What Would Spenser Do?

I'd had a good first day of school.  It was close to 9pm and I was on my way home, riding the Big Dummy, my favorite bike.  The night felt warm at fifty degrees, especially considering the recent snowpacalypse, as everyone referred to the impressive snow storm that shut down the city over the holidays.  For once it wasn't raining, and the wind was even calm.

I hadn't been thrilled about having to take night classes this term, but as I glided through the still air with hardly any cars in sight, I decided there might be a few perks to traveling home in the quieter hours.

I swept around a 270 degree loop that took me under the bridge I'd just crossed and headed north up Interstate.  As I came into the industrial section, the peace of my ride was shattered as a nondescript dark sedan passed me and the driver yelled "HEY!" loudly through the open passenger window.

Several things happened at once: My brain shot a massive jolt of adrenaline through my entire body at roughly the speed of light.  Even as I marveled at my body's survival instincts, my brain decided that neither fight nor flight was necessary, as the car kept on driving by. My bike wobbled briefly as I startled, but I recovered my line pretty quickly and stared in bewilderment.  I knew what had happened, I just will never understand it.  Some yahoo, definitely male, probably young, had decided it would be fun to play scare the biker. 

All this went through my mind in the space of two pedal strokes and then I got really pissed.  I hate stupid people and stupid mean people are the worst. Another two pedal stokes and the Universe decided to smile on me. The light turned red at Tillamook St, just 50 ft ahead.

I didn't hurry.  I wanted to enjoy this.  As I coasted to a stop, I reached down to the spot where my water bottle would have been.  My disc brakes let out a customary squeak as I pulled up to the light and rested my left foot on the curb.  The noise caused the driver to turn and look out of his still-open passenger window, so he got a good look as I reached down and lifted the 357 Magnum revolver out of the holster strapped to my down tube and pointed it carefully at his head.

"What is your problem?" I asked.  My voice was light, conversational, but the look I gave him was probably very similar to the one my mom had when she pulled a knife on her ex boyfriend when I was nine.  The gun was heavy, so I shifted my body sideways on the bike to face him more squarely and put my left hand up to steady it.  I watched with satisfaction as his mischievous grin turned to an 'O' of surprise and whatever smart-ass remark he was about to utter died on his lips.

"Are you a dog?" I continued, keeping my voice light.  I've been watching a lot of Dog Whisperer lately, do you watch that show?  Lot of good dogs will get territorial in cars, did you know that?  Perfectly calm till someone gets close to the window and then they just start barking their fool heads off.  It can scare the heck out of somebody, especially if they didn't know the dog was in there."

He didn't say anything in response.  There was just enough light from the MAX station lamps for me to see his knuckles whitening as they gripped the steering wheel.

The light turned green and I flicked my eyes down long enough to see his leg twitch.

"I wouldn't move if I were you." I said.  His leg steadied on the brake.  The street was deserted, no cars coming in either direction.

I resumed my train of thought.  "I was thinking about it as I pulled up to the corner and the only way I could make sense of what you did back there is if you were a dog.  Except now I pull up and you look pretty human to me.  So now I'm thinking maybe you just think it's funny to scare bikers who are just minding their own business trying to get home after a long day of class."

"If you were a dog, Cesar--that's the Dog Whisperer--would probably say you just need a good pack leader with some calm, assertive energy.  That's what he does, he just uses his pack leader mojo and in a few minutes those dogs settle right down.  It's the darndest thing to watch.  I never get tired of it."

But you're not a dog.  You're obviously a dick who's mother never taught him the golden rule. What if I'd run off the road and hurt myself just now from being startled?  Ah, but I guess you're not really the type to think of others are you?  Well, here's something for you to think about and it involves you, so it should be easy for you. Ready?"

He was still as death and didn't say anything.

"I'm going to go home and post a description of your car and license plate on every bike forum I can find.  And if I ever see any complaints about you--or someone with a car the same color as yours--I'm going to hunt you down and shoot you in the belly with this gun so you die slowly.  Nod if you understand."

He nodded and a little spit slid down the left corner of his still-open mouth.

"Excellent!" I said. "Wow, that didn't take long at all.  I think I beat Cesar's record.  Maybe I should have my own show, what do you think?"

He blinked.

"Why don't you move along now and drive slowly and courteously to your destination."

It took a moment, but he slowly turned his head forward while still glancing nervously in my direction.  He pressed gently on the gas pedal and moved forward through the light, which had cycled through to red and then green again while we chatted.

I watched him till he was past the next light and headed up the hill.  I put the gun back in the holder and snapped it shut, then rubbed my right shoulder with my left hand for a moment.  Man, that gun was heavy.  But it came in handy on occasion.

I grabbed my water bottle off my seat tube and took a long swig before I started pedaling again. I took my time going up the hill and relished the peace of a quiet night ride home after a good first day of school.

These lies come from somewhere

Never have I watched so much CNN in my life. It started with the election, but now that the prospect of hearing the (future) president speak doesn't fill me with the same emotion as nails on chalkboard, I've been tuning in on a more regular basis.

I like the reporters a lot--they seem to have personality and aren't afraid to show it on air, be it airing their views as Republicans or Democrats or weighing in on what kind of puppy the Obama girls should get.

One thing I don't like is the tendency to have 25 'coming up next' previews before actually showing the story.  Yeah, I know all news channels do this, but CNN seems to have raised it to a high art of annoyance.

Tonight the big delayed story was all about Michelle and how she's single handedly going to remake the image of black women in America.  Funny thing is, they spent one part of the story playing every clip they could find from any movie where Eddie Murphy or Tyler Perry ever put on a dress and a fat suit, decrying the "stereotype of black women as overweight and loud," (which frankly, just reminded me of most family holidays I've ever had, but I'm not supposed to say that out loud...).

Then, right after the break, they had Faye Wattleton on talking about how Michelle works out and keeps herself together, without looking scarily and unattainably thin--which will be a great example for black women because (insert statistic about the huge percentage of black women who are overweight--no comment on whether they're loud too).

CNN, I say to you, MAKE UP YOUR MIND ALREADY!!  Are these pernicious rumors about the supposed obesity of black women (which by the way, we certainly don't have a monopoly on), vicious stereotypes or unfortunate statistics?

I suspect, as usual in these cases, it's a little of both.  In any case, it couldn't hurt if Michelle inspires a few folks of whatever race, size or genders, to move a little more.

This morning I was on my way to school and I pulled up behind a black woman on a bicycle at the stoplight.  She was riding an old rigid mountain bike and rocking some red shorts over blue tights, super-hero style.  She had a helmet,which was a nice change from a lot of the neophyte cyclists I see every day.

Not surprisingly, when she looked back and saw me, she asked, "What's your name?"  I assumed that meant we'd met before, which it turned out we had.  She came to a beginner bike clinic for black women that a friend of mine put on.  I went and gave a few tips on commuting, riding in traffic, maintenance, etc.  And now, here she was taking to the streets.  Considering how many people I talk to who give lip service to wanting or wishing they could bike more, I was pretty thrilled. (The credit goes to Deborah for organizing the workshop!).

See, it's started already.

If I Should Die Before I Wake

We went over to T's house tonight for a lovely evening of dinner and conversation. She has a kitten lurking outside her house, who came in and made himself at home, the moment opportunity presented itself.

The weather is the kind of true summer evening I've been waiting for since last August--the kind where it's still short-sleeve weather at 9:30pm. The sky was Denver-like in it's clarity with a half moon watching over us. Jess and I sprinted like racers up a hill to be the first ones to call out two slug bugs we knew were parked in the next block (she won).

Halfway home we stopped at Freddie's to load up the Dummy with cat litter and ice cream and then continued on our way. There was hardly any traffic and a stunning view of west Portland from the bluff on Willamette Blvd, as we cruised along at 17 mph. It was a perfect night that made me feel lucky to be alive.

And then it was all shattered by yet another impatient, rude driver who almost ran us down.

As we approached our turn off Willamette, we took the lane and signaled. We turned left onto Bryant and I started to make the immediate second left onto Wabash when I heard Jess yell "WHOA WHOA WHOA!!!" Simultaneously, I heard the roar of a big engine and instinctively aborted my turn and pulled hard to the right, just as a huge pick-up truck roared through the intersection.

Had I made the turn, it would no doubt have smashed right into me. There's no way he didn't know we were there because he was behind us when we took the lane on Willamette to make our turn. Jess stayed in to the middle of the road after the turn in preparation for the second left and only moved over to avoid being run down, as he didn't show any signs of slowing or stopping for a mere cyclist.

Instead of basking in the glow of a nice evening spent with friends, I got home shaking, angry, and sad. What is so hard about sharing the road? What destination could possibly be so urgent that you need to kill or injure someone to get there five seconds faster? I will never understand.

It seems we just can't make a trip this summer without encountering some variation on this theme. On the way to T's house, we had just crossed Richmond St, which ends the 'busy' part of Willamette Blvd and we were riding side by side. I heard a car behind us so I dropped back behind Jess. As the car drove past, the driver yelled "Find a bike lane!"

Apparently, even on a street that probably sees two cars in an hour, we're expected to huddle on the sides like second class citizens, just so Mr Entitlement won't have to wait an extra .03 second to get by.

It's nice that bikes are getting lots of attention these days and all the people too broke to pay $4 are finally getting a clue--but the backlash effect is getting really old.

Can't we all just get home alive?

Baby Steps

I've been making noises about getting back on my bike more for a couple of weeks now. I told a few too many people my plan so this morning I actually had to follow through.

The plan was simple. Start riding my bike to school. Not the 'ride to Cascade campus a few miles away and take the shuttle' ride, but the 'get off your lazy butt and ride the 13 hilly miles to Sylvania campus' ride.

In my sadly out of shape condition, I wouldn't think of doing this on anything but my trusty road bike, even though I don't normally like to commute on it. Things were going to be challenging enough already.

Last night I even got her down, filled the tires, lubed the chain and put the fenders on, just so I wouldn't have any excuses.

I made the trip in about 1 hour, 20 minutes and it confirmed without a doubt that I'm in sad shape.

Class is supposed to be two hours, but usually runs short--but I was there the full two hours today and a good thing too. I needed the rest. The whole round trip was 26 miles and when I got home, I was whipped. I had planned to do more homework tonight, but it's been all I could do to hold my head up. It feels like it weighs fifty pounds (shut up Traci) and when did my eyelids get so heavy?

In another way though, I feel fantastic. I've missed that pleasantly sore feeling that means I've actually used my body for something. I'm also not as cold. I'm wearing one layer of clothing for the first time in what seems like months. We've been sitting around the house with the heat on 70 most of the time, still shivering and putting on extra clothes and I'm sure it's because we're not moving as much as we used to.

I've missed the other perks of a long commute too, like getting to really notice the environment I'm moving through. I can check out the bikes of other commuters without worrying about running someone over. I can enjoy the little bit of sun that made it through our partly cloudy day. I got great views coming down Terwilleger and stopped to take some pictures.



And then there's the little gems that spring up in passing.

There's also the frustration of getting passed by other bikers, but that's just good motivation.

Speaking of motivation, I have another one--I kinda said I'd race at least a few PIR events with the team this summer and there's no way I'll survive if I can't handle my basic commute without barfing up a lung. Not that I'm going to win anything, but it'd be nice to not get dropped on the very first lap.

Now I just need to get back to the point where the traveling itself doesn't ruin me for any other activities.

Sadly out of shape but back on the road to recovery.