Having been slow to catch on to the whole 29er thing, many countries in Europe seem to be on high alert these days, determined not to let the next big idea pass them by. I can’t see any other way to explain the appearance of a second faithfully recreated pedal-powered supercar. This time, images of a Ferrari pedal bike are creeping around the Internet, begging the obvious question: when will we see a fake Ducati motorcycle converted to pedal power.
Just a quick public service message, because I’m trying to listen to Pandora while I’m typing this–they just reported record ad sales, you know–and these fucking Miller Lite commercials keep playing, and I just want to say that if anyone out there is ever talking to me in person while drinking a Miller 64, and I slap it the fuck out of your fool hand without breaking eye contact or interrupting the conversation, it’s nothing personal. It’s just that I hate Miller and their pissy low-carb beach beer bullshit.
Anyway, despite an appalling lack of pedal-powered sports cars, Portland was recently awarded “Best Bike City” by Bicycling Magazine, an honor we wrested away from arch-nemesis, Minneapolis.
The thing is, having read Bicycling’s web article, if it’s OK with Minneapolis, I think maybe they should take it back. Here’s an excerpt from Bill Donahue’s article:
Some guy will roll up beside you, probably, on a lime-green-wheeled fixie. Here, now, is a stolid commuter in a yellow rain jacket, with all sorts of earnest straps lashed to her rack, and here is a mangy, helmetless youngster on a homemade tall bike, two normal frames welded together, so that he looms 6 feet above the melee, quietly plucking his nose ring.
There are, inevitably, subtle flickers of intratribal tension there by the bridge—in Portland, a mere raised eyebrow can convey a nuanced diss like, “Shimano 105 derailleurs? Really?” But there is also a deep—and, yes, smug—solidarity. Those of us who ride daily in Portland, we know. We know we are the vanguard of American cycling. No other city in the United States has more cyclists per capita, and no other town has a coffee shop like Fresh Pot, which boasts 25 chairs and parking for 26 bicycles. We have trains of elementary-school bike commuters, and we have Move By Bike, a relocation-company that trundles couches across town on overstacked bike trailers. Even our city’s noncycling Lotharios know it is a deal-killer to ask, at the end of a sprightly first date, ‘Can I throw your bike in my car and give you a lift home?'”
It certainly isn’t a lack of passion that makes the award seem perhaps misplaced–I mean, that guy can write, and I’m being serious. “Here, now, is a stolid commuter in a yellow rain jacket, with all sorts of earnest straps lashed to her rack . . .”? That’s some Herman-Mother-Fuckin-Melville all up in your eyeballs and synapses right there. In their wildest dreams, Charles Baudelaire and Pee Wee Herman, working in tandem, couldn’t have described “straps” as “earnest,” even with William S. Burroughs’ typewriter. But I get it. Sometimes when I ride a bike in Portland, I use this half-ass velcro pant leg strap that’s just so insincere and noncommittal it sort of makes me sick. And I know it sees me eyeing the genuine rawhide, woven hemp and repurposed surgical tubing in the window of one of the three boutique pantleg strap emporiums I pass here on my way to work. We like bicycles a lot here. Sometimes, it’s tough to describe. Bill seems like a nice guy and a gifted writer who’s swinging for the fences with this article. You have to admire that, even if it is the same thing you hear over and over again about Portland.
As a new guy here, the thing I have seen that I hadn’t expected–based on reading so many articles about how smug and self-absorbed everyone is in Portland–are people who aren’t quite so self-conscious about their bike riding. There does appear to be a misconception that everyone who rides a bike to work in Portland does so only after making sure all the neighbors will see. I’m sure there’s smugness afoot in Portland, but it doesn’t seem to be quite as prevalent as the national spotlight suggests. You don’t travel to the Netherlands and run around screaming, “Oh man, you’re all riding bikes–do you realize you’re all so bicycling?” Or maybe you do. I don’t know. I do know that riding to work on a bike with Shimano’s 105 group seems just fine in Portland.
So enthusiasm? Plenty in the article. But an award seems a little ostentatious. Having only been in town for six weeks, maybe that aspect will become clearer, but what I’ve seen so far is the quiet kind of humility that comes from just doing something, without expecting an award.
If I could give Portland an award it’d be for keeping it all low-key, and the trophy would be this sweet Girven fork in this Portland Cragslist ad:
Maybe engrave it with a quote from the ad: “WHAT U SEE IS WHAT U GET.”
Congratulations, Portland.
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