County Fair and Other Amusements

Yesterday started out sunny and warm. The newspaper said it would probably be the best day, weatherwise, of the three-day holiday weekend. Jer and I seized the opportunity, and rode our bikes to the Multnomah County Fair at Oaks Park. It felt so good to get back on my bike again, and the ride along the Springwater Trail and the streets of south Sellwood was a joy (for me, anyway -- Jer came back with an aching tailbone; must do something about that seat).

The fair itself was a schizoid blend of traditional -- home ec skill competitions, midway and carny rides, animal exhibits and trials -- and (ick) modern, as in vinyl window sales come-ons (I counted four of those), obscure specialized appliance vendors, insurance and real estate agents, really tacky souvenir vendors, and so on.

Next time, if there is a next time, I'll know to avoid the mercantile tents at the south end and focus on the animals and the judged events. These included a smattering of quilts and other needlework, an aisle or two or fresh flowers and prize produce -- very slim pickin's, considering how early it is in the growing season -- and a couple of dozen flower arrangements. Aren't these two charming? Click to get the full effect. Another one of my favorites consisted of a pair of cowboy boots, a walking stick, and a bird of paradise).

There was a bountiful assortment of baked goods and home-canned foodstuffs. Look at all those ribbons. One entry was labeled "curried prunes". Mmm, mmm, good.

Butter making dirt babies? I don't want to know.

Our dinner last night was a lot more appetizing than either of those. Jer made individual puff pastry tarts filled with asparagus and shiitake mushrooms, gruyere, creme fraiche and tarragon, and an edamame, green bean, orange and marinated red onion salad with a tart-sweet dressing.

I took this photo of the western sky just before we settled down to dinner and a movie. Thunderstorms were forecast, and they hit not long after. We abandoned Across the Universe to take in the spectacle from our porch. The light, warm rain drew us out, and we ended up walking around the block, flashes of lightning and rolling thunder accompanying us every step of the way.

It was a delightful day.

Bridge Pedal pix

They're not great, but here they are, proof that I did it, at least. The first one is at the top of the Marquam Bridge, the second mid-span on the Fremont.

Bridge Pedal!

This morning I rode in the annual Portland Bridge Pedal, a mass bike ride for which the city closes its major bridges in one or both directions, and blocks off a number of streets as well. You have the option of doing six, eight or ten bridges, at 14, 24 and 36 miles, respectively. (The routes are up at www.providence.org/oregon/events/bridge_pedal/) Since I was starting from home, which would add another 14 miles to my round trip, I unhesitatingly went for the low-end itinerary.

We got off to a slow start because of the sheer number of participants; they'd expected 15,000 people and 20,000 showed up. We had to push our bikes halfway across the Hawthorne Bridge before we could finally hop on and ride. There was even more congestion and a long wait at the approach to the Ross Island Bridge. The first three photos illustrate the problem. The top shot is the trudge across the Hawthorne, and the next two show the bottleneck at the Ross Island, looking forward and back. Looking back made me feel a tiny bit better; it's the Schadenfreude factor.

Once we made it to the roadbed of the Ross Island, though, the rest of the way was fairly smooth sailing. Booths were set up at the crests of the Marquam and Fremont Bridges and a carnival-like atmosphere prevailed. The rest of the pics feature the Fremont Bridge, and the view therefrom. I wondered whether there was a correlation between the suicide prevention hotline signs and the presence of a bagpipe band. On both bridges, we could wheel in to have our photos taken. They'll be available online within 48 hours; if mine turn out I'll post them.

My favorite parts of the ride were coasting down from the Marquam Bridge onto I-5 -- riding a bike on the freeway felt deliciously transgressive! -- and again, riding faster, probably, than I ever have in my life, down from the summit of the Fremont Bridge. The whole trip, from starting line to finish, took me 2.5 hours, including the long wait to get onto the Ross Island. Early on, during the standing and trudging phases, I thought "well, this is my first and last time for the Bridge Pedal." Guess what: I've changed my mind.

Yesterday, I ran into some people who, when I told them I was planning to do the Bridge Pedal, responded enthusiastically, "There's nothing like it; you will own Portland." I see what they meant. Riding the bridges, at your own pace, shows you the city in a way that's both intimate and majestic. Next year, knock wood, maybe I'll go for eight.

Am I butch or what?

Women on Bikes had a ride scheduled on the Springwater Trail this morning, heading out in the opposite direction from the section I hiked on Thursday. I was hoping to catch the group at the 45th Avenue trailhead but we didn't connect, so I headed out on my own.

It was another spectacularly beautiful day, sunny but coolish. The first part of the route goes through some funky industrial areas, but there's a lovely bucolic stretch even before you hit 82nd Ave. After 122nd it starts feeling downright rural. Wildlife doesn't scurry away from bikes the way it does from cars; biking is like kayaking that way. I saw a rabbit, a flock of red-winged blackbirds, and several flickers. Also Mount Hood. And, of course, lots of friendly Portlandians out for exercise, too.

I ended up at Linnemann Station, which is waythehellandgone -- in the vicinity of Gresham, actually. Hey, I biked to Gresham and back! Door-to-door, as near as I can figure, about a 17-mile round trip. I feel like such a jock.

Actually I didn't bike quite all the way home, since the Eastmoreland Neighborhood Garage Sale is on this weekend and the streets were (and probably still are) jammed with cars and zoned-out bargain-hunters. Before I left on my ride, I put our old flatbed scanner out on the curb, with a sign saying "free." Nobody bit when I listed it on Freecycle a couple of months ago, but it was gone within an hour. I don't care if whoever scooped it up is planning to sell it on eBay; I just needed the closet space back.

Speaking of butch, I got a very short haircut yesterday. I took a picture of Laurie Anderson in to my haircutter and said "make it look like that." It will, when it grows out a bit.

Green flash at sunrise

The green flash!
Originally uploaded by dgans

We've been home from Kaua'i for a week now, and the feel of the island is still very much with us. Jer and I have actually been fantasizing about allowing ourselves to be sucked into one of those timeshare pitches and, this time, whipping out the Visa card and saying "yes."

I haven't mentioned one of the highlights of the trip. After living on the coast, where looking for the green flash at sunset is a routine cocktail-hour pastime, we've grown pretty blasé about the phenomenon. We and our friends saw several, this trip, from the beach right in front of our cottages.

On Kaua'i, we've developed a ritual of greeting the sunrise, too. Jer and I do our yoga sun salutations then toddle out, coffee in hand, to join whichever members of our group have also made it to the beach. The same optical and atmospheric conditions that contribute to a green flash in the evening exist in the morning as well. But it's seldom seen at daybreak because far fewer people are out of bed that early. If they are, they're usually getting ready for work; they don't have time to watch the sun come up. Makes perfect sense when you think about it.

Well, you know what's coming. Last Thursday morning, Jer and I just happened to be looking at the horizon the moment the sun popped out, and there it was -- a green flash! A sunrise green flash is much more of a surprise. You have to be ready. You have no inkling that the sun is about to appear at that particular instant. You're not waiting, waiting, waiting, as you are at the other end of the day, for that big ol' glowing ball to disappear, looking to see whether it flattens out into an omega shape (a positive sign) on the way down, and knowing that, at the moment it winks out, it either will or won't be a green flash evening. A sunrise green flash gives you no cues, no time to prepare. In a way it's a purer visual experience, because there's no after-image to confuse you. You haven't been staring at the sun, off and on, for half an hour, waiting for it to do its thing.

There's another, more subtle, difference also. After a sunset green flash, you go "ahhh," watch the sky change color for a while, and tacitly bid farewell to the day. But a sunrise flash turns into the rising sun. Your day is just beginning, and what can possibly top what you've just seen?

Well, how about another green flash? That same evening, we attended Doug and Sandy McMaster's "sunset serenade, " a low-key hour or so of slack-key guitar and uke, on the shore of Hanalei Bay. There, our pal David Gans got an excellent shot, shown here, of our second green flash of the day. Try and top that, Sea Ranch!

Yesterday, Jer and I wrestled my bike down from high on the garage wall, where we'd stowed it when we first moved in. It's been so long that we actually forgot whose bike was whose. Jerry's is the purple one; we took it down first by mistake. Mine is green. I remember feeling, back when my business, Aubergine Information Services, was a happening thing and I totally identified with the color purple, that the purple bike should really be mine. Over the years, however, I've become very fond of green. It was an unexpected little gift to rediscover that my bike is the green one; hooray!

So we re-inflated the tires, lubed it in the obvious places, and brushed off 2+ years worth of dust. Today I rode it up to Woodstock for a three-hour workshop on basic bike maintenance offered through an awesome city program called Women on Bikes. It was empowering, although I learned enough to pray that I never have to fix a rear-tire flat.

I don't normally name my vehicles but I'm moved, for some reason, to christen my bike. She's now The Green Flash. It's nice to think about carrying a little bit of Hawai'i with me every time I ride.