamed us for causing the trouble.

With mounting anger Davis and the cop exchanged words. Suddenly the cop grabbed Davis by the neck. Davis jumped back, stumbling over his bike and sending his boom box flying. The cop grabbed for him again. In a flash Davis broke free, and was running down the middle of Yonge street with the cop, and an ambulance worker, in hot pursuit.

Within seconds sirens were wailing from all directions. Into the alley the chase flew, Davis leading the pack back to where the incident began. Then, a cop dove for his legs and tackled him. Another cop suffered a cut to his forehead. Four cops jumped on Davis.

As the cyclists chanted "let him go" a clutch of Toronto's finest wrestled Davis into the cruiser. Another cop put it this way: "Get off the road, dickhead, or I'll kick you in the nuts." The ride was over.

After a visit to the police station to find out what was happening to our friend, we dispersed into the night, subdued. Silently we rode into the roar of traffic, keenly aware of the thick, smog-laden breeze that embraced us.

But our yearning to breath free and clean air was not diminished. Rather, we look forward to next month's mass ride where together we will pedal for lively, convivial roads. And we will share the dream of a city where the criminal, motorized mayhem on our streets is no longer considered normal.

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                The A-Infos News Service

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