Adventures of a Ganjobiciclatholic Anarcyclist in a Worldwide Fascist State

I have made it to Buenos Aires, the southernmost point in my trip. It is starting to warm up but I am officially sick and tired of the cold. I am looking forward to the steamy weather of Brazil. After looking at a map, I have come to the realization that my trip is almost over as I plan to end up in either Sao Paulo or Rio de Janeiro. That does not mean I am coming back to the U.S. any time soon. On the contrary, I plan to stay in Brazil for at least a year so I can learn Portuguese. I will also be on the lookout for a monkey skull to mount on my helmet. I have actually been reading a Portuguese/English dictionary page by page to familiarize myself with some Portuguese vocabulary and to practice my pronunciation. Portuguese is a little bit harder for me than Spanish because, unlike Spanish, the pronunciation seems to be more random.
The other week when I was in Rosario I was asking for directions to a hostel from a street juggler who indicated to me that, if I continued in the direction that I wanted to, I would be going in the wrong direction. I told him that I didn't care because I was an "anarciclista." We both had a good laugh about that but I thought that was a good word to describe me both politically and as a cyclist. When Argentinans cut me off while making a right turn without even signalling I see no reason to respect traffic laws written for people in cars. When the highway has signs that say, "Bicycles prohibited." I ignore them. The ironic thing is that the highway that has all of these signs is the safest road in all of Argentina for cyclists as it has a wide shoulder and a median to prevent cars from crossing over to the opposite lane. When there was, what looked like, a deadly crash on the highway that backed up traffic for at least 50 kilometers, I crossed the median and rode on the shoulder of the opposite side while thousands of drivers stranded in the traffic jam eyed me enviously. Strangely enough, the cops didn't give me any trouble about riding my bicycle on the highway even once.
The closest I got to getting in any trouble on the highway was when I underestimated the velocity of a motorcyclist leaving an on-ramp for a highway and cut across him. He then slowed down to have words with me and I flipped him off since I don't like being yelled at. He then drove alongside me for a while trying to be menacing. Fortunately he was all bark and no bite or as I like to say all fart and no shit. The funny thing is I actually ran into him later while I was eating lunch. He did the same old thing trying to be menacing but then drove off. The funny thing is that if he actually stuck around I would have apologized to him. Oh well. On the way back, I will try to not underestimate the speed of motorcyclists leaving the on-ramp.
Entering Buenos Aires on a bicycle is not for the faint-hearted. There was one part where I was in the middle of the road after two six-lane highways merged. This highway eventually morphed into a twenty-lane behemoth. When I knew that I was closer to my friend's house, I was happy to leave this monstrosity.
Despite the Argentinan government's complete disregard for cyclists, I see a surprisingly large number of cyclist on the road, many of them middle-aged women. Once you become comfortable maneuvering around the massive streets in Buenos Aires, you can actually move quite a bit faster than people in cars. I think I would go absolutely crazy if I were stuck in a car behind traffic that I could easily cut through on my bicycle.
Buenos Aires has some fantastic graffiti. Unfortunately, a lot of it is in seedier areas of town. When I was taking a picture of a fabulous demonic nun underneath a bridge, a one-legged junkie came up to me trying to intimidate me. "Why are you taking pictures?", he barked. With a smile that belied the look I gave him that said I wouldn't think twice about breaking his good knee if he threatened me I told him, "It's a pretty painting." I them walked off and took some more graffiti pictures.
I have been reading a lot of the news about police abuses of power in the U.S. The Henry Louis Gates has finally made it out of the headlines. I am happy to see discussion about racial profiling in the news but I don't think that this was a classic case of racial profiling. He didn't even get tased or shot in the back while handcuffed. This is just a classic case of police abuse of power. Disorderly conduct is by far the vaguest charge a police officer can make when arresting a person. In my opinion it is unconstitutional as it is both "cruel and unusual" and used as a means of stifling the criticism of police officers protected by the first amendment.
Speaking of taser-happy cops and racial profiling, I read with horror that police in Prince William County, North Carolina tased a pregnant woman during her son's baptism. She was Mexican so I guess that makes it allright. Seriously though, police in the U.S. need to follow very strict guidelines as to when they can tase someone. I would start by saying that they should never tase children, elderly people, noticably pregnant women, people on elevated platforms, and noticably disabled people. They should also never aim for the head, heart, or anus (yes, cops have tased people in the anus before). There should also be a very serious follow-up on tasing victims to make sure that tasers are, in fact, "non-lethal." I have read about tasers leading to heart arrhythmia.
I have advice for anyone that encounters police officers in the United States. Always be polite. Start out with, "Well sir/mamn." Then lie to their face. If you are questioned regarding any crime do not speak to them without the presence of a lawyer. I have seen too many cases of people serving on murder charges because the police coerced a confession. To summarize, do not cooperate with police as they are not here to protect you but to provide fodder for the prison-industrial complex.