Pedalpalooza in Portland is like Christmas at the North Pole, only better. There's a pervading sense of joy and fun and community. This frenzy of bike rides takes place every June and includes all sorts of bike fun for all sorts of riders.
The Which Hill Is Worse ride attracted 15 riders, much to my astonishment. In past Pedalpalooza rides, I'd only heard complaints about hills, so I was surprised and delighted that this many people would show up to do multiple hills on purpose. Sure, Pedalpalooza is a party, but it's ok to get some exercise too! After we killed the hills together, I handed out ballots. We headed over to the Foster Night Ride, which is a year round, every-other-Tuesday evening jaunt from Portland Mercado. I tabulated the votes, one cast in blood, and 55th Avenue won by a landslide.
Next up, I led the Portland Society's mural tour. Over 100 riders awaited me at the start! Luckily I had drawn up a giant route map and studied it a lot in advance. Making a wrong turn with 100 riders in tow is not fun. We visited 12 murals over 6 miles, with no theme other than art I liked.
A week earlier, when I went out to find murals, I rode my bike on Division. A driver straddled the dotted yellow line, opened his window and took his eyes off the road to warn me of how dangerous it was here and that the greenway was just a block over. I refrained from telling him the freeway was only a mile over. Greenways are nice, but all roads are for all users and I will persist in using the roads I need to. On the evening of the mural ride, a woman from a nearby business, also on Division, came out to find me and warn me that this area of Division is dangerous. I reassured her that each and every cyclist there, who were all owning their space in the street, is well aware of how deadly the behavior of motor vehicle operators can be.
A few nights later, I met up with my Analog Alley Cat co-organizers to make our race plans. While we were strategizing, the Hawaiian ride swooped in on us. Lots of friends tried to sit with us and we had to shoo them away from our top secret papers and maps. It seems wherever you go in June, you're bound to run into a ride!
That Friday after work, Armando led a half century ride - not 50 miles but for people aged 50+. It was really refreshing to ride with my peers and not feel like "the old one". It was also inspiring to know that these badasses were my age and still fit and fun.
The Analog Alley Cat had been on my mind for years. This is the way alley cat races used to be - no phones, no GPS, no lady robot voice guiding your route. We had a lot of fun creating a challenging list of checkpoints, including sending folks to Futel free payphones, where they had to call in to prove they'd been there. 25 racers braved Portland, armed only with a manifest and a paper map. Two ladies tied for the win, and there were prizes for the top 5 places, along with a special prize package for DFL (a slow triangle, Trimet day pass and chain lube).
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| Photo credit: No Lens Cap |
I learned that the Plaid to Plaid ride started just down the street from the Analog Alley Cat finish line, and I remembered I was wearing plaid underwear, so I headed on over. I bought snacks and drinks at one Plaid Pantry and carried them to the next Plaid Pantry. After two stores, I'd had my fill so I peeled off to check out the Missy Elliott ride.
Laurelhust was mobbed with riders and dancers and mobile sound systems blasting Missy Elliott tunes. I ran into some friends and stayed for a while. On the way out from the park, one of my rack bolts broke and by the time I'd zip-tied it back on, the ride was long gone. My day felt complete, so I headed home.
The first felony flats hill killerz ride was such a success, I spontaneously led another one. This one was a bit smaller, but still fun. We wrapped up in time for riders to join the Thursday Night Ride (TNR). One rider in street clothes told another rider in lycra that he shouldn't come to TNR dressed that way and I got a golden opportunity to school him on lycra-shaming. I so often hear riders encouraged to wear regular clothes, and I support that, but I also think it's a-ok to wear spandex or a tutu or a unicorn costume or your birthday suit.
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| Photo credit: No Lens Cap |
The next evening was Dropout Prom. This is one of the most special and popular rides, and there were rumors it would be the last year the Dropouts would organize it. A certain handsome gentleman asked me to be his date, adding to the magic and romance of the evening. I turned into a pumpkin around 2am and darted home to get to bed, as I had a 6am pick up to go do a road ride in the valley.
One of the rest stops on the road ride featured a playground with 3 giant tube slides. It was nice to get in some giant slide time, as I had recently learned the giant slide at Wilson Pool, which had been a highlight of the Swim Across Portland, had burned. Yes, burned. Some idiot broke into the pool and lit it on fire. It's too expensive to replace, so that's it for slide fun at that pool.
Nine riders rode up the giant hill to the pool. It was overcast and cool, ensuring we pretty much owned the pool. Although there was no slide, we still had fun on the diving board, in the lazy river and in the vortex. Bucket roulette wasn't bad either. Full of nachos with fake cheese and fully chlorinated, riders headed down the hill to the Willamette. We skipped the beach swim because it just felt too chilly, and headed across the Tilikum Bridge. Soon, rider after rider peeled off. The remaining three of us decided to skip the last pool to try to grab some Grilled By Bike snacks on our way to the Dock O'Clock.
I jumped in the river and promptly got back out - it was chilly! Soon the ride was leaving and I was caught behind the tiki bike. The box held a lady, who held out skewers of barbecued yumminess, so I took a chance and grabbed one. A bit later, I had a nice little crash with a bike toting a trailer. Turns out they have a wide turning radius. It's great to crash in front of everyone and create a bike traffic jam while disentangling from the bike. We soon arrived at the dock beneath the Fremont Bridge, where very brave swimmers jumped off, swam across to a pier, jumped off and returned.
Our next beach was also our last stop, and I refrained from going in as I now had open wounds. The tunes and the fun folks and the campfire were superb. I finally joined some southbound friends and wove my way home, stopping only to lube squeaky chains.
The next Thursday Night Ride planned to meet up with my perennial favorite, the Rocky Butte Sunset Dance Party ride. It misted on us, then it rained, then drizzled and sprinkled. I had worn my rain jeans, which are actually just wet jeans that feel like a cold sponge. I got lost in the store and almost lost my money, then came out to find the group was gone. I chased and chased and finally caught them on the way up the Butte. I raced up it, passed by two kids on fixies, then a dude with two derailleurs. Fourth up ain't so bad. At the top, the tiki bike awaited us with tunes and a disco ball and even a propane heater.
The next night was Loud 'n Lit, and I'd volunteered as an official corker. It felt super fun and punk rock to show up to PAZ to spray paint high viz vests and witness the debacle of last minute welding and wrenching on two bikes to create a chariot to lead the ride. I pitched in where I could, adding bar end plugs, taping off derailleur cable ends and greasing anything threaded.
The Loud 'n Lit start was packed with over 4000 well-lit and sound-systemed riders. It was difficult to find anything, but also easy to run into lots of friends. Our corking strategy required us to stay near the front, corking the first few blocks, then catching back up. Even getting to the front as we left proved tricky, but I made it. Soon corking was afoot.
In the early '90s, when I was riding in the first Critical Mass rides in San Francisco, I saw corking for the first time. We didn't have a term for it then, but it was necessary to guide drivers to stop and be patient while the train of riders went through. For the riders to stop at every light and break the ride up into several small groups not only created chaos and danger for riders, but it could actually clog motor vehicle traffic more.
Pedalpalooza is about bike fun, but it's also about owning the streets. It's a protest against the hegemony of car culture, and the motor vehicles that usually dominate the streets. This is our turn. Corking is fraught with tension, and a good exercise in self-control, patience and compassion. My method is to smile and wave at drivers. I apologize for the delay and thank them for their patience. Many smile and wave back, tooting their horns in beat with the music. Some turn their engines off and climb on top of their hood for a good view of the light show. Some get angry. Sometimes that anger takes a dark delve into attempted murder. To me, it's a clear sign of how toxic car culture is. Drivers are cut off from the physical reality of the street, and they feel entitled to GO GO GO and every stop is a major inconvenience. I was able to help three such drivers take a breath and resist their urge to plow into the crowd.
The fun really starts at the end party on this ride. It's like a giant impromptu night club, set up right on the Esplanade near downtown. There are disco balls and dancing, fire juggling and hula hoops. Once again, I became a pumpkin around 2am, this time so I could get up the next morning to lead a French Toast Ride for the Gladys Century Curious club.
Bike fun of every flavor abounds in Portland and I'm grateful and delighted to take part in it. There's a ton more bike fun coming this summer, but I'll admit there's always a little bit of a sadness on July 1st, when the official Pedalpalooza is over. It's as if the veil of fun has lifted, and there's more fun behind it, just with less sequins and sparkles overlayed.
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