Stalwarts

A nice photo from Jonathan Maus of BikePortland, taken Wednesday afternoon at Bike Happy Hour.

A pleasant surprise was running into both Shaun Granton and Robert Burchett. 

Shaun is the founder and cheerleader of Urban Adventure League, a local effort promoting the joys of discovery by bicycle.

Robert was a longtime member of Magpie Messenger until that business closed down last year. He was also, for a time, my roommate at a strange, cool house in Northwest Portland about thirty years ago.

Jonathan’s caption is revealing, and a little amazing.

To think that I’ve hung in there long enough to be a holder of history. 

Anyway, it was really nice to run into these stalwarts and I hope we’ll bump into each other again soon.

Riding when I can ride has its rewards

I wrestled momentarily with whether I’d ride to Bike Happy Hour. It was sunny this afternoon, but the high would be 48F. Then I learned that today’s high would be the warmest this whole week, with temperatures reaching only 40F through Sunday. So I decided I’d go for it.

I’m glad I did. The sun made it everything a little easier and I made it a point to ride in the sun as much as possible. Also, now that we’re past the Solstice, the days will grow incrementally longer and each week so I’ll be able to stay a little bit longer. I enjoyed seeing regulars and new folks, and was pleasantly surprised to run into my old friend Robert. When Magpie Messenger closed down last year, he pivoted to gardening full-time. He’s still riding his box bike, and still wearing the Burley jacket and wool cycling cap he’d bought from me at Citybikes. (I love that he’s still wringing every bit of use out of these!)

The ride home was colder as the sun began sinking lower in the sky. But I was rewarded with the sight of a beautiful dusk, as the bottom edge of the sky turned lavender while the sky above my head remained blue. It took my breath away, and made me even more glad that I’d ridden.

When ya gotta go, ya gotta go.

On Saturday morning, I rode to Peninsula Park for Coffee Outside, and had a lovely time. During the festivities, I had to use the Porta Potty in the park. I checked first, and it was completely out of toilet paper. Fortunately, I had a couple of restaurant napkins tucked in my jacket pocket, so I could take off business without problems. 

But it got me thinking. 

So yesterday, I took a bunch of stuff to my local sporting goods trading post and traded it all in on store credit.

My goal was to find a few small items to make my local walks and rides less stressful.

Living with Crohn’s and IBS, I can’t always predict or control when I’ll need to go, and there isn’t always a bathroom handy. In those dire situations, I look for some bushes behind which to discreetly take care of business. And because I try to be a solid citizen, I want to bury the evidence. 

I’d been scouting out various camping hand trowels at the store, but they were all either too big, or too expensive. The store had only one in stock during the off-season, and it was a whole kit, an aluminum canister with soap pellets, biodegradable, expandable hand towels and a fancy aluminum trowel, all for the retail price of — sit down — fifty bucks.

Really?

I was about to give up when I spied a box of extreme tent pegs, designed for use in ice and snow. Each was big enough to hold on the hand, and the curved point on one end was similar to the shop if many fancier hand trowels. One peg cost two bucks. I snapped it up.

When I got home, I wrapped the rear end in a few layers of gaffing tape to make a handle with some grip and cushion. Then I added it to a waterproof pouch with some restaurant napkins (free — don’t scold) and a couple of reusable cotton hand cloths (retail: 2-pak for three bucks, sold in a tiny resealable pouch), and I now have a perfect little kit that I can take along anywhere in case of an emergency.

Once a Girl Scout, always a Girl Scout. Be Prepared.

Jimmy Carter, 1924-2024

Happy Holidays from BikeLoveJones

Greetings campers — 

It’s been a year. I’m pleased to tell you that I’ve arrived at a health plateau and can look forward to a new year with more walking, a little more bike riding, and a lot of gratitude.

I’ll celebrate tomorrow by taking a little morning ride, while the neighborhood is quiet, and coming home to hot oatmeal and warm kitties.

Wherever your rides take you, have a joyous holiday season.

(Photo: Portland, 2008.)

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.