For such an angry man, Richard Quigley sure is having a ball.

"I insist that I am going to enjoy this, regardless," he said.

What Quigley enjoys is the fact that he has collected over 20 tickets for riding his motorcycle without an approved helmet — and is aiming even higher.

The 57-year-old self-described outlaw chooses to wear a baseball cap, personally stitched with a Department of Transportation insignia — and claims it meets the legal definition of a helmet.

On occasion, he’ll wear a tiny beanie that one cop laughingly described as a "yarmulke with a chin strap."

He spends countless hours in court fighting his tickets — half of which he says have been dismissed.

"I’ve never paid a ticket in my life," said Quigley.

Whenever he’s stopped, out comes the tape recorder. The confrontations usually go about like this one:

Officer: I’m stopping you for not wearing a helmet.

Quigley: But I am wearing my helmet.

Officer: Would you like to show it to me?

Quigley: I’ve got it on my head.

Officer: You’re not wearing a helmet. You’re wearing a baseball cap.

The conversation typically ends the same way: Mighty Quigley has struck out.

"By and large, Richard is polite and courteous when you deal with him," said California Highway Patrol officer Dane Lobb, who has stopped Quigley twice. "He proceeds to tell you what the law is, and hopefully you are better schooled than he is."

Today, as thousands of protesters roar to the state capitol for the annual rally to repeal the mandatory helmet law, Quigley will be in Aptos, where he also runs his battle against the law on the Web (www.usff.com/calbolt).

"I’ve never been more dedicated to anything than this helmet law," Quigley said. "I don’t want them finding out helmet laws are a bad idea after I’m dead."

Like many helmet foes, Quigley argues that there is insufficient research to prove helmets are safe, and believes they may actually contribute to fatalities.

"The number of deaths resulting from broken necks went up 800 percent the first year the law was enacted," Quigley said. "Helmets are only useful after a crash."

Quigley, an advocate of rider education and training, is appealing his remaining tickets, arguing, in part, that the law does not adequately define what a helmet is.

"This (baseball cap) is the safest helmet I can find," Quigley grinned.

Since the law was enacted in 1992, the number of deaths and injuries to motorcycle riders have declined sharply, according to the California Highway Patrol. In 1992 there were 327 deaths, down from 512 a year earlier. There were 261 deaths in 1995, the latest year for which figures are available.

Quigley maintains that, per 100 accidents, death rates have not dropped.

"The number of deaths remains virtually unchanged for the last 40 years," he said.

The CHP has issued an estimated 20,000 helmet law citations. The numbers shrank significantly, with 4,721 tickets written in 1992 to just 613 in 1999.

The number of registered motorcycles also has declined from 583,222 in 1992 to 413,676 in 1999. Quigley sees a connection.

"You know how to stop drownings at the beach?" Quigley asked. "Make everyone wear a life jacket. Then who is going to go to the beach? It’s the same thing."

His tickets have dwindled of late and more than a handful of cops say privately that they support his crusade — as unconventional as it may be. Lobb said Quigley’s name "sometimes comes up" in department meetings regarding enforcement practices.

"If everyone we write a ticket to takes us to court, we wouldn’t be out there doing our job. We’d be in court," Lobb said. "Most people are willing to admit they made a mistake and move on."

But not Quigley, who represents himself and files reams of paperwork with the court after scouring every arcane passage on the books. One courthouse staffer fondly refers to him as "our helmet buddy."

While he can quickly turn a staid courtroom into an entertaining battle of wits, Quigley really is not joking around.

"He really is determined on this helmet thing," said Paul Marigonda, the assistant district attorney assigned to Quigley’s case. "He is reading statutes and citing cases, but I don’t agree with his interpretation."

Marigonda has been on the receiving end of one of Quigley’s courtroom outbursts. An informal hearing in December ended abruptly when the judge walked away from the bench after Quigley verbally attacked Marigonda.

"If I didn’t think it needed to be said, I wouldn’t say it," Quigley said flatly. "I make them pay attention."

Some insiders agree, and say Quigley is simply fighting the unpopular, exhaustive fights others are unwilling to take on.

"He’s often right," said Joe Henard, an inspector with the district attorney’s office.

Looks are deceiving

If you don’t see the lanky, gray-bearded, leather-clad Quigley coming, you’ll likely hear him, as many judges, cops, department heads and county staffers will attest.

He’s got a bluster louder than a set of illegal aftermarket pipes and speaks with a twang that masks his intelligence.

Born on Christmas Day in 1943, Quigley was raised in a small mining town in Arizona. A musical prodigy at the age of 5, he had a gift for playing the piano and coronet. A "geek and freak" in high school, Quigley joined the Navy when he was 17 and dabbled in college afterward with aspirations of being a music teacher.

Instead, he slipped comfortably into a suit and a six-figure salary working as a marketing director in Los Angeles and Silicon Valley.

"I was the average citizen," the chain-smoking Quigley said, adding that he married enough times to "figure out I was no good at it."

He never thought he would wind up fighting a legal crusade, and taking a few of society’s misfits under his wing along the way.

Life-changing event

It was a run-in with a Capitola police officer in 1985 that made the corporate big wig shed the loafers, pull on the cowboy boots and become a self-described freedom fighter. In 1988, a judge found that the officer battered Quigley after stopping his van for an expired registration. Quigley was awarded $1 in damages.

In 1993, Quigley ran unsuccessfully as a Libertarian candidate for the 17th Congressional seat vacated by Leon Panetta.

In 1994, he launched a common-sensical yet flamboyant campaign for sheriff that was reminiscent of a World Wrestling Federation smackdown. The bearded, denim-clad Quigley would appear at stodgy debates flanked on one side by a strapping man in a black leather duster, and a young woman on the other.

"He made the proceedings fun," said Henard, the district attorney inspector who also was a candidate. "You had four stiff candidates and one guy who was animated and told it like it was."

Quigley lost the race, but racked up 150 write-in votes, according to the county elections department.

Not everyone has been entertained by Quigley’s high jinks. Claudia Easterby is the former manager of Gottschalks in the Rancho del Mar shopping center where Quigley holds court most afternoons, offering counsel to the misfit teens who hang out there.

The way Easterby tells it, Quigley threatened her during a 1997 incident when she asked him to not sit on the store’s window ledge.

"I didn’t feel he was harmless," Easterby said. "I had a restraining order against him that lasted three years."

Quigley maintains he was simply standing up for himself.

"It was unfortunate, but not wrong," he said.

Today, Quigley "lives at the end of an extension cord" in a trailer on a remote parcel in the Aptos hills. He heats a cast-iron skillet on a stove to take a bite out of the chill, and lives hand to mouth building Web sites.

And tackling his next project: another run at becoming sheriff.

"I am angry beyond belief," Quigley booms. "I don’t understand how we can have deputies who do not have a contract and a decent wage."

Besides taking care of the department’s rank and file, Quigley says he’ll fiercely defend the county’s mentally and physically disadvantaged.

"Can you imagine a world full of people with nothing wrong with them," he asks. "That is the type of personality that helps people learn tolerance."

Contact Marina Malikoff at mmalikoff@santa-cruz.com.

THEN, just about the time it started to look like things couldn't get any better, on Wednesday, January 10, 2001, we managed to become the subject of a political cartoon: Click on image for larger view. I'm virtually certain it was an oversight, since he's so ill-informed on the subject, but did you notice that the biker didn't go down due to anything he did? Did you notice that it was the cage operator that started the whole series of events (as usual)? I love it when a critic takes a cheap shot and makes our point instead, don't you? DeCinzo, a political cartoonist for a weekly rag here in town (Metro Santa Cruz), is an interesting example of the type of people who rally behind helmet laws. Here's an e-mail that came in from him a couple months ago that might give you a better understanding of his particular perspective: Date: Mon, 04 Oct 1999 12:59:55 -0700 Subject: Re(2): news . . . To: quig@usff.com From: sdecinzo@metronews.com (Steven DeCinzo) I think it's interesting and ironic, that if people... ALL PEOPLE, had a sense of respect for boundaries and property there wouldn't be any need for any police at all. From where I sit, it looks very much like we live in criminal state! I get a home- less person in my face who thinks he's got a right to the change in my pocket and won't take "no" for an answer, the police can't do a thing. I get a teenager slamming his board and crash landing right next to me and my coffee, and the police can't do a thing. While jogging past a group of teenagers, one through his Gatrorade at me as I ran by. I've had friends who've been burglar- ized multiple times (by teenagers) and unless you catch them or can otherwise prove it, the police can't do a thing. Police state? yeah, I wish! Bianco's convinced that he's lying about the Gatorade thing. It's Bianco's opinion that nobody would admit to being such a wuss. I don't know what to think . . . I'm too busy enjoying the attention to our issue! --quig