The gray days of winter are here. The kind of days that look like it’s perpetually 4pm even when it’s 11 in the morning. Saturated to the point the ground no longer drinks in the pissing rain, we are steeped in grayness. These are days that test the carfree.
But I’m itching to move, and with new walking shoes and an adequate rain jacket I go out to breath in fresh air, clear my head, and pump up my heart rate. And it’s working. I’m rewarded by flashes of color that brighten my day.
Life on Beacon Hill just got a little bit better yesterday. We can now ride light rail to the airport. Kat and I boarded the train around noon and ran into neighbor Andy Sodt and his son Lee. Twenty-two minutes from the Beacon Hill Station to the airport station. From there it is a 4-5 minute stroll to the terminals. The walkway that is separated from the parking garage leads you to the far north end of the terminals.
Andy and Lee check out the new ride
Kat strolls over highway 99 on the ped bridge
I’m sure there will be those who will complain about the walk. But it doesn’t appear to be that much longer than the walk from the bus station at the extreme south end of the terminals.
The pedestrian bridge from the station over Highway 99 to the kiss-and-ride parking lot is worth checking out for the fun piece of public art.
The ride back from the airport all the way to Westlake Station took 38 minutes.
The long wait is over … and now a new countdown begins. We look forward to riding light rail to Capitol Hill and the U-District in 2016.
When we first moved to our little house mid-way on the hill of Beacon Hill, we quickly met many of the old-timers living within a block or so of our house. We met them because they walked.
Nora raced by like clockwork on her way to and from work every day until she retired 2 years ago. She still walks by, but now often with a friend and they catch a bus to a casino for lunch, or just out to get exercise. Kenny, the old time piano player shared a stage with Ray Charles in the early days, still puts on his blue crossing guard hat and orange vest and meets up with Ed at our corner on their way to halt traffic as the elementary school kids and parents go to and fro. We called Papa Joe “Th Inspector” for his unannounced visits to check our handiwork in the house as we remodeled–an old tile-setter, we learned that “checking the tile” was a great euphemism we use today with humorous memories of Joe. Alice walked up and down the hill past our house, until she could only walk down, always stopping to complain about her knees. She kept going though, until she needed those knees replaced, and after her surgery she never returned home. Judy never went further than the sidewalk space in front of her house, but she walked it back and forth long after gout had taken over her life and stopped her from growing bok choy in the patch of yard.
These folks and many more were the regular passers by of our little turquoise palace in the early days. There was one walker, though who didn’t just stroll around the block. Marsha walked with dignified purpose. Beautiful, birdlike Marsha with a lilting sing-song “oh, hello!” as she passed by with her empty grocery bags on her way up the hill and her two, balance grocery bags on her way down. She was always immaculately dressed with her “face on” as my grandma would say. Marsha took great pride in walking up Hanford street—I should add that at one point in the hill climb the grade is 22%. That one block still takes my breath away after walking it for over 12 years. Marsha walked it well over 60 years.
A few years ago Marsha linger and chat over the garden fence, I finally asked her how old she was. Some how it came up naturally in conversation and I was floored to discover she was 93 at the time.
Before I moved to Beacon Hill, I don’t believe I knew any older folks who walked with great regularity. Suddenly I was surrounded by them. I was inspired by them! It was easy to see how important those regular walks were to the health and vitality of my neighbors.
We’ve lost some of those neighbors since we first moved into the neighborhood, but all have lived long and active lives well into their 80s and even mid-90s. Walking has connected them, eased their pain,and perhaps eased their isolation.
It had been months since we’d seen Marsha, and admittedly we can’t remember when we last saw her walk the hill. The past couple of years she had slowed down… let her jet black hair finally turn it’s natural shade of gray. The walks weren’t so frequent and this summer we didn’t see her out with the push mower cutting her lawn. Family would come and go, and we saw less and less activity at her house. A couple days ago Willie spotted her daughter’s van parked out front and went to inquire about her mother. Marsha had moved to a care facility and unfortunately she no longer remembered much about her life. The decline seems remarkably fast.
Without conscious imitation, I found myself walking up the hill to the store and returning with two balanced bags. Lift ten reps, then lift the other in time to my steps. Getting my real world workout … and thinking about 50 more years walking my hill.
This is part one of a project of photographing our small city garden for a year. Life without a car means living closer to home. At times we miss jumping into our old Subaru and heading out for a hike on the spur of the moment. But we’ve also loved the fact that we’ve learned to appreciate our neighborhood and our city at a slower pace. So rather than heading up to the Cascades or the Olympics for a photography tour, I stepped out my front door and into our garden, day after day. What a pleasure to visit such a small and beautiful world so intensely. On my knees or on my stomach, straining to get the tripod in just the right position.
I also hope that this exercise in extreme local travel will help make me a better world traveler. How often I’ve been thousands of miles away in an exotic location, only to have my eyes and ears not truly take it all in. Wasted opportunities passing me by.
The photos in the show were all taken in our small city garden with no flash or filters. Take some time to soak in the beauty, then go out and take a walk. Travel is a state of mind and is only a few steps away.
Two cities. Two train stations. Two completely different vibes and messages.
Portland’s AMTRAK station:
Walk outside the doors and you see the Greyhound station 500 feet away. A light rail train glides by. Bike paths with signage pointing you toward downtown are clear and highly visible. Wide sidewalks too.
The message is clear without a word being spoken. The physical surroundings announce, “Welcome to our city. Come explore. We assume you don’t have your own car. In fact, thanks for not driving.”
Seattle’s AMTRAK station:
Walk outside the doors and … you are greeted by an ENORMOUS parking lot for Qwest field. A few taxi’s are waiting at the curb. Yes. Seattle has bike lanes and local bus service, even light rail. But where are they? I guess you have to be a local to know that the Greyhound station is across town. No easy bus connection and a very long walk with baggage. The bus tunnel and light rail are a couple of blocks away … but that appears to be privaleged information as well.
The physical environment screams, “You’re on your own. Take a cab and remember to drive your own car next time.”
First impressions? As a cyclist or pedestrian, Portland embraces you … while Seattle tolerates you.
I love the soundtrack of a city. It is a hodgepodge of sounds. Sometimes harmonious. Sometimes just noise.
The above photo was taken at Portland’s Saturday Market. On the left is a street preacher. On the right is a street musician.
The musician
The preacher
The audio clip above was recorded and not mixed. Give a listen. At first I thought these two were at odds, trying to drown each other out. But the more I listened, the more they seemed to fit together–as if the musician was providing the urban soundtrack to the sermon. You also get an AMTRAK train and a street drummer across the street into the mix. Harmony? Noise? You decide. It is all part of the eclectic sounds of the city.
Portland cyclists come in every size, shape, style and color. OK, maybe not so many colors unless you include colorful jerseys worn by racers. It’s a cyclist’s playground with fun for everyone.
Want a family ride away from traffic? Just head to the Eastbank Esplanade trail and Waterfront Park on the west side of the Willamette River. You can even loop around to connect with the Springwater Trail as we were encouraged to do by a mom, dad and two kids snacking at the Hawthorne food cart lot one afternoon.
Want to put on some miles and get some saddle time? Jump on the Marine Trail and head toward Blue Lake along the Columbia River where we met a cross-country cyclist just back from riding the Adventure Cyclist Southern Tier route.
Just want to get to work and avoid the parking cost and hassles? Bike Boulevards lead to bridges crossing the river from residential to downtown with dedicated bike lanes making the commute so safe and easy you could do it in your skirt or dress pants.
Need a sprint workout to cross train? We met runner Ruben at the top of the in-city volcano Mt Tabor looking fresh while I’m a little winded.
Want to meet friends for breakfast? Well, there’s any number of great cafes and all come with plentiful bike parking out front and no Lycra is required.
Need a respite from the city? Look no further than a pedal around Sauvie Island where we even found a place to camp for the night. It’s sill within city limits but this island of peaceful farmland and wildlife refuge will feel like you are far from home.
We sampled these rides and more in the last week. No doubt there is something for racers and mountain bikers and tandem riders and … you get the picture.
Portlanders don’t just ride bikes for sport or exercise, like cyclists everywhere, they ride bikes for life, happiness, thrift, the environment, transportation, family-time and a multitude of other reasons. Bike riders come in all different flavors and the Portland bike infrastructure attempts to address the varied needs and interests. All cyclists benefit from increased awareness and visibility created by the greater number of bikes and greater number of bike advocates. In Portland, we tasted the sweet life as part of a bike-culture and not just bikes on the fringe of car-culture, and it tasted good!
Sunday:
Crashed on the floor of a delightful couple we met on the river trail.
Monday:
Camped on Sauvie Island. Camping costs $17, but it’s $12 if you arrive by bike.
Tuesday:
Camped in the backyard of our old Beacon Hill neighbor Albert. We ran into him at the Cup and Saucer Cafe.
Wednesday:
Slept on a futon at Ruben’s house. We met Ruben up on Mt. Tabor Park. Wednesdays are car-free.
Thursday:
Camped on the property of Eric and Mary. They live high up off of McNamee Rd on land they purchased and re-forested. Planting more than 2,000 trees!
Friday:
Camped in the garden of our friends Bruce and Andrea. We met them on the border of Thailand and Burma on our SE Asia bike trip.
Total lodging cost: $12
New found friends and a connection with Portland we never could have achieved on a package tour with hotels: Priceless!
While riding down on the train for our bike trip within the city limits of Portland, Kat and I read Clive Thompson’s article Are Your Friends Making You Fat? in the New York Times Sunday Magazine. The article goes into great detail about how our social networks influence us. Obesity, smoking, happiness and loneliness spread through our social networks. If you hang out with people who overeat … you will tend to overeat as well. Hang out with a bunch of happy campers, and you’ll most likely be one yourself.
Well, after a week in Portland, I can say it works for cycling as well. The popularity of cycling is riding a bigger and bigger social network wave. If you work in Portland, you are bound to have several workmates who bike to work. Many of your classmates cycle if you are in school. If you live in Portland your boss, teacher, lover, dog-walker, waiter, plumber or tax accountant is more likely to get around by bicycle than in most cities in America. So you are more likely to bike as well.
Portlanders commuting across the Hawthorne Bridge
To stand on the Hawthorne bridge during rush hour and watch thousands and thousands of cyclists crossing the river on their way into downtown, is to witness an amazing social phenomenon.
I talked with a cook at fabulous rib joint where we ate lunch.
Lycra not required ... or even encouraged
“All my friends bike. If you drive your car to a bar to meet your friends, they’ll all kid you about it. Why did you drive?”
But this social success comes only after years and years of advocacy and public policy and progressive politicians willing to make sometimes unpopular decisions. To ride a bike is cool, trendy, hip and environmentally conscious. For some, it is all of those things–for others, it is just transportation. But most of all, to ride a bike is to be a Portlander.
Do you have friends who live in Portland? If so, they probably ride bikes. And according to Clive Thompson’s article … they make you more likely to ride one as well.
I also hope that this exercise in extreme local travel will help make me a better world traveler. How often I’ve been thousands of miles away in an exotic location, only to have my eyes and ears not truly take it all in. Wasted opportunities passing me by.
