At first I thought, “I'm being green, saving money on gas, and getting a workout all at once!” Fitting into the Portland persona, and not feeling like such a square, was just frosting on the gluten-free, soy-free, vegan cake that is Portland.
That is until this morning...
I got the brilliant idea last night that I would go to a 6:30am pilates class the following morning. Since I've biked to work for a week straight now, I didn't think twice about getting up at 5:30am the following morning to put on my helmet, bedhead and all, and ride to the gym at work. I packed my somewhat small backpack the night before with all the essentials. Clothes for work, pilates mat, a scrumptious lunch contained in not one but THREE plastic containers, my thermos and waterbottle. Zipping this puppy up was no easy feat, and I felt like I had just climbed Everest as I finally squeezed the zippers together.
My ride to work was glorious! There wasn't an ounce of traffic or those pesky trains that stop traffic for 15 minutes at a time. I made it to the gym in 15 minutes and was ready to work my core for the next fifty minutes. After the class I showered and attempted to pack my things back into my bursting backpack. Eh, no. Not happening this time. Why can you never pack the same amount of stuff back into a backpack the second time? Not discouraged, I boarded this lovely little sweat box...
...with my coat, helmet, a banana, and TWO plastic containers full of lunch in my arms. I stared out the window to avoid the discriminating stares from those bikers who whiz past me every morning on their uber fast road bikes with fifteen lights and "saddle bags". That term always cracks me up. I finally make it to my office as a cascade of items fell from my arms into my office chair. I made it, phew. No big deal, I just packed a bit too much.
The day progressed as normal, nothing exciting as usual. Four thirty rolls around and I feel a strange sense of anxiety. I kept thinking, "Oh God, I have to repack that backpack one more time". Throughout the day the items had one by one crept out of the bag somehow, spilling into the depths of that weird darkness under the desk where only the holes from the hole punch and the random paperclip hang out. I decided to take the last fifteen minutes of work to regroup and repack the pack that would soon fail me.
I board the tram back to the bottom of the hill where my bike is parked. As I slowly step aboard, I can tell this is going to be one full trip. The kind of trip where the operator yells repeatedly, "Keep moving people, we've got ten more here that need to get on!” Keep in mind that the tram only holds about 60 people; so adding ten more people to the tram is like shoving an elephant through a doggy door. It's just not going to happen. This time, I stare at the floor to avoid the stares from all the angry employees glaring at me because my backpack is easily taking up the room of two, maybe three people.
Finally we're at the bottom and I'm free. I unlock my bike, hop on and ride not even one block before I realize I can't pedal forward anymore. I look down to find that my shoelace is entirely entwined in my gears. Seriously?! In front of all the uber bikers!? I am such an embarrassment to the biking community. I coast to the sidewalk and attempt to dismount my bike with one leg unable to move. Five minutes of frantic untangling and this time, really, I'm finally free. The rest of the four-mile trip is fairly uneventful. I reach the east side of the river and am just crossing the railroad tracks when I hear a jingle hit the ground. I look back to see my keys laying right smack in the middle of those steel tracks, and a car coming up fast behind. This was one of those moments where it's important to be able to make a quick decision, which unfortunately is NOT my nature whatsoever. I freeze. Oh god, what do I do? THOSE ARE MY KEYS! I'm panicking as though I've just seen a small infant in the direct line of danger. I manage to pedal to the side of the road, park my bike and run back to grab the keys after the car had passed. Just as I was about to make my way back over the tracks was when I heard the fateful whistle. I look to the left and lo and behold a train is barreling down the tracks. My current panic mode has just escalated to all out survival mode as I make my quickest dash across the tracks. Trying to look unphased I hop back on my bike and take off. After a few blocks and a slight decrease in my heart rate I thought to myself, "No big deal, these are just things you encounter when you commute by bike. Shoelaces in your gears and dodging freight trains left and right."
As I huff and puff up the last hill to our place, I hear another strange sound. This time it was the sound of my backpack's zipper violently opening. I had little time to stop before my bike lock, jacket and THREE plastic food containers came tumbling to the ground. I woman uber biker whizzes past and I swear I hear her chuckle under her breath. The positive bike commuter frame of mind has escaped me and I'm muttering politically correct curse words under my breath. I decide to walk my bike up the sidewalk the last block to my place.
I finally reach home, allow all my items to fall from my grip and peel off my sweaty helmet. Hardly any of what I had gone through seemed worth it, I was ready to give up the whole commuter by bike thing. One bad experience and I give up, it's soooo me. Until I realized, maybe just get a bigger pack? OR MAYBE...some saddlebags?
Stay tuned for a commuter pattern from sew|LO, so that you'll never have to embarrass half a city's biking population like me!
