The Wheelchair Is On the Plate
I ride a motorcycle. I park in handicapped spots. I'm legally entitled to both. Here's what the people who appoint themselves parking cops get wrong. Almost every time I park, a stranger decides they're law enforcement. I pull my motorcycle into a handicapped spot — the one I'm legally entitled to — kill the engine, and before I've even got my cane off the bike, here comes the volunteer: "You can't park there. That's handicapped." Always with that little hit of righteousness people get when they think they've caught someone. Here's the part they never check: the wheelchair symbol is right there. On the plate. The State of New Mexico put it there, because I qualify. I have a handicapped motorcycle plate — one of the perks, I joke, of dying and needing oxygen. Because that's the reality the bike hides. I have pulmonary fibrosis and bronchiectasis. I'm on oxygen. I'm supposed to use a cane. I am, in the plainest sense of the word,...