CHAIN LINK FENCE GATE WHEELS - FENCE GATE WHEELS
Chain Link Fence Gate Wheels - The Original Big Wheel - Star Trek Hot Wheels
Chain Link Fence Gate Wheels
- (Chain-linking) A method of constructing an index series from two or more index series of different base periods or different weights.
- Made of wire in a diamond-shaped mesh
- A chain-link fence (also referred to as wire netting, chain-wire fence, cyclone fence or hurricane fence) is a type of woven fence usually made from galvanized or LLDPE-coated steel wire.
- (wheel) change directions as if revolving on a pivot; "They wheeled their horses around and left"
- A circular object that revolves on an axle and forms part of a machine
- Used in reference to the cycle of a specified condition or set of events
- A circular object that revolves on an axle and is fixed below a vehicle or other object to enable it to move easily over the ground
- (wheel) a simple machine consisting of a circular frame with spokes (or a solid disc) that can rotate on a shaft or axle (as in vehicles or other machines)
- Use a barrier to exclude someone or something
- Surround or protect with a fence
- a dealer in stolen property
- Enclose or separate with a fence for protection or to prevent escape
- a barrier that serves to enclose an area
- enclose with a fence; "we fenced in our yard"
- a movable barrier in a fence or wall
- a computer circuit with several inputs but only one output that can be activated by particular combinations of inputs
- A means of entrance or exit
- A hinged barrier used to close an opening in a wall, fence, or hedge
- A gateway
Claremont Road Residents Assoc.
THE CLAREMONT FEW
'The struggle of people against power, is the struggle of memory against forgetting.' MILAN KUNDERA
On the rooftops of Claremont Road, 300 protesters waited for the start of what was to become the most extraordinary eviction in British history. Nearby, two diggers stood poised to demolish the last remaining houses in the path of the M11 Link Road. By 1:30 pm a convoy of 120 vehicles containing 700 police and 400 private security guards had arrived in the area. By 2 pm Operation Garden Party had begun.
For 7 months the campaign had held the street in open defiance. We lit fires on the tarmac, built stages and cafes, and put a smile onto the face of a condemned community. We launched actions on the roofs of Westminster and the High Court, and unfurled a symbolic motorway titled: "RETURN TO SENDER" from the Minister for Transport, John MacGregor's roof. Throughout this time, behind the sculptures and painted brickwork of Claremont Road, we prepared to repel the Eco-war machines of the Department of Transport (D.O.T.).
When the "Big One" arrived in late November it was like throwing a party with a thousand gate-crashers all dressed in black. Whistles and cheers signaled the first sightings. Techno from a 100 foot scaffold tower (Codenamed: DOLLY, after Claremont's oldest resident) accompanied the steady flow of riot police encircling the street. No briefing could have prepared them for such a bewildering spectacle of cultural defiance. "Welcome to Claremont Road - The State of the Art", came a shout. "What you are about to experience will affect your head-space forever."
As the road was cleared a pensioner was pushed to the ground and hauled away in tears. A disabled man, his fingers prised from the wheels of his chair, was dragged outside the cordon. Campaigners lock-on to holes in the road were kicked and punched.
By dusk, huge floodlights towered above the rooftops. This was to be a 24 hour gig. Acts of individual bravery and reckless pursuit charged the atmosphere. Brandishing a chain, a lone protester challenged a digger from an airiel walkway. A young woman slipped through the netting that spanned the road and fell 25 feet.
Inside Number 42 a group of local residents, including three pensioners and a nursery school teacher, ate peanut butter sandwiches by candlelight. Overhead, we prepared to seal ourselves into a heavily fortified loft. We took advantage of the temporary lull to communicate with other sections of the street via an internal phone. During the night film had been smuggled out along a secret tunnel in the back gardens (Codenamed: VICKY, after the Viet Cong), and one of four underground bunkers had been discovered.
Dawn on Day Two. They attempted to take the first floor. After 4 hours they gave up on the windows, the door and the stairs, and came in through an adjoining wall. They were greeted by a former Squadron Leader waving a plackard proclaiming: "DIGNITY IN THE FACE OF OPPRESSION". Towards nightfall they started on us. As the roof began to buckle under a succession of thunderous blows, we prepared to lock- on. Moments later they came in. Then, amazingly, having inspected our D-locks and posed for photographs, they retired for the night.
TIP: Never throw your D-lock keys away. You never know when the bailiffs are going to unexpectantly sign-off and leave you shackled to an iron railing all night. Luckily, my keys were found precariously balanced on the edge of a large crack and snatched to safety.
Outside we were confronted with an urban nightmare. Under the glare of arc lamps, cold and hungry people clung to smashed roofs. Dog handlers patrolled the perimeter fence. Riot police clustered around the slashed remains of Claremont's rare lime trees. The road had been stripped of the front-line art that had attracted thousands of visitors throughout the summer.
On a flat section of roof, Keith had left his concrete lock-on barrel to build a fire and rustle up some baked beans on toast. With a pair of striped boxer shorts on his head he proudly announced that the Flat Roof Cafe was open for business.
At 4 am they began to cut the last of the nets. In a highly dangerous manoeuvrer, sheilded from cameras by the glare of powerful torches, they rose beneath one man in a cherry picker (airiel platform) and slashed the net, before dragging him away like an entangled insect.
When the bailiffs returned at dawn we had resealed the loft and reapplied our D-locks. While we waited to be cut out I asked one security guard what he thought of the eviction. "It's the best work I've had for a long time," he replied. "All the lads want you to keep it up for as long as possible." The campaign had become the largest source of temporary employment in the area.
From the roof I could see the riot cops storm the wooden tower on Old Mick's house. It seemed fitting that the first house
Little Red Wheels
I found an upside-down shopping cart in front of the locked gate around this empty lot in Westwood.
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