When I first moved to Portland, I planned on regularly tossing my bike onto my car and spending the weekend exploring the city.

Obviously, that plan of being bored and solo on the weekends has been a bit overcome by events – specifically going on a ton of amazing adventures with Sarah. But this weekend, after a long climbing competition the night before, there was a day that was basically begging me to get on  bike and stretch my legs.

 

So I did. I biked downtown, across the bridge (fixing a flat tire on the way) and through the woods.

Lunch found me at a little cafe called Chef Naoko, eating a bento box full of fancy organic, sole-source, sustainable (and many other Portland-verbs) meal. The tea was tasty, as was everything else. A bit expensive… But this is Portland, so what can you expect. Not quite San Francisco grade, but probably a bit above Boston grade.

I biked.

I went straight when the lights were green. I turned when they were red. A dodged and weaved around traffic, and followed detours when necessary.

I found myself in Washington Park in the rain, watching the clouds move through the city below.

I saw the Portland Holocaust Memorial; with its haunting brass sculptures of kids shoes and discarded Teddy bears. There was a school group walking through, so I stayed to listen to the description. It was a bit lacking, in my opinion… Saying “the German government did bad things” doesn’t seem to  quite convey what really happened. <shrug>

I met some LARPers, fencing with foam swords in the park. We chatted. They were cool.

I talked to a missionary, who offered to help me fix that flat tire that I’d gotten. He was cool, and surprisingly insightful. I thanked him for his offer, and wished him luck.

I kept biking.

Rain fell, pedals turned, and I enjoyed the long ride.