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.

Coffee Outside - another way to Always Be Coffeeneuring

A short, but truly lovely #pdxcoffeeoutside at Alberta Park.

No pix because no camera at present, but it was so nice to be able to ride to a park that was local to me, drink coffee and chat for an hour about weather, dogs, bikes and even a little about my time at Citybikes (totally okay, don’t worry).

The only downside was that I had to cut my time a little short because the city closes the park bathrooms in the fall and I really needed to find one. So I said my goodbyes, hopped on my bike and searched for a place to go. I found a porta-potty that was not locked up (thank goodness!) and then enjoyed the rest of the ride home under fast-moving clouds and a light, cold breeze.

I also made minor adjustments to my saddle to see if it would help my knees at all. I seem to be heading in the right direction, and will take some measurements from the Peugeot and see if I can dial them in on the Rivvy, which I’m now having a second thought about letting go of next spring.

Darn, it’s a lovely bike, and I DO enjoy riding it.

If you want to find out more about Coffee Outside, search for @pdxcoffeeoutside at Instagram. They announce that week’s location a day or two in advance. And you don’t even have to ride your bike there. Just show up with coffee (treats optional) and enjoy.

Ride bikes, drink coffee, enjoy life.

2024 Coffeeneuring Challenge #10: the last phone booth

I wasn’t planning on adding a tenth ride.

My joint pain ramped into high gear with the deluge and wind earlier this week, and I just wasn’t into it.

Then, this morning, the clouds broke and the sun came through for a little while, long enough for me to hop on my bike, run to the grocery store and grab a few things, then take the scenic route home so I could stop at Koken Coffee for a very small, very delicious cup of espresso. 

I got home just before the rain started falling again.

Sadly, my camera went on the fritz in the middle of the ride, so the only photos I managed to take were these two, one en route (at possibly the last phone booth in Northeast Portland) and the other just after I got home.

Still, it was nice to get out and grab One More Coffee Ride before the deadline.

Happy riding.

#alwaysbecofffeeneuring

Bike Happy Hour has moved, and I couldn't be happier

Due to financial pressures at the Ankeny Pub, Bike Happy Hour has been forced to move to a new location, at least for a while.

The move does not sadden me.

Located basically across town from me, the ride to and from the Ankeny Rainbow was getting harder as the hours of daylight became fewer and the weather turned cold and wet. While the eye surgeries I had a few years ago definitely helped sharpen my vision, they did not improve my night vision much, and riding after dark has become nearly impossible for me, especially when it rains.

The move to Migration Brewing (a former sponsor of my old racing club, Team Slow -- see team meeting table setting at left) comes as a welcome change. I will no longer have to ride nearly as far to attend, and the ride home will be accompanied by more ambient street lighting so I can stay a little longer. Plus, the indoor space is large enough to accommodate more people, so it may even see an increase in participation over the winter months.

And if I can't ride on a given Wednesday afternoon, there's nothing stopping me from taking public transit there and back.

It's not quite as centrally located for all of Portland, but these days I admit to feeling some healthy selfishness about my bicycle riding, and anything that's closer to home works better for me.

Tomorrow, Coffee Outside PDX is meeting up at Alberta Park. It's supposed to be nearly ten degrees colder tomorrow than today, so I'm playing it by ear. But if I can manage it, I might go.

*******

In other news, I am closer to making the changes to the Peugeot that will allow me to get the Rivvy ready to sell in the early spring.
I need to figure out the saddle height so I can swap over my older Brooks Flyer -- more broken-in and more comfortable -- to approximate the position of the current saddle, which I can swap over to the Rivvy or sell separately.

I also need to decide how much I care about the parts on the Peugeot. They work fine, and I'm comfortable on the bike. I suspect that any other parts-swapping will be sparked by vanity rather than practicality, and the more I think about it, the more I think I may just swap saddles and call it good. After all, I honestly don't know how much longer I'll be able to ride my bike at all and would rather not be stuck with an expensive albatross. Or how blingy I want that bike to be with all the homeless encampment bicycle chop shops on the east side.

I paid a hundred bucks for the Peugeot and if I take a loss it won't sting so much.

Do I sell the Rivvy as a whole bike, or as a frameset? I'll check the webs and see what a few of my bikey friends think. It will probably go on the market by no later than mid-February.

2024 Coffeeneuring Challenge #9: Autumn Leaves

The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sun-burned hands I used to hold

Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall

— Joseph Kosma 

**********

I slept poorly last night, and decided not to try and meet up this morning with the Coffee Outside PDX gang at the south end of the Esplanade. Instead, I slept in.

It was a good choice. I awoke at 9 feeling better rested, enjoyed coffee with Sweetie, and slowly warmed up to the day. Around eleven, the sun broke through the clouds. Sweetie told me it wouldn’t rain until around three, and that perhaps I might like to grab a short ride around the neighborhood. “Plus,” she said, “we have no chocolate in the house.”

My partner is so wise.

I dressed, grabbed the Peugeot and headed up Dekum. I stopped for coffee and a baked item at Woodlawn Coffee, and got them to go. Then, I nodded around the neighborhood and enjoyed the colorful leaves, in the trees and on the ground and a few on their way down. I stopped at a mom-n-pop store to grab some chocolate for Sweetie, and then made my meandering way to the pocket park on 10th. The weather was dry, and clouds were moving in, but I figured I had some time to enjoy my own private Coffee Outside before riding home.

On the way home, while I admired the many colors of fall, I began humming the song, “Autumn Leaves” and it became an earworm.

I probably managed a little more than two miles, and a quietly lovely mood that will make the day nicer.

Happy riding.

2024 Coffeeneuring Challenge #8: Open and Shut

I’ve been struggling with my emotions, my body, the shortening days and the weather.

I’m on a new medication this week, and it will take time to kick in. I hope it will help lessen some of the darkness on my hardest days.

 Have also come to some new understandings abut my health journey. 

And chief among them is that I am exhausted. Wiped. Out of spoons in mind, body and spirit. The losses of the last five years have opened me up to a lot of stuff and I have very little energy these days.

No wonder I haven't felt like riding my bike. It’s all piled on and I am only just beginning to sort it all out.

But still, the sun broke through the clouds this afternoon, and I knew that if I didn’t try to take advantage of that, I’d feel worse later on. So I forced myself out of bed, got dressed, and went for a Coffeeneuring ride.

It was tough going for the first mile or so. My legs felt like jelly, my knees creaked and it felt like a slog. But I knew there was a coffee place not far away where I could do the Coffeeneuring thing, so I kept pedaling.

When I got to Kiss Coffee, it was around 2:15. They had closed at 2.

Disappointed, but feeling a little better about riding, I pedaled on.

The breeze had picked up, leaves were being blown from branches and the sky was a constant swirl of clouds with patches of blue sky in between.

I rode up to Killingsworth, where I knew of at least a couple of coffee stops.

One had been converted into a restaurant and bar that wouldn’t open until at least 4.  

I rode across the street and down half a block to Extracto, which had closed at 2.

Annoyed, I decided to make a loop back to Ainsworth and MLK where I knew there’d be a Starbucks. It wasn’t ideal but it was there, and by now I was determined to have a cup of hot chocolate.

Along the way, I felt the wind pick up, and kept an eye on the sky to the southwest. If it started raining before I got to Starbucks I might get a bit wet, as I had only grabbed a rain shell but nothing else.

I made it, and the sun had come out again.

After sipping my hot chocolate and enjoying a slice of lemon pound cake, I watched the sky, read the Willamette Week and felt myself calm a little.

Living with my body has been hard. It doesn’t do all the things I used to be able to ask it to do, and bumping up hard against those moments has been painful.

But today I could ride my bike, and get home while it was still dry and partly sunny outside. With the unintended loop, I probably rode around four miles.

With all the worry and fear around the election, I may hunker down and stay in this weekend. It’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow and Sunday so I’ll probably just take hot showers and little naps and watch some old noir on cable to take my mind off my fear. And if I absolutely need to step outside, I can always try to rake some leaves off the sidewalk so no one slips on them.

Will do any more Coffeeneuring rides? I don’t know. It will depend on my health and my mood each day, perhaps each hour, and the weather. And I am slowly learning to live with that. It’s a process.

Happy riding.

Approaching terminal Rivendell

Rivendell Bicycle Works was founded in 1994, by a guy with some very particular ideas about what a good bicycle ought to be. Over the years, his ideas expanded to bicycle accessories and then to riding.

RBW became a cool little mail order company and people caught on.

I was one of those people. I began working in the bicycle industry the same year that Rivendell began, and I was attracted to many of the ideas that RBW espoused. 

Five years later, I bought a Rivendell frameset — well, actually a truck driver’s insurance company bought it for me — and built it up.

It has been a lovely ride, both the bike and the time spent living my bicycle life according to RBW’s template. I couldn’t keep up with all of it, mind you — I was never strong enough to be a long term mega-miler and my income simply couldn’t keep up with RBW’s prices — but I did my best to enjoy myself.

Then Covid happened, and it changed my life.

I couldn’t ride a bicycle at all for almost two years. When I could begin riding again, it was a lot slower, the distances were much shorter, my tolerance for cold, wet weather had greatly diminished and my balance was more precarious than before. 

At the height of my bicycle life, I averaged over two thousand miles a year for close to a decade. I wasn’t breaking any speed records, but I got to ride through some lovely places and mostly enjoyed it.

Since coming out of the pandemic and resuming riding, my rides are fewer and shorter now. If I can manage a ride of four miles round trip that’s an incredibly good day, and leaves me exhausted afterwards. Sometimes I feel wobbly and have to stop riding and walk my bike for awhile. I no longer leave the house without my transit pass, in case I have to put my bike on the bus to get home. 

(This happens more often than not these days.)

During the latter half of lockdown, when I was still able to turn wrenches, I found an old Peugeot mountain bike, and set about making it work for me. It sits slightly lower than my Rivvy because the frame is more vertically compact. This means I need a longer stem to make the handlebars the right height. It looks a little dorky but it’s safe and solid for the riding I do now.

It’s also got a lower top tube, so I can get on and off more easily.

And for reasons I’m still not entirely clear on, it’s more comfortable to ride than the Rivvy now. The laid-back geometry allows me to set the saddle farther back, putting my legs and knees in a comfortable place. The most telling difference is that after I ride the Rivvy, my knees hurt for days. After I ride the Peugeot, they feel fine. I need to hang out with this some more before I reach any conclusions about how and why.

Since I don’t ride as much as I used to, I‘m giving some thought to selling my 1999 All-Rounder, and being done with the whole RBW-cool of it all. 

Early in RBW’s history, Grant would encourage folks to buy his bikes by saying they were “affordable for anyone with a job and bicycle priorities,” and I always winced a little when I read that. While I did buy a Rivendell myself, it was with the proceeds from a crash settlement. I certainly could never have afforded it myself, not on my bike mechanic’s wages. And I needed my bike shop job to obtain the discounted parts with which to build it up.

I worked in a bike shop that focused heavily on repairs, and on encouraging people to commute by bicycle on whatever they had. This probably helped to inform my discomfort as well.

It was fun for a long while, but I always held something back. Some of my enthusiasm was always tempered with how damned expensive it was to become part of the Rivendell cult, and also how overly male the whole thing felt for quite a long time. I’ve never forgotten that awareness in thirty years of my own enthusiasm for good bikes and places to ride them. That awareness has tempered my enthusiasm a little bit this whole time.

It’s not unlike the other parts of my life where I’ve belonged, but not fully. When the first half of your life is spent on the margins and always on the go, you never become fully grounded in any scene or group, because you can’t. It’s part of the hardwiring of my brain, for better or worse. Probably both. And it can’t really be undone now, and I am learning how to live with that knowledge. I am learning how to discern what still makes sense in my life, and what needs to be set down.

Not fully belonging has been hard but it has also allowed me to see things from a different angle. And so it has been with Rivendell and my participation in the RBW cult. I participated while knowing that I could never really keep up, and when I got dropped — physically, geographically or financially, I just kept riding my own ride and calling it good.

I’ve gotten to a point where I no longer have “bicycle priorities,”  or the stamina to chase after them. And that realization has helped me to see where and how the RBW thing isn’t really serving me anymore. Not keeping up has become far more prevalent since I got sick and never fully recovered. Not keeping up has given me a new perspective on what it means to be in my body, and on how I move around in the world today.

I’m thinking about putting the Rivendell up for sale, probably in the early spring. I don’t know yet if I will sell it as a frameset or as a whole bike. I have a few months to consider that, and also to determine if I have enough strength in my hands to dismantle and clean it up.

I’m not sure yet what I’d ask for the bike, and will think about it over the winter. But I will not accept trades, in whole or in part. Meanwhile, I’m pondering.

2024 Coffeeneuring Challenge #7: we don’t need no stinking rules

Today’s Coffeeneuring ride was hard for me.

I’d slept poorly. The cats woke me at 5:30 am, demanding to be fed. My joints ached with the onset of cooler, wetter days, and I was sorely tempted to just chuck it all today and call my Challenge done.

It has been harder to ride a bike since coming out of Long Covid. Most of my symptoms have abated, except for occasional spikes in heart rate after exertion and dizziness pretty much anytime I turn my head or body to one side or the other. My doctor does not know whether the dizziness is from the Long Covid, from my aging process, or both. But she keeps encouraging me to find ways to stay physical active if I can.

Then, there’s the depression and anxiety, both of which have taken on new shades with conflicting diagnoses of ADHD and now PTSD. These issues have left me reeling, as both have come later in life. I’ve learned that I tick most of the boxes for both; and there is no definitive way to tell them apart without more extensive — and expensive — testing that’s not covered by Medicaid. So I’m doing my best to stay busy and work with a counselor while I await a disability determination. I’ll probably be denied, as everyone is the first time around. Do I want to appeal? I don’t know. Either way, I turn 62 in a few months, and will file for regular Social Security regardless to help ease the financial concerns, since I can no longer work full time at a regular job.

Riding my bike has come less frequently since Coming back from Long Covid. It’s possible that I will never regain the strength and endurance I had before, and the balance issues will probably not subside fully. It takes me .pinger on the bike to actually enjoy riding now, and with the arrival of typical fall weather I know my riding will probably taper off a great deal.

I probably — definitely — broke some rules with this seventh ride. I repeated an event (Coffee Outside), though it was held in a different location. I brought a thermos of coffee from home. And I went multimodal, as I do now with most rides over two miles each way because of the balance stuff.

And honestly, I sort of don’t care.

I’m glad to still be able to ride a bike at all and still enjoy it. I’m glad to still be able to enjoy bike-based social gatherings, even if they are fewer and shorter. And I’m glad that I can still peel off my wet layers and make some hot soup after a rainy ride, and enjoy the warmth returning to my hands and feet.

But all in all, riding a bicycle doesn’t take the precedence in my life that it used to. And that has been a strange thing to notice, after decades of living a true bicycle life. I’m older, slower and creakier now. My overall health is no longer what I can call robust, even on good days. 

I’m working with my counselor on something called Acceptance and Commitment, and therapeutic approach often used with people who’ve had years of complex trauma and also are dealing with a lot of loss. It involves recognizing one’s losses and taking time to really grieve them, something our workaday world with its demands of near-constant productivity doesn’t easily afford or honor. Daily physical activity is supposed to help, so on my good days I still do something. On the harder days, when the balance is really wobbly or my arthritis is hurting, I try to give myself some grace and rest when I need to.

So I can’t say whether or not I’ll try to add any more rides for my Challenge this year.

While the admins may not agree, I’ve done my seven rides. So if I don’t have the emotional or physical spoons to do any more, I’m giving myself permission to call it good.

It was a lovely morning, even if it was cold and wet. We met at a grade school on the edge of Ladd’s Addition, where there’s a little covered play area made of wood. It’s perfect for congregating and sharing conversation, coffee and baked goods (including, today, chocolate babka). 

I also enjoyed watching someone try to ride an odd bike. It was too tall for me to try (which is probably a good thing), but reports from other riders assured me it was not an optimal experience and I wasn’t really missing out. 

NOTE: Thanks to Xfinity Essentials (aka poor people’s WiFi) deliberately slowing down my internet at home, I am unable to add photos, even one, without everything freezing up.

I may try to add them at my Instagram, but if I’m not successful, there’s nothing I can do and you’ll just have to take it on faith that I rode today.

Happy riding.

2024 Coffeeneuring Challenge #6: Urgency

We were out of a few things and the big rain hadn’t arrived yet, so I decided to head to the store for a quick trip. I also hoped to take a scenic route home to check out the widened bike path on N. Willamette Blvd.

But in leaving so early in the day, I was risking the sudden onset of urgently needing a bathroom. This is always a risk when one lives with both Crohn’s and IBS. Now that I am semi-retired, I have the luxury of not having to leave the house very early in the morning, so I can take care of myself at home without stress.

But if I wanted to beat the rain, I had to leave early.

En route, I saw the recently repaired Free Cupboard had been restocked, and was glad to see that the Little Free Library side had some fresh books on the shelf.

There are maybe hundreds of Little Free Libraries all over Portland now, and dozens of Free Fridges and Free Cupboards too. I love the neighborliness these things represent and encourage. If we had the space in front of our house we’d install a Little Free Library, but there are at least two within a block of us so it’s not an urgent need.

Heading on towards the store, I passed by Woodlawn Park, and hoped that eventually the City would replace the sign that had been deliberately destroyed by BLM rioters in 2021. When they staged protests in the park back then, some of the protestors would set things on fire or smash them with sledgehammers, a multidirectional statement against the state, white supremacy and the police department. If they wanted to effect change, there were better ways to do it, and they did not get much love from residents who live near the park.

Then, it happened. My body gave off telltale signals, and I needed a bathroom. Very soon. 

I turned onto Rosa Parks Blvd and looked up and down cross streets until I found a Porta-Potty. In NE Portland, someone is always building or repairing a home, and there’s sure to be a Blue Room out front if the required work is extensive. 

Thankfully, this one wasn’t padlocked for the weekend, as some are.

While some folks may not want to think about it, this sort of thing is a regular fact of life for me, and nothing to feel squidgy or ashamed of. We all have to go sometime.

Without time or a reasonable pole to lock up to, I have to lean my bike against the Porta-Potty and hold the door slightly ajar so I can grab my bike if someone tries to take off with it. It has only happened to me once in my entire life, but one incidence is enough around which to create a policy.

I rode past beautiful scenes that reminded me why I love living here, including the end of the blooming season at Peninsula Park, dogs running across the grass with their tongues hanging out while their humans made small-talk, and a gentle breeze that nudged a few leaves off their branches and helped them float gently to the damp ground.

The air began to change, and I could feel the moisture in the air grow. The rain would come soon.

In order to fulfill the beverage requirement of the challenge, I helped myself to some coffee from the coffee counter inside the store, enjoying a small cup while I shopped and saving the rest in my thermos for the ride home.

After I made my purchases, I unlocked my bike, put on my rain jacket and rode home, deciding to take a more direct route and save N. Willamette for another day.

Thankfully, there were no more urgencies of any sort on my ride, and when I got home the rain had yet to show up.

From the inside of our entryway, it was lovely to hang up my bike and watch the yard for a few minutes while I sipped some more coffee from the thermos. And when I turned around, there was a sweet kitty to welcome me home.

Hope your rides this week are truly enjoyable.