Cyked
The ride from northwest to southeast is about what you’d imagine if you knew there was a river through the middle: ten fast freefall minutes down and fifteen plodding minutes up, with a gentle arc in the middle over the rippling reflection of bridgelights. I find bike paths along the way, all by accident, because I have grown brave enough in traffic to improvise my routes, right turning on red and veering past curious marquis. The first half has taxis and lit locked storefronts for scenery; the second half is quiet tree lined streets with porches and parked cars. Every minute of it is perfect. It is just past eleven and I am home safe, and a light sweat is drying coolly on my shoulderblades, and I am about to sleep well.Friday night I joined a few hundred other bikers at the corner of Clinton and twenty-fifth for the Midnight Mystery Ride, and among the crowd were pierced punk kids on fixies and khaki-shorted geargeeks with camelbacks, and my former housemate Winslow, and Adam the nice boy who now lives in my old room. We rode until two and ate hotcakes at the Hotcake House. Then I slept for five hours until Cycle the Wellfield, when Jamey and I biked about in the rain learning secrets of Portland’s water system from earnest City employees in day-glo vests. It was the kickoff weekend of Pedalpalooza but this sort of thing happens here all the time – donuts handed out for free to bike commuters on the bridges, little nods from strangers on the street.
It feels just right, this city in June – one step past expectation, but nowhere near the crescendo. Portland June is the fourth date with someone you can’t wait to see again. It’s the second hike with a new pack. It’s the first full bite of a peach. And it’s hit me, at last and embarrassingly late, that there is no sense longing amidst all this juicy goodness. Longing is for February, March, and maybe April. Portland June is for delight.
posted by tortaluga @ 11:20 PM
2 Comments:
Just curious, but do you ever write poetry? If so, please share!
ephraim! glad you're still here.
i prefer other people's poetry...
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