Perceptional drift

It's fun to have those moments when one realizes his perceptions of the world have been changing. Just slowly enough to not be noticed, but quickly enough to cause a mental "Whoa!" when it is noticed (like the already shoulder-high rosebushes in our backyard). I noticed this morning that my perception of speed has undergone some serious drift.

I walked my commute this morning (80 minutes on foot, 25 by bike, 15 in car). I noticed the bikes whizzing past and thought, "That's too fast to see anything!" I had been noticing the jagged edges of new leaves, whose gutters needed mending, reading the announcements on all the tiny Brooklyn shops' doors. The world was in slow motion. I smelled more, too. The little smells in between the big ones, if that makes any sense. It was a lot like when I first started non-sport cycling five years ago. And there were the cyclers with heads down, trying to stay ahead of buses and make those timed lights just like I do.

Twelve miles per hour has become 70 with the cruise on for me. My detail senses shut down and wait for a stop. Those leaves with jagged edges become green stuff off to one side. I can count on one hand the memorable "scent zones" along my commute route (the bottom, the woods, the river, Ross Island cement, downtown). Twelve miles per hour sounds slow, but 18 feet per second sounds fast. It depends on what one's looking (or sniffing or listening) for.

A little odd maybe, to walk to work during bike to work week, after biking to work during the 51 non-bike-to-work weeks. But, I think I'll hoof it more often, just to encourage a little more drift in the slow direction. Maybe it will remind me to sit up and slow down on that fire chariot that is my 40 pound commuting bike. Plus, those jagged leaf edges are pretty cool.

Sheldon Brown, 1944-2008

(http://www.ccs.neu.edu/home/fell/images/personal/scb_eagle.jpeg)

Sheldon Brown is gone. I get the feeling that I wasn't alone in thinking of Captain Bike on the ride home last night. I even hit the downhills hard in the soggy darkness, remembering tales of the big fella's grinning descents.

There are people in any age who set the standard, who seem to have figured it out while the rest of us are busy fiddling with all the new knobs. Sheldon had this internet age figured out before most of us bloggers could reach a keyboard. It's the reason that everyone writes Sheldon and not Mr. Brown, even though most of us never met him. He lived an open life and seemed to keep no secrets. His magic lay in revealing everything to us on the internet, answering every email thoughtfully, but somehow managing to also live a full life worth reading about.

I think Sheldon lived a cumulative life. Every experience along the way seemed to be adding up to something, like each new entry in his bicycle glossary. While most of us would say, "I'm glad I moved on from those heavy old 3-speeds!" Sheldon would say, "I have fond memories of those, and I still love to ride mine on occasion. And, have you tried a modern internal gear hub?" With Sheldon, there were no dead ends, just new links. As a good life, so a good website.

I guess Sheldon solved the internet. Just like any new technology, it's the living that matters, the rest is just (well organized) details.

My own power

A lot of cyclers will tell you there's something really satisfying about getting around by their own power. Headwinds, hills, and cold rainy nights all become accomplishments when the only way to put them behind you is to keep turning the pedals. More than once I've shown up on my doorstep sopping wet, dog tired, and, strangely enough, ready to do the same thing again. Romantic as it is, one's own power does have its limitations, and the implications are kind of interesting.

The past year has made it clear that my own power is not the same as your own power. And, it is not even in the same league as my distance riding pals like Kent and Michael. As it turns out, my own power is pretty ordinary.

When I drove as well as biked, I of course didn't realize that. We read about the early affordable cars as the great equalizers of mobility, but I'm not sure we really grasp the concept any more. If Kent, Michael, and I all wanted to go bike camping in the mountains, well, by gum we all could. Kent and Michael would pedal from Portland into the hills, and I'd be brewing a cup of tea one spot over--after I drove the 25 miles to the foothills, parked my car, and biked the rest of the way.

My first year without a car in Missoula was easy in part because where I wanted to be was more or less within the limits of where my own power could take me. The trout streams and mountains where I liked to hang out were almost all within a 25-mile radius from my front door. I also had a more flexible schedule and a walking commute there, and that left me fresh and ready to head for the woods 2 or 3 days a week.

In Portland, 25 miles gets me to populated foothills, at best. My schedule is less flexible. My commute is 6 flat miles each way, which doesn't sound like much, but after a long day at work and school adding another 20 or 30 to loop through the hills takes some resolve for me.

This year in Portland has been much tougher for me than the carfree year in Missoula. It is also a really interesting experience to constantly butt up against my own limitations. If nothing else, I think it's kind of rare for us these days. For many of us, when we reach our limitations on most practical things, we can just pay someone else to sort of extend our abilities. If I can't install a headset on my bike, or fix the furnace, or build a chair, it doesn't mean I have to give up riding, build a fire, or sit on the floor. In the same way, with a car and gas money, I can pretty much buy all the mobility I want, regardless of how well I can get around on my own. Giving up driving is like refusing to buy furniture (and, some might say, an equally silly thing to do!). With some woodworking tools and lumber, most anyone can cobble together a chair, but one's limitations are suddenly going to become obvious.

I'll never be able to ride as far in a day as Kent or Michael or a lot of other cyclers do. And, I certainly can't access all of the woods I could by car. Then again, I can only explore one place at a time anyway, and I only need one patch of ground to stretch out on for the night. These thoughts occur to me as I look down an old logging road somewhere in the Tualatin Mountains, after just an hour or so from my office downtown. Too muddy to explore right now, but I'll be back when the rains stop.

There's still something special to me about getting around under my own power, even if it just means working within my own limitations. I could buy a car and drive to the bigger mountains a range over, but I wouldn't find anything there as satisfying as that muddy logging road winding back into those little hills. The whole notion of sustainability is really just learning to live within our means. In focusing on what we have to give up, we sometimes lose sight of what we might gain. There is a peculiar satisfaction in pushing up against one's limits more often.

Downtown bike lanes: a problem becomes tragic

By now, most everyone in Portland is aware of the tragic death of a young woman on her bicycle downtown on Thursday. Kent Peterson, Alex Wetmore, and Beth Hamon all have good thoughts on the poor bike lane design that contributed. Basically, striping a bike lane all the way to an intersection where cars are turning right is a really bad idea. It's the equivalent of putting a left turn lane in the center and a straight lane on the left. When I worked for the city of Missoula encouraging safe cycling, one of the toughest things to teach folks was how to position themsleves at intersections. Sometimes to be safe you need to move over where it feels less safe. We would occasionally even get yelled at that "It isn't safe over there in traffic!" None of this, of course, is to imply that the cycler did anything wrong on Thursday.

As usual, I don't have any answers. A thriving downtown is a logistical nightmare for transportation. How can we accomodate cars, trucks, bus, rail, streetcar, pedestrians, and bikes in such a constricted, bustling space? I agree with those who say bike lanes are dubious downtown. The short blocks and constant parking action makes conflict all but inevitable (The Broadway "Hotel Zone" bike lanes that double as valet parking dropoffs border on comical). At the same time, I've been surprised at angry comments from people about bikes ridden in traffic lanes downtown--some from friends that are generally positive about bikes.

Right now, I think it's fair to say bicycle riders are fourth class users downtown--after autos, transit, and peds. There are few facilities for bicycles, and those that exist are of questionable utility. Increasing the safety and mobility of bikes downtown would involve tradeoffs, but I think it's time to start mulling the options. Who do we give priority to, and why? Is that the best thing for downtown Portland? The opening of the new transit mall and the possibility of a fleet of public rental bikes downtown only makes the issue more pressing.

That other half of the cycling year

As temperatures drop toward the hypothermic here in Portland (if one's trapped outdoors in an ice-filled cooler), and the sky verily gushes with water (for about half an hour once a week), the wise Stumptown cycler calls it a season (or starts racing cyclocross). Yesterday, as I roll toward Forest Park on a blustery fall day, I catch up with another fellow out for a spin.

"Turned into a nice day for a ride, huh?" I offer.

"Yep, we may sneak in a couple more rides yet," he (fenderless) says.

"This is just my second fall--does seem like it's coming quicker."

Noticing my (fendered, lit, be-bagged) bike he adds, "Well, it looks like you've adapted pretty well. That's a nice bike!"

I thanked him, told him where I was headed, explained that the road bike handles Leif Erikson (the unpaved main road through Forest Park) fine, and we parted ways. I can understand a drop off in riding during the bleakest months, but it sure seems like Portlanders duck and cover a little early in the shoulder seasons.

Portland's Office of Transportation does neat bike counts every year. This year, they counted twice for two of the bridges, in March and August. I haven't seen any mention outside the report itself that March rates of Hawthorne and Broadway bridge bike crossings were HALF of August rates.

Some portion of those "missing" bike trips were probably recreational. Still, the seasonal dip detracts a little from the argument that bike facilities can replace a sizable chunk of auto capacity. It would be neat to track what happens to those missing trips. What portion are simply not taken, and what portions switch to transit and auto?

It also seems like a great target for some informational campaigns around clothing, lights, and fenders. Something along the lines of Kent Peterson's talks. Or, maybe an off-season gear show to let local shops/craftsfolk show off what they've got for those other seasons?

Then again, maybe other people just have more diverse hobbies. My highest mileage month this year? January.

There are times when a stiff pair of boots might be better.

San Francisco trip

Rachel and I spent last week in San Francisco. Neither of us had spent more than an afternoon there before, and we really enjoyed the city. Our first impression was: "Wow, this place is tiny!" It turns out SF has a population similar to Portland's--only in about one-third of the space. Walking and transit are approximately, um, way better because of the density.

On the bicycling front, the riding looks a little tougher to me, but we didn't actually ride in the city. We saw a fair number of bicycle riders, but I'd say bicycling is not nearly as evident as in Portland. The hills are really steep but pretty short, and it seems like a smart rider could avoid most of them without missing much. Bicycles were much better locked on the streets than in Portland, generally with two good locks. Maybe the neatest bike scenes were the clever ways that surfers get their boards to Ocean Beach. Unfortunately, I only had a cell phone camera, and most of the neoprened pedalers were too quick for me. I saw a couple of different "surfboard-as-wheeled-trailer" setups. For minimizing length, though, this one's tough to beat:

The surfboard sits in the two hooks, obviously, sort of like a sidecar...a sideboard?

Also had fun chatting with my cousin Chris, who was a messenger in SF starting in 1990. It was interesting to get his take on how messenger bikes have changed. Messengers he knew mostly rode mountain bikes, partly because of rough streets after the earthquake. They also took pride in retrofitting their bikes with ultra-low gears, so they could shortcut over hills. That's quite a contrast with today's fixed gear/track frame messengers.

A couple of workbikes caught my eye:

A Danish-looking cargo trike seen on Market Street.

A longbike holds up the pile on the west side of Telegraph Hill.

We also had a chance to ride BART out to Rivendell Bicycle Works in Walnut Creek. When we arrived, head honcho Mr. Grant Petersen was earning his next executive bonus the hard way: hand painting what looked to be 50 or more touch up paint samples. He insisted on loaning us bikes, and then spent a good half hour setting them up for us and riding with us down to the bike trail. He then pointed us toward some pretty impressive-sounding gelatto joint (three different coconuts!) and sent us on our way.

Rachel was set up on a Glorius. She liked the ride of the 650B tires immediately, finding them as quick as the 559x32's on her "fast" bike and cushier feeling than the 622x37's on her commuter. Mixtes are great. I need to find a really big one for my Dad.

Glorius with Big Loafer Bag and Rachel

I rode a 66cm Quickbeam--a lot of bike, but I fit just fine. Grant swapped on one of the newfangled slotted leather saddles. I think I like it just a hair better than my Brooks B-17s.

I signed the helmet waiver

The gelatto was good, and when we came back, Grant pulled out a 52cm Glorius for Rachel to ride (she usually rides a 46cm bike). After riding it barefoot, she confirmed it was a nice fit. We both loved the clear powdercoat finish on the bike (sorry, no pictures). It really looked like a suit of armor with the grey tubes and brass visible around the lugs.

The Riv crew were all super nice. Grant, in particular, really went out of his way, and the visit capped off a great trip to the Bay Area. We look forward to going back and maybe riding more next time!

Two-wheeled variety

Probably it has something to do with the fact that my body and that ingenious contraption the bicycle just don't seem to combine for much speed. Although my mileage has increased every year for the last few years, my speed on two wheels remains about the same: pretty slow. Now, that's not altogether a bad thing. One of the perks of being a natural slowpoke is that messing around with things that would slow fast riders way down barely registers on my speed-o-meter. Riding road bikes off-road up mountains? Sure! With two gears I shift by hand? Now you're talking! Covering 50 miles on a Dutch bike (more soon) over hill and dale? Hey, why not? The truth is, such apparent foolishness tends to knock a mile or two per hour off my average racing-bike-on-the-flats pace. Might as well have fun and see some stuff, right?

[A dapper guy in traffic on a kickbike, courtesy of this site]

Enter kickbikes. I guess they're technically scooters and not bikes, but they look more like bikes than those noisy little kid movers that prowl the sidewalks. They sound like a lot of fun, mostly, and they are two-wheeled, human-powered machines. People have actually ridden them all over the place--like across the US. Apparently, these things can be propelled to pretty much bicycling speeds by kicking off the ground with one leg--no drivetrain or saddle. I also found out that Portland has a dealer, which means it's only a matter of time before I test ride one! Then I can start my new blog Kicker's Life. If anyone beats me to the test ride, let me know what you think.

So many fun ways to move around, so little time.