Extra! Extra! Shameless Self Promotion!

[the press release i wrote for the neighborhood bike event. --sph]

Neighborhood Goes By Pedal

Is Kerns Neighborhood the most bike-friendly in Portland? G.T. Meili, shrugs his shoulders at the question, “We might be.” Don’t mistake his low-key demeanor as laissez-faire. The strides in biking infrastructure that Kerns has made in the last fifteen months were exactly what the Goodfoot Nightclub owner had in mind when he created the Bike Advocate position on the neighborhood board at its annual elections in May of 2008.

“When people think of neighborhood associations they think ‘boring,’” Meili confides, “we created sustainability and bike advocacy positions on our board to kind of reach out to the interests of a new wave of neighbors who might not otherwise turn out for this kind of thing.” In the past year the efforts of the neighborhood have yielded measurable success—the recent installation of bike corrals on 28th north and south of East Burnside perhaps being the most visible.

“Right locality, right time, right city,” Kerns Bike Advocate Sean Hutchinson suggests, “all these things were happening around bicycle infrastructure already, so to be able to add the clout of the neighborhood association helped push them in our direction.” Hutchinson lists the overwhelming support for the Twenties Bikeway, a $2.1 million project to bring a dedicated North-South corridor for bike traffic through the close-in Eastside with Metro’s Regional Flexible Funding dollars, as another of the neighborhood’s successes, “I don’t know how much a role our grass roots online campaign or testimony at Metro played, but I do know that the Twenties Bikeway was the most favorably reviewed of all the proposed projects.”

Although Hutchinson had been a long time bike commuter, even coordinating for the Bicycle Transportation Alliance’s yearly Bike Commute Challenge in his day job as a producer at Oregon Public Broadcasting, the role of neighborhood advocate did not come with stringent prerequisites. “Basically he said he’d do it,” Meili deadpans.

“Having the neighborhood association on board can really help expedite the process,” remarks Sarah Figliozzi, Portland Bureau of Transportation’s Bike Program Specialist who oversees the on-street bike parking installations, or corrals. “Having an outside voice that speaks from the perspective of the community at large helps the City develop parking solutions that serve the whole neighborhood's needs.” The corrals at Pambiche, Crema and Ken’s Pizza on 28th Avenue represent the 18th, 19th and 20th installations by the city.

The denouement for Kerns comes August 16th at the Southeast Sunday Parkways event. PBOT will close 14 miles of streets to cars as part of an all day bike festival. Kerns’ Vice-President Angela Kirkman wrote the grant funded by Southeast Uplift Neighborhood Coalition that will enable the neighborhood to promote bike safety and awareness through the disbursement of helmets, bike lights and reflective accessories. Partnerships with Legacy’s Trauma Nurses Talk Tough program and the Bike Gallery have allowed the subsidized helmets and bike mechanics to be part of the event. Three bands—Dave Fulton, Pancake Breakfast and Physical Hearts—will play outdoors at the Box + One building nearby to the new corral at SE 28th and Ankeny.

Ironically, the Sunday Parkways route almost missed Kerns Neighborhood entirely. “Initially we had it drawn up heading south from Laurelhurst Park,” informs Janis McDonald, the PBOT Project Manager who heads up planning for the Parkways events, “after meeting with them and hearing their plans we realized this community would be a great inclusion for the Southeast route.”

“We’re looking at this as a celebration of all we’ve been able to accomplish in the last year,” Hutchinson crows. “We had these grandiose visions starting out, and, remarkably, they’ve played out just as we schemed.”

Contacts
Angela Kirkman [insert e-mail, phone]
Sean Hutchinson: sepahu [at] gmail.com, cell 503.453.4316

Captions
CremaCorral.jpg: Kerns Neighborhood Association has planned a bike safety and awareness event at the Box + One building around the corner from the new bike corral installation at SE 28th Avenue as part of the Southeast Sunday Parkways event. A grant from Southeast Uplift Neighborhood Coalition funds the event.

TokenSwap.JPG: Kerns Neighborhood Bike Advocate Sean Hutchinson exchanged his minivan for a new bicycle and beer tokens at the 2008 Tour de Fat festival sponsored by New Belgium Brewing. Proceeds benefited the Bicycle Transportation Alliance.

Bye Bye Johnny; Hello Pavement

I'm told this is going on Bicycle Magazine's blog but I wrote it weeks ago and still haven't heard anything so I'm posting it here first. You're welcome, mom...

August 16th, 2008 will forever stand out in my memory as a fateful day. On that day the kids and I scribed a farewell message in shoe polish on the old minivan’s window and donated it to a local bike charity. Strictly speaking it was a “swap” not a donation, set up by the folks at New Belgium Brewing. I soon found myself the proud owner of a spiffy Black Sheep commuter bike with tricked-out components, panniers, a full gear set--all the bells and whistles (actually, the bell came separately).

But I should point out this automotive trade-in was not the “push, pull or tow” variety. Our 1997 Nissan Quest was a bit like a member of the family. Poundage of rogue goldfish and gummy worms, no doubt, still occupy the crevices of Ike (age 4) and Tallulah’s (age 2) middle-row captain’s chairs. We spent many hours grooving to kid rock (the genre, not the performer) in its confines on the way to work and/or daycare. It was no schlub discard our “Johnny” as we called it, but the decision had been made: it was our destiny to be a one-car family, and Johnny would go down honorably as a substantial tax write off.

The decision though was one the family agonized over. When I made my submission video for the swap, the numbers were against me. Living in Portland, Oregon, of course I bike commuted pre-swap from time to time; it was my civic duty (you take an oath when you register to vote). I had long wanted my bike commuting to transcend to a higher plane though my wife Jennifer really wasn’t really copacetic with the proposed arrangement. So before I would trade in my workaday trappings for the flowing robes and long white beard of Enlightenment, there were to be some down-to-earth negotiations and assurances.

“You are not doing this,” Jenn said. I’m paraphrasing because my mom might read this. “No!” Ike demanded. Even my two-year old burst out in abject laughter at the preposterous idea. I assured Jenn that there was no way I would win the contest and that just by submitting the video didn’t mean I had to actually go through with it.

I did.

Ultimately, my wife acquiesced and agreed to dispense with one of our cars for a year’s trial. She’s good that way. There may or may not have been the promise of a Prius in the offing.

Long story longer, she and the kids met me downtown at the riverfront for the ceremonial giveaway. Only, it turned out, the tow truck wouldn’t be taking Johnny away that same day. We ended up taking it back home to await its eventual removal with a parking ticket on the windshield. That was the kids’ last trip in Johnny.

You know how you build up obstacles in your mind and psyche yourself out of the positive change for which you profess a longing? This bike-commuting thing may be one of the more constructive mid-life crises on record. Turns out there was a way to make arrangements for picking up the kids at daycare across town when my wife had client dinners or other social engagements after work. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t seem to mind renting a car for their visit in the absence of a seven-seat vehicle. My doctor was amazed that I dropped nine pounds in the three weeks after my daily commute began, and at the follow up to my physical I effectively stayed the high blood pressure medicine prescription she’d been considering for me. Granted, I’m still balding and overweight, but still, there’s progress there.

Now, I’m not going to lie to you. It’s true what they say about Portland. If you don’t like the weather, stick around five minutes and it will still be raining. And there have been days when I have had to drag myself to my bicycle. On those days, if an auto were an option, there’s no way I’d be bicycling. But when I hang my sopping jacket or tights from my locker door, I can chalk up one accomplishment before my day’s even begun. I’ve encountered scenarios on my commute (a barn owl, prostrate septuagenarians, cartoon-themed panhandlers, volcanic eruptions, tons and tons of goose shit—all true) that you just never encounter in a car. Though I may miss NPR, I had a habit of switching to sports talk anyway.

The point I’m trying to make is that sometimes, left to your own devices, as good intentioned as one might be, there’s going to be some backsliding. These lapses in will power are human nature, not necessarily character flaws. Sometimes it takes a little less to become something more. So I got rid of my car.

Here we are at Day 237 of the Year of the Bike. The white beard never grew in. I put back most of the pounds I shed. But I do ride my bike to and from work everyday. Some people think that’s crazy, irresponsible, heroic, or whatever. But what I’ll tell you (in the strictest confidence) is it’s, surprisingly, really not that big a deal.

Day Twelve

How do you know you're old?

I get this question all the time. Usually it's phrased as a statement, such as, "God, you're old," or "You're really getting up there, aren't you?" One indicator is your children. The resurgence of 80s wonders like the Ninja Turtles or Transformers initially imbued me with youth. Made me feel hip and young again. In touch with the preschool set. And then it happened. My son discovered a new show on the 4KidsWB Saturday morning cartoon lineup. Biker Mice From Mars. It's a show from 1993 that's been remade that I had no idea existed in the first place. That's how you know you're old, officially.

Ike's taken to assuming the character of Vinnie, the wiseacre of the group. Though I didn't have the patience to sit down and watch the show with him, I did download the theme song from iTunes. An infectious power ballad that gives "You Got the Touch" a run for its money in the frequency-of-listens department. The lyrics come quite naturally to the synching lips of any air guitaritst, "Biker Mice from Mars, Mars, Mars..." The fading echo effect is particularly crucial to delivery.

I hope you enjoy this video of the boy's rendition. We downloaded the song on Saturday morning and had reached a play count of 42 sometime in the early afternoon.

As Vinnie says, "This'll crack up the ladies."



BBJ Bustin' Loose

Team BBJ (ByeByeJohnny) is growing. Look for posts from guest contributors in the coming weeks including those from crack investigative reporter Vince Roberts who turned in the following expose detailing fraudulent activities among the ranks of supposed cycle devotees in the wake of the Tour de Fat gala. His probing questions paint the sad profile of a man in denial over the poor decision-making that's led him down a difficult path.

Day Eight

"When the going gets weird, the weird go pro."
--Hunter S. Thompson

I gotta say I've never been associated with a more professional bunch of weirdos than the folks from New Belgium Brewery who put on Tour de Fat. Here's a video they put together.



And I'm in awe of Karla, last year's swapper. So collected and well spoken. I'm honored to share her company, or, I should say, will be honored at the end of my year with the swapper mantle. She's actually done it already. I'm just starting down that road.

We had a great talk after the cameras stopped rolling. She's an incredible human being and an inspiration to myself and, I'm sure, many others out there like me.

Ride on, Karla!

Day Seven (Commute Day Five)

I don't know me anymore.

But this may be the most constructive midlife crisis anyone's ever endeavored.

First came the cruiser bike--or rather the giving-away-of-the-minivan for a cruiser. I never would have envisioned myself on a cruiser bike (but I've always had an appreciation for different bike styles, so I can understand in some ways coming around on that one). But bike bells? Who am I? Two days ago, I hated bike bells. I'd always considered them a saccharine coating to a personality disorder. A worm in a caramel dipped apple. It's how certain bikers can non-verbally signal their superiority from the passing lane in utterly gratuitous fashion. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you're probably one of those people. I love you anyway for riding your bike.

Or so went my old mode of thinking (and if anyone actually read this blog--hi, mom--I'm sure I'd get dissenters). Over the course of the last week though, I've turned a complete 180 on bike bells. And I'm not even running for office.

It started at the Tour de Fat parade on Saturday. I'd never been among a triumphal cacophony of bike bells such as that. You can't imagine my pride as hundreds of human curios filled the closed-down corridors coursing through Portland's swanky Northwest neighborhoods inviting gapes and gasps from the doorways and street fronts of franchised boutiques. Those little bells rang out like angels lifting our collective from the asphalt and delivering us to an alternative reality where R. Crumb's Mr. Natural sits with a wicker basket of free kazoos. Did I imagine it, or did everyone there sense it too?

I might have easily dismissed the occurrence and never given it a second thought, but then a funny thing happened yesterday on the Hawthorne Bridge. Bike advocates, as they're wont to do, gathered on the west side of the bridge giving away stuff to folks on two wheels. As much as I like free stuff, as anyone at the non-profit where I work whose seen me shovel in hummus from the break room that's been sitting out for three days can attest (maybe that explains my vision), I tend to keep going, taking the off ramp from the bridge to the waterfront, even with the lure of muffins or coffee as is typically the case.

But yesterday I stopped. They were giving away bike bells.

Day Six (Commute Day Four)

Today I dusted off the road bike. It fit me like an ex-girlfriend. Can I say that here? This is a safe place, right? I gave my wife the url to my blog today and told her there might be some objectionable content. "Not yet, but on the way," I said. What doesn't divorce us only makes us stronger. In that vein, I guess it was only a matter of time before I released this video. An important message from a friendly bike advocate named Theresa that I met after the Tour-de-Fat hoorah. Hon, I swear, all we did was hug. Twice.

Day Five (Commute Day Three)

Another rainy morning but, sheesh, that's nothing. My back seized like an unfrozen Neanderthal watching Pokemon. I wasn't sure I could get out of bed, let alone ride a bike. But after twenty minutes of stretching I thought the physical act might loosen me up. Plus I'm not ready to break my streak of two straight days on the bike. Eight hours of desk work later, I'm ready to mount my ride for home.

I realize that there's expository backfill woefully missing from these pages. Here's a primer on how this all began. My submission video to "win" a bike in exchange for a car, donated to charity, with the promise to commute by bike for a year.

http://www.tour-de-fat.com/i-wanna-trade-my-car-for-a-bike-in-portland.html

Day Four (Commute Day Two)

It didn't rain on the way in to work today. It rained on the way home. I'm thinking of traveling to drought-stricken regions and offering my services as rainmaker. Giving away the car certainly seems to have brought uncharacteristically wet weather to Portland. I'm learning to appreciate the cruiser style bike though. Especially those fenders. The old road bike hasn't been ridden since Saturday. And Johnny still sits at the curb taunting me.

If you missed it, check out the ceremony. I've had about 9324 of New Belgium's 1554 Black Ale at this point.

Day Three (Commute Day One)

BOOM.

"What is that awful racket?" These were Ike's first words out of bed this morning. "Oh great, it's raining."

It's not that we're not used to rain out here in Portland. Just not now. Not like this. Earlier this summer we strung thirty-some days together without a drip of rain and here on my first day of the yearlong car-free commute comes the rarest of anamolies on the Portland weather scene: an early morning summer thunderstorm--with raindrops the size and volume of genetically modified grapes.

I thought I'd have some time to gear up for the rainy season. Instead I grabbed some swim trunks, river shoes and a windbreaker. Plus these tacky orange-lens bike glasses my wife bought me. I looked more like a tourist on the Oregon coast then a bike commuter.

Everything felt different today. My road bike replaced by a cruiser. I had to revert to my old pannier bags as the one's provided by Black Sheep are better described as -resistant than -proof when used as a hyphenated adjective in combination with the noun water. They didn't quite snap on the rack. Plus no clipless pedals. [Actually, there are. One side of the pedal is flat, the other has clipless attachments. My bad. --sph 8/20]

What's worse, they hadn't towed Johnny yet so it was sitting there mocking me--with the window paint adornment from Friday's video shoot (when I thought it would be funny to let the kids experiment in some adult-supervised vandalism). Those little Mickey Mouse stickers are driving me crazy. I so want to scrub them off. But it isn't my car anymore. Just a public eyesore parked in front of my house.

Then I started riding. Instantly I'm drenched. But it's warm. The traffic on 7th is backed up blocks to Burnside. What gives? With all my hand-wringing over the commute, I couldn't have gotten out of the house before 9 am. I cruise past dozens of vehicles in the bike lane to arrive at the Morrison intersection where the answer's revealed. The electrical storm caused the light to stick on red.

Pathetic and soaked I turn to the only other rider I've seen today, who is stopped at the light. "There's only advantages to bike riding."

What did he say? I asked him to explain.

"You don't have to wait in traffic."

That twist of perspective made the rest of the ride a breeze. And the new bike rode like a dream. We waited for a break in the cross-traffic and made a break for it. I'm not sure how long the cars were there.