Another Sunset

It’s that time of year again, when the skies are cloudless, the blackberries are ripe but almost gone, and the apples are just beginning to turn red. I’ve been going on lots of rides to enjoy the last of the good weather, and my legs are whooped. I’ve picked gallons of blackberries up on Mount Tabor for making into jam then watched the sunset while people made out on the benches nearby.

 Sunset over downtown Portland from Mount Tabor

I recall writing about the very same things last September. Clear skies, blackberries, Mount Tabor, even the couples kissing. Now here it is again.

Growing up, I lived in a hot climate that required 24-hour air conditioning for eight months of the year. My memories of summer were of looking out the window at the glare and quietly reading books inside a sealed, climate-controlled house. It was always, always, 72 degrees, and there was always a quiet tssssss sound coming from the vents. It seemed like living in a space station or an isolated pioneer settlement on a far away planet with an inhositable atmosphere — like Moonbase Alpha, but without the sexy people.

Now in Portland, there are seasons, and my life changes and orders itself according to them. It’s cool. I plant in the spring, water in the summer, harvest in the fall, and hibernate in the winter, reading books and doing crafts. My activity level and my weight both fluctuate regularly and predictably. Without me really trying to make it happen, a natural rhythm has given structure to my entire year, year after year.

I like it. It’s good for the mind and the soul. I’m thankful to live this way, and routine helps settle the details and frees our mental energies to focus on the important stuff. But being me, I can’t help feeling uncomfortable with comfort. What experiences am I giving up to have a life so neat and predictable? What accomplishments will remain undone because they don’t fit into my orderly schedule? When I’m ninety-nine and on my death bed, will I look back and think, “Thank goodness I made jam that year intead of…?”

… instead of what?

Happy Monday Epic

Every once in a blue moon, on a Monday, or within four days of a Monday, I post photos of guys smiling.

This time around I’m starting off with a local builder of custom bikes. I assume that means he welds, brazes, drills and screws everything together from scratch. We’ve got quite a handbuilt scene here in Portland, and it’s getting to be almost as common as home-brewed beer. Every heterosexual dude in town is dreaming of fabricating sweeeet frames in his garage, and also dreaming of the inevitable devoted following that will extend his waiting list years into the future.

Though relatively new to the profession, the builder on this page, Tony Pereira, has enjoyed some degree of acclaim. I will admit, however, that his appearance here is for no other reason than to enjoy his charming grin.

I stole the image from Rapha.cc, the website for the maker of astronomically expensive cycling clothes. They have a whole section of thier site called Rapha Continental, which is devoted to “epics” — rides of epic distance and difficulty. In reality, though, they are tough-but-doable day-trips, usually within easy reach of a major city. Fifty to a hundred miles of canyons, gravel, hairpin curves, impossible grades and forest, bookended by coffee on one side and beer on the other. Perfect for the wannabe road warrior with a day job.

It’s all very well done, I admit — photos, descriptions, maps, elevation profiles, etc.. — all ridden and presented by local somebodies. Portland’s rides feature this racer, Ira Ryan, also a frame builder, who is like the Paris Hilton of our hero worshiping bike scene. His presence provides that all-important celebrity athlete endorsement to the ride. Ira would do this ride. It’s worth trying because it’s good enough for Ira. This is no mere stroll in the park if Ira would do it. I must be pretty tough if I could do a ride that Ira could do. Oh God, I want to be Ira.

So, yeah, they cover all bases, and it works. This is heady daydream material for anyone who wants to slip on an old wool cycling jersey and pump and sweat and crash and bleed and maybe even puke away his day off all alone (or with some buddies) in the woods. I’ve got to admit that one of those daydreamers is me.

I heard about Rapha Continental at work, where all the guys love to do outdoorsy stuff — mountaineering, snowboarding, surfing, kayaking, biking. It’s just a retail job, but I feel entirely underqualified. One of them mentioned recently that he had done the Dutch Canyon ride in Forest Park, and I looked it up and swooned.

It’s only 50-ish miles and close to town, but I already know I wont be doing the ride. I don’t have anybody to go with me, and I don’t want to tumble off a hillside or break my collar bone (again) or even just get a flat tire when I’m thirty miles from home down a gravel road, two hours before sundown, and all alone. It just wouldn’t be fun.

That’s the thing, I guess. That’s the pleasure and pain of the site. It’s all doable. It would be awesome. But it’s going to remain, like so much else in life, just another dream.

Sue Me

I haven’t been writing for a long while. I keep trying to get started again, but I’ve been busy. Sue me.

This week, we finally had a beautiful day. The east coast was sweltering in a heat wave, and we were having highs in the 50s. On Thursday, with the first warm, dry weather, I was out taking bike rides, one after another. Even as the sun was going down, I rushed up to the top of Mount Tabor to watch a blazing orange sunset.

 Mt Tabor resevoir was empty when I last rode by

On Friday I put fresh “flowers” on the mantle in our woefully bare living room. A month ago, I put some lilacs from the yard up there, and my roommate Will loved them. He said, “It looks like… human beings live here.” So I’ve kept up the habit.

 Flowers on our mantle. Bare white walls.

I also decanted our second batch of Kombucha, which turned out nicely. I’m a convert. There was a tiny paper thin “mother” at the top. The first we’ve gotten.

Mentioning kombucha in Portland is like talking about your chickens or tomatos (or pickles, or saurkraut, or home brewed beer). Everybody chimes right in with their own story. We all bond over our urban neo-agrarianism.

Saturday was the World Naked Bike Ride. Fourth year in a row that I’ve ridden. This time, I got a group of friends to go together. There were reportedly 3,000 people. It was nuts… so to speak. Quote of the night from this straight dude to a total stranger: “Man, you’ve got a biiiig wiener!”

 The view. World Naked Bike Ride, Portland, 2008.

I stayed as late at the after-party as I could, but I have a weekend job now. Had to be up at 8:30. I’m a sales girl at Patagonia. When I rode my bike in to work this morning, I passed all of the marchers in the gay pride parade getting set up in the park blocks. So much going on around here these days. You suffer with nothing to do all through the damp, bone-chilling winter, and then suddenly, everything happens at once.

Sun & Rhubard

Finally, we had a beautiful day.

 Airport in the distance. Mt Hood on the horizon.

My housemate Will and I went for a long ride on the bike path along the Columbia River, right next to the airport. There were great views of Mt Hood. It was Sunday, and a families with children were everywhere. I keep forgetting those exist.

 Will taking a photo of Mt Hood.

Then when we got home, I made a crumble with rhubarb from my own garden. It was so tart, but with vanilla ice cream, it was absolutely perfect. (Here’s the recipe.)

 My long red rhubarb

 Rhubarb crumble

Every year, it seems to take forever for the sun to get here, then suddenly it just feels like summer.

This

It was an unbelievable 78 degrees yesterday, and my two new roomies and I went down to the river for a ride.

 Kansas vs South Carolina. Joel & Will on the Esplanade.

You can tell a lot from their pictures. Joel, left, is a folk singer from Kansas. He loves this girl’s bike and wears oversized eye glasses and snug check shirts. He couldn’t be more Midwest… or more Portland.

Will, right, is a recent college grad from South Carolina with a vintage hand-made road bike in mint condition. Everything he is wearing, with the possible exception of his bandana, was chosen for its label. Seriously.

Joel peeled off early to go to a show; musicians have to network constantly. Will and I continued along the river, heads spinning around at all the cute guys out in the sun. Since it was all new to Will, we stopped whenever he wanted to look at the view, and he marvelled frequently at how amazing the path system is and at Portland for building it. “I hate to say, ‘wow, Oregon’ but….”

 Teen fixie rats nest their bikes and play along the Springwater Corridor

As we sat on a bluff with a view of the city, late afternoon sun blazing in our eyes, soft warm air drying our sweat, I said, “This is why people stay here. Just think, three days ago, everybody in town was thinking about moving, but now… this.”

Filmed by Bike

You know how sometimes everything just falls into place? All the obstacles just disappear, and something you’ve long imagined finally happens. This was one of those times.

On Sunday I was “on location” again, making another movie, but this time it was for my film. I’m planning on submitting it to the Filmed by Bike festival here in Portland.

The film’s about the Eastbank Esplanade multi-use path, more or less, and I was riding around it with a Bolex — a type of movie camera that is so old that you have to wind it between shots — bouncing around in the basket of my bike. It’ll be on actual 16mm film, not video; so God only knows how it’ll turn out. At least the day was sunny and lovely –odd for January, perfect for a shoot.

My Director of Photography was Andy, which he eagerly agreed to do so he could get away from his own project for a while. About half of his job was to pose with the light meter and say, “I’d like to bracket this shot.” The other half was to wind the camera. From time to time he would eat a cookie.

Knowing that I would shoot from my bike, I had built two types of hand-held stablizers for the camera, but one was never used. The other one was screwed onto the camera, and then rather than being held aloft, it was strapped down to my bike’s basket, where it bounced and jiggled and slid around. Again, God only knows how this is going to turn out, and since film ain’t cheap, I’m a little worried.

Steadicam
This afternoon was another lovely day, and I took the opportunity to test out the untried steadicam thingy I’d made. I got on the filming bike and made a few test runs. (Here’s one of the videos at youtube.) Looks pretty good. I really should have used it for the real filming.

Because I don’t have enough projects already, I’m tentatively planning to make Instructables, complete with photos & video, for both of the stablizing rigs I made. I’ll probably also feature them on the blog I made for my film production subsidiary, which I launched before I’d done anything else.

And yes, that’s right. I already have website and a marketing strategy for something that doesn’t even exist yet. But you know; the point of a film is to be seen. Otherwise, why bother?