How safe is it these days? Your mileage may vary.

A recent article at BikePortland.org discussed the ongoing effects of rampant homelessness on various aspects of Portland’s livability. It’s nothing new; homelessness was already prevalent before the pandemic, and Covid made everything a thousand times more dire all around.

Before the pandemic, when I rode my bike downtown more often, it was still possible to lock up at many of my favorite spots and feel fairly certain that my bike would be secure. There were also lots more places to patronize, which meant I could ride downtown for one purpose and enjoy a couple of side visits along the way.

Not so much anymore.

Now, I only go downtown to see my doctor, or to change buses before leaving downtown again to go somewhere else. I will pass an average number of between ten and twenty people who are pushing shopping carts or carrying large bags filled with personal belongings, wearing shoes that are woefully worn out and several sizes too big, and most of whom don’t look like they’ve bathed in a couple of weeks.

What’s worse, many of these people are also suffering from the effects of substance abuse, substance withdrawal or untreated mental illness. They argue out loud with no one, shake their fists menacingly at a car or truck that passes too close or too fast, or even get up within three inches of my face to demand a dollar, or five. There’s security around the medical building where my doctor is, so I feel at least relatively safe. But beyond those confines, anything can happen. The last time I rode my bike downtown for a doctor’s appointment was in May, when I rode to the light rail, hopped on and got off within ten blocks of the clinic. I double-locked my bike, and came out afterwards finding someone trying to break both locks. I went in, asked the security guard to come out with me and held up my key to indicate the bike was mine. He wouldn’t go back out with me. “I’m not responsible for your bicycle,” he said. “Maybe next time, just take the bus.”

I’ve been taking the bus to the doctor since then. Since I can’t ride the full distance anymore and there are far fewer places for me to visit downtown now, it’s just not worth the stress or risk.

Many of the restaurants, coffee shops and little stores I used to enjoy frequenting are gone now, and most of the spaces are still unleased and boarded up. The anecdotal evidence is clear that there are far more homeless people hanging out downtown now than there were in 2020. The Mayor-elect promises to reopen overnight shelters in January after he takes office, but that won’t do much to solve the problem. It won’t bring back the many businesses that have left downtown. It won’t make the rent more affordable on vacant apartments downtown and in South Waterfront. It won’t increase the availability of drug treatment and mental health treatment. And it won’t compel homeless people who refuse assistance and structured shelter to go somewhere else. Because even if more people were in favor of making the willfully homeless move on, there are still so many who prefer to take the most compassionate approach possible and allow them to stay where they are.

That’s fine until someone sleeping in a tent too close to the curb is killed by a passing car. 

Or until someone camping near a school intimidates and threatens students and faculty. 

Or an angry homeowner, impatient with police response, decides to take the law into his own hands and drive through an encampment too near to his house.

Or until someone desperate enough tries to rob an elderly person waiting for a bus.

Any of those scenarios are possible. 

Yes, the people sleeping under tarps and in tents and RVs broken down at roadside have nowhere else to go, and no resources to help them improve their lot. The rent is too damned high, even for someone with a full-time hourly wage job. And every business that closes and leaves town deprives the community of dozens or more jobs. It is a spiral and no one seems able to do anything to stop it. The people who could stop it — the wealthiest among us — do nothing, because they need that fear of scarcity to keep everyone else in line. They need those of us with less fighting for too few resources and not planning an attack on the CEO’s and shareholders who run the corporations that run the country.

I don’t like that a health insurance CEO was gunned down in broad daylight by someone who was angry about the system. But I won’t pretend that I don’t understand it, either. It happened because one man was fed up and decided he’d had enough, and felt he had no other options. That young man did not operate in isolation. There are others far more desperate and angry who might consider doing the same thing.

I hate living in a world where that’s not only possible, but now more probable. And I hate living in a world where the corporate response is to beef up security for those at the top, rather than to consider a more humane approach to providing health coverage to those in need.

And since I cannot prevent homelessness, or solve it, I have to take more precautions when, where and how I go out. 

I hate that we find ourselves here. 

But this is where we are.

It is hard to be Jewish these days. Even in the bicycling scene.

In so many scenes and activities that aren't remotely connected to my being Jewish, I've encountered a crap metric ton of discomfort, especially since October 7, 2023.

At least three different sessions of Bike Happy Hour last spring and summer were starting or ending points for pro-Palestinian/anti-Israel group rides. After the first such event surprised me and I got noticbly long and uncomfortable stares from people who saw my star of David necklace, I made sure to tuck it inside my shirt after that. At the next couple of events where pro-Palestinian rides were being advertised to meet up at BHH, I made sure to take my leave when the very first riders from the group arrived. I just didn't have the energy to deal with that as a potential minority of one.

When Bike Summer began in June with a large group party and ride that attracted hordes of people, I went downtown for the party and counted at least fifty bikes festooned with Palestinian flags and signs that called for an end to the existence of Israel. I found myself feeling to see if my necklace was hanging outside my shirt. I hated having to do that, but context matters and I've had a fair amount of anti-Jewish context -- bullying, threats, job loss and even a punch to the chin once -- to contend with at multiple points in my life. Jews are a very small demographic in Portland, and a positively microscopic demographic in the bicycling scene. Better safe than sorry.

I have run into very occasional comments from other bicycle enthusiasts that let me know where they stood when it came to not only the existence of the state of Israel, but what they thought of various Jewish tropes that run rampant throughout history and our present culture. A surprising number of otherwise reasonable, thoughtful bike enthusiasts believe that Jews run the banks and that they have an inside track on the halls of power in Washington.

Today, I found another comment, this one in a BikePortland.org discussion about the City of Portland's response to the rise in traffic fatalities. They actually compared aggressive street closures to the actions of the IDF (Israeli Defense Force).

I recently attended a lecture on the history of antisemitism in America. It was very interesting and provided me with some food for thought.

Among the notions that the presenter offered was the idea that anti-Zionism is actually a form of antisemitism, or anti-Jewishness, cloaked in fake specificity. The idea is that anti-Zionism is more socially palatable than outright antisemitism -- though in some parts of the world, and of our country, the distinction is being made less often and more people feel emboldened to state their antisemitic views plainly. Anti-Zionism can be -- and is, among those who share the viewpoint --  taken as code for straight-up antisemitism.

To be honest, I still don't know if I can consider myself a Zionist. I wasn't raised in a Jewishly connected or religious family. I love being Jewish, but I don't consider Israel to be my "homeland." A peripatetic childhood invited me to understand my personal Jewish condition as one of wandering -- geographically, emotionally and spiritually -- and the idea of having a place to call "mine" is complex and often difficult to work with. And if I'm being really honest, I feel more connected to Oregon than I do to anyplace else, only because I've lived here for almost fifty years.

Does Oregon feel connected to me? Does the US? Maybe, maybe not. In a time of true crisis, would my friends or neighbors hide me if my life were threatened? On the other hand, I didn't grow up in Jewish community, and even now I still feel some barriers to participation due to geography, finances and my health. I cannot make the same assumptions about my life as an American Jew that many of my Jewish friends can make about their lives. 

It has been difficult to be a Jew on the left, especially since 10-7-23. As a person with progressive values, I am expected to walk in lockstep with my lefty friends who think Israel is committing genocide. When I explain that things are complicated and nuanced, when I ask if my friends who support Palestinian freedom will call out Hamas for their actions on October 7, they have nothing to offer but crickets. They don't want to dive into the complexity.

For me, this is simply another facet of my sense of disconnectivity on multiple counts.

Pursuing other interests and passions -- rudimental drumming, bicycling -- has been a way to give myself little mini-vacations from this disconnectivity. But when questions about Israel and/or Jewishness arise in these other spheres, I honestly don't know how to respond. I feel marginalized and isolated from both sides.

So I make sure that my star of David necklace hasn't fallen outside my shirt when I go out.
That's not cowardice, it's self-preservation.

Like a Christmas tree on acid

There’s an ongoing discussion in bicycle and motorcycle circles about the usefulness of safety vests, ankle straps and lights when sharing the road with those who drive cars and trucks.

On one hand, more lights and reflectivity means greater visibility, which is important when you are a vulnerable road user (i.e., not encased in a motor vehicle) and especially important if your rate of speed is slower than that of a motor vehicle.

On the other hand, there is an argument against excessive visibility because of something called the Moth Effect, which suggests that automobile drivers can be hypnotized by bright colors and lights, to the point that their attention is drawn from the road and to the vulnerable road user aiming for greater visibility (with neon safety vests and flashing lights). This diversion of attention can cause the motorist to actually drive towards, and into, the brighter focal point.

There’s an interesting article about it here: 

https://www.visualexpert.com/Resources/motheffect.html

I don’t ride in the rain at night at all anymore; and I try not to ride at night on dry days, especially in the winter. During the summer months, when daylight takes longer to fade, it’s actually quite lovely to take a neighborhood spin just before dusk, and sometimes that means I don’t get home until closer to dark.

I’ve always erred slightly to the side of caution. Lights front and rear (though I prefer steady, rather than flashing, lights), and a reflective ankle strap to keep my pant leg out of the chain.

The switch of Bike Happy Hour to a location closer to home means I’m more likely to be out just after dusk on the way home. I’m upping my visibility game with a safety vest of some kind (they’re ridiculously cheap, starting at under ten bucks for something simple like the one shown below), and adding ankle straps to both legs.

I figure that, Moth Effect or no, if I’m decked out like a Christmas tree on acid and I get hit by a car, the driver should be at fault. Because if he didn’t see me while I was glowing in the freaking dark, he was driving with his eyes closed. So I’m decking out.

What’s your opinion on the Moth Effect? Real or imagined? Any anecdotal evidence in either direction? 

Discuss.

Bike Happy Hour - North

Due to a temporary closure of Gorges Brewing and the Ankeny Street Pub, Bike Happy Hour has had to move. It’s found a winter home at Migration Brewing on N. Williams Avenue.

Although the high was only 46F today, it was dry and I felt that it would be a good day to try riding to the new location, which is much closer to home and afford me a lower-traffic, lower-stress route. The ride there was cold but pleasant, with the sun hanging low in the sky and warming my arms and legs as I pedaled.

Part of the back porch has been enclosed by thick plastic sheets and includes heat lamps and a fire pit, making for a cozy spot to gather. Because night riding is hard for me now, I decided to get there just before the 3pm start, and stay until the light began to fade. That gave me a lovely hour to spend greeting regulars and meeting new folks, including a couple of people who will begin working on our new Portland City Council next month. I enjoyed conversations about the new Council, transportation issues (a continuous topic at the Happy Hour) and the wonderful work of Randi Jo Fabrications. I was wearing one of her hats and someone asked to see it up close. 

I was starting to feel the chill as the sky changed, even with a hot cocoa in my belly, so I decided to leave a little after 4pm. Riding home was much colder and much less enjoyable with the sun just below the horizon now. I pondered the difference in my ability to handle riding in the winter now with how I’d handled it before the pandemic. I miss the relationship I used to have with winter riding.

I got home at dusk, and called it good.

These blue winter gloves are almost thirty years old. We used to sell them at Citybikes, and while they weren’t waterproof, they were fairly warm. Some of us added waterproof mitts over the top, which made them almost perfect on the coldest, wettest days.

I lost my waterproof mitts ages ago, but still have the gloves.

Rice and beans warmed my tummy nicely.

Sadly, they serve apple juice in small, overpriced pouches so I had to buy two to fill a glass.

I followed it up later with a cup of hot cocoa.

While it was quite cold — in the mid 40s — and I was ready to head home after an hour, I was also glad that I’d taken the ride. It’s interesting to note the changes in how I deal with colder temperatures now. I’m not really sad; this is what happens when we get older, and I’m mostly philosophical about it.

Riding home, I enjoyed the cold, crisp air on my cheeks, even as my toes and fingertips began to feel a little pain.

And I stopped for a minute meant to admire the changing light as day became dusk.

I loved the fade from light purple to blue.

This is the taillight that used to be on the red singlespeed.

Before I re-homed that bike, I removed the light and homemade bash guard, and swapped them over to the Peugeot.

It looks funky, but I really like it. I made it from a bicycle spoke and some Erector set parts.

On really cold, dry days, I’ll take it case by case before deciding whether to ride to Happy Hour. When it’s raining, I’ll probably skip it until at least February, by which time the days should get longer enough to have some light at 5pm. I don’t ride at all after dark if it’s raining anymore, because it’s just too hard to see and I no longer feel as safe. Another concession to my aging process.

I’m glad to be able to ride at all these days.

Happy pedaling.

The healing power of healing.

On September 23, I injured my hand while wielding a hedge trimmer.

My arthritis was acting up, and I momentarily lost my grip on the tool in my left hand. As it fell, it sliced through my glove and my finger tips. The glove probably prevented it from being worse, but it was still pretty bad. And I was in a panic, because in the following weekend I had to play guitar at a wedding and two days after that I had to play again at synagogue for Rosh Hashanah.

Thankfully, four things happened that helped.

1. I was seen the same day at Urgent Care, and they closed the wounds to my two sliced fingertips. Some medical glue on my pinky, and three small stitches to my index finger, and I was set.

2. I was able to rest my hands between gigs, and when I had to play I could cover my index finger with a bandage.

3. Against medical advice, I was able to get the stitches out from my index finger three days ahead of schedule, so that I could do my synagogue gigs without the pain of the stitches pulling. There was some bleeding but bandages helped keep it from getting out of hand. If I hadn’t been worried about gigs coming so soon after my injury I would have left the stitches in for the full ten to twelve days.

4. My body tends to heal fairly quickly — it always has, I don’t know how or why — and the bandage was no longer needed by Yom Kippur.

The tingling under the scar took some time to subside. It was the last reminder of the pain.

Today, my finger is as healed as it will ever be.

Photos below show the progression.

Right to Left:

September 27

October 7

December 4

Even with the various pesky things that are slowing me down, I’m amazed at how well I’ve healed from this, and grateful for the body that I have.

Heading out in a little while to Bike Happy Hour, now at Migration Brewing on N. Williams.

Happening from 3 to 6 pm. Come on down.

PSSSST! Hey kid! Wanna buy a bike shop?

Kenton Cycle Repair is for sale.

In business for twelve years, Kenton Cycle Repair has built a nice presence in North Portland.

But the owner is ready to sell the business, or close it down if he can’t find a buyer.

The only challenge I see is that Portland’s bicycle scene hasn’t recovered from the lockdown, and anyone wanting to own a bike shop in 2024-25 had better have a deep trust fund, a solid business plan and patience.

With a new, tariff-happy administration coming aboard in two months, the costs of taking on a bicycle business, even a successful one, will only go up. And with more wholesalers willing to deal consumer-direct now, the profit margins are getting so thin as to be virtually unsustainable. Last time I stopped by KCR, there were two mechanics working at benches alongside a rich, the owner, so factor in employee wages and potentially some health benefits as well. 

I’m not sure who could afford to take on a project like this in the winter, and in this economic climate. A dozen Portland area bike shops have closed their doors since the beginning of the pandemic, and I won’t be surprised to see more closures in the coming year, especially if President Drumpf gets his way on tariffs and sends bicycle and component prices sky-high.

Still, maybe there’s someone out there who’s always dreamed of owning a bike shop, and who has the money and the stamina to make it work.

If Rich can’t find a buyer in the near future, he will close down the shop and sell off everything inside it.

At some point soon, it will be difficult to remain in denial.

It’s a done deal.

Donald Trump will return to the White House for a second term as President.

I won’t consider all the reasons for this, except to say that, just as in 1980, I and other voters who hold similar values are more firmly in the minority than ever before in modern history. Hearts and minds were won generations ago, educational systems were weakened and poor people believed the pap the GOP and their friends at multiple conservative think tanks sold them, and all of that is a big part of how we got here.

It may not happen overnight, but I believe that an awful lot of these things will happen in the next couple of years:

— Medicaid will be drastically cut.

— Social Security will be cut, and new applicants for Social Security disability will be told not to bother filing.

— SNAP will be cut, and those who qualify for it will be told they have to work in order to get anything at all. 

— Student loan plans will be consolidated into one, harsh reality with unaffordable high payments and no forgiveness under any circumstances.

— Everyone on Medicare will be funneled into a more expensive version of Medicare that will cover far fewer medical needs.

The end result is that people will literally die for lack of access to medical care and food.

I don’t see a way out of that in my lifetime.

Unlike the many wealthy and famous people who’ve already trumpeted their plans to leave the country, I don’t have that option. I will be stuck with whatever happens here, and I will be powerless to do anything to stop it. I have no one to take me in and take care of me when I become unable to keep up with the rapidly changing landscape. 

As someone who depends on these social services in order to actually live, I know that if they all collapse  I may not survive the second Trump administration. At the very least, diminished access to healthcare will shorten my lifespan by some unknown amount.

That’s not drama. It’s fact. 

Unlike the current President, who is playing nice in his final months in office, abiding by a code of honor his opponents openly scoff at, I hold no such sense of honor anymore. I suspect I’m not alone in this. Those of us who are stuck here will do what we need to do to survive, and when we can’t survive that way anymore there is no predicting what will happen. But it will require younger, healthier people to make it happen.

So while I continue to take whatever walks and the short little rides my body can manage, to take naps when I can’t manage more, pray in the tradition of my ancestors, and hold my loved ones close while I can, I am also having some profound conversations with my mortality. I believe it’s what any sane person in my position might do.

I’ll also try to focus as much as I can on the local rather than the national or global. Because I’m here and not going anywhere else, and because at the end of the day all politics is local.

If you can, go outside and ride your bike. It will be one of the nicest things you can do for yourself during this trying time.

And be kind to each other. Just because it feels like the world is burning, we don’t have to help it along.