Below is my attempt to capture a short scene from my recent two-week sojourn in Portland, Oregon. Portland declares itself the most bicycle friendly city in America. One of the goals for my stay was to live without a car, and bike as much as possible. I’ve been bicycling in cities most of my adult life, in Manhattan from 1980-1987, St. Louis from 1997 to the present.
Earlier, I had read a lengthy article on-line about how Portlanders might be a little too polite to each other.
I am peddling around a curve on the Broadway Bridge into the Pearl District of downtown Portland. A bicyclist (bicyclist 1), an older guy (which means he looks older than me) in front of me stops. He is pulling some kind of cart contraption that is much longer than his bike. He smiles, says something to me as I pass, but I don’t understand what he is saying.
I slow down and look behind me, concerned.
Bicyclist 1: (yells something)
I stop about twenty feet in front.
Me: “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Bicyclist 1: “Hello! I just said hello.”
Me: “Oh, okay, I thought something was wrong.”
Bicyclist 1: No, I’m okay. How are you?”
He bends over and starts fiddling with something on his bike.
Me: “Uh, okay, I’m new to the city. You need any help?”
At this moment, another bicyclist (bicyclist 2) swerves around the bicyclist stopped behind me. This next guy wrecks, literally slides with his bike about ten feet until he is across from me. He gets up quickly, like this happens all the time, before I can even say something. He looks behind him.
Bicyclist 2: “That’s not really a good place to be stopping.”
Bicyclist 1, totally non-plussed: “It’s not like I had a choice.”
Bicyclist 2: “Wait, I’m not blaming you at all. I’m just suggesting that’s not a safe place to stop.”
Bicyclist 1: “No, I know, sorry, man, it’s just, something wrong with my bike.”
Me, to bicyclist 2: “Wow! Are you hurt?”
Bicyclist 2, feels a few spots in his mid-section, smiles, a really big smile: “No, I’m good. Might be a bruise here in the morning.” Pats his left thigh.
Me: “Are you sure? That was pretty gruesome looking.”
Bicyclist 2 moves towards me a few feet. As he bends down to inspect his bike, the Metro train clangs by and I realize the guy was wrecked right on top of the tracks. We are two arms lengths from touching that train.
Me: “Holy shit!” I look from the train to Bicyclist 2. “Sorry, I’m new to Portland biking.”
Bicyclist 2: “Really? This is a great city for biking.” He pedals slowly, checking his bike out, then speeds up. “Enjoy!”
I look at him pedaling away in front of me, then back at the guy behind me, head still buried in his bike.
Two things immediately come to mind. First, bicycle-friendly in Portland means equal accent on both words. Second, what would this exchange have been like in Manhattan circa early 1980s?
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