Cracked Window

It’s hard not to spot a woman riding a bike and wearing a skirt. I mean that strictly from a safety standpoint. After all, it’s a benefit given how cyclists and motorists in Portland struggle at times to share the road.

Don’t believe the safety bit? You shouldn’t.

As I pedaled south on the bike trail, I heard him behind me, louder than the bleat of children at a nearby amusement park. His shouted curses, accompanied by the occasional clanking of cans, nearly made me swerve off the blacktop.

More than one thousand bicyclists crowd beneath the Broadway Bridge, waiting for the annual Night Ride to start. Some sway to the sound of fifteen young people pounding away on drums and cymbals. When the din ends, bike bells ring in applause. Red and white bike lights are flashing, mine included. Bewildered Amtrak passengers leaving Union Station next door tow luggage through the throng.

My grown son Zack, visiting from Florida, and my wife Suzame, fiddle with their glow stick necklaces, proof of registration for the sixteen-mile ride, a benefit for the Bicycle Transportation Alliance. We’re among the bland riders, though Suzame has attached fluffy animal slippers to her helmet.

A modest wish for a better world popped in my head Sunday during Portland’s six miles and six hours without cars event (photo slideshow here). I was taking a break on a bench at Arbor Lodge Park, enjoying the people streaming past, many with kids in tow, headed for food or hula-hoop lessons.

But I wasn’t relaxed: my bike, my wife’s, and our little boy’s bike trailer were parked against a tree behind me, sans locks. Paranoia from several bike thefts over the years was desecrating the event’s life-is-great vibe. Then my wish came to me.