Getting Around: Jane's Take

Getting Around in Portland

Over the past year, I've experienced a strange progression from being entirely reliant on the public transportation system and generous friends with cars to being relatively self-sufficient on my bicycle with the occasional relapse. Things should be interesting now that I have a zipcar subscription as well.

When I first got here, I took the bus almost everywhere, even to the Safeway that was just about 10 blocks away, paying about $60 for the monthly all-zone pass. I soon got a job through a temp agency at the Fred Meyer corporate office and became familiar with the early 10 Harold line along with the interesting characters who turn up at the bus stop in front of the Burgerville at 12th and Hawthorne. Sometimes when I'd get off the bus in the morning, I could see the pink sunrise finally reach the West hills across the way. Eventually I figured out that I could just take the bus to work and walk home since I got off so early (due to having to be there as early as 6:00 a.m. at times) that I didn't really need to be in that much of a hurry to go home.

I grew to love strolling down Clinton Street, sometimes dropping by the New Seasons on Division to pick up things I couldn't get at the other stores like the really awesome crusty, chewy bread with the cloves of garlic baked in or pungent cheeses with names I couldn't pronounce. Then I would pass through Ladd's Addition, cutting through the circle and crossing the turnabouts. On occasion, I would drop by the Videorama to say hi to my friend Will or just duck in there if it was raining particularly hard and I just happened to forget my umbrella. I would then cut through one of the rose garden diamonds and walk down 16th to my studio apartment.

By November of that year, I still didn't really know anyone in town and I ended up quitting the Fred Meyer payroll gig mainly because I couldn't take the hours anymore and it was boring as all hell even when they weren't having me remove staples from paperwork and file them for imaging. To think, they were offering me a permanent position too. I accepted with great hesitation due to the hours and due to the fact we had a meeting about how potentially our department may be moved to Kansas. Still, I had made a "smoking buddy" with another temp from the agency named Liese who had just graduated from University of Oregon with a degree in political science. We'd usually grab coffee, lunch and smokes together.

I certainly did not make a hasty escape from one Midwestern state only to end up sent to another one.

So after a month of drifting, sleeping in and finally making friends through a writing group, I ended up in another temp gig. This time, it was for an insurance company taking and making calls. Prior to that, while I was waiting for my drug test to go through, I worked for a week or so packing shipments at the Lloyd Center Nordstrom's. This meant having to get up at 6:00 a.m., taking the bus downtown and then take the MAX to the Lloyd Center. Granted, there was probably a more direct bus line that got there. Still, I like taking the MAX when I get the chance.

This also meant half hour lunches and picking up food court food since there really wasn't a place for me to leave a lunch in the rather hot stuffy basement level. Still, I got to hang out with another girl from the temp agency like me, named Katie who had driven up from Kansas with her roommate. I recall at one point, she had ordered flowers over the phone for her mother since she had been going through a rough patch.

Now that I think about it, I probably could have made more friends if I had actually called the numbers I had been given. The other temps I worked with in the various jobs seemed to have the unspoken bond of people who do what they need to do to survive, to not have to go back where we came from in defeat. Even if it means mindless, repetitive tasks that would otherwise drive the college-educated (or otherwise non-robotic) completely barmy, like removing staples, stuffing envelopes or packing boxes.

And as Troy joked to me, all else failed, I could try stripping. After all, Portland has the most strip clubs per capita in the country due to interesting, lax zoning laws.

Anyway, I digress. It was almost Christmas. My parents were asking if I was coming home or if I was going to the big shindig in Las Vegas at my Uncle Rene's new place. I hesitated, not wanting to go home lest I guilt myself into admitting that I had managed to lose a job within the first three months of living in Portland. I ended up compromising by going to visit the family in Vegas on New Year's weekend. Since I was working as a temp, I did not have any paid time off available, so I ended up leaving Friday night after work, taking the Red Line MAX to the airport, Northwest Airlines to Las Vegas and then coming back late Sunday night, New Year's Day.

At this point, I was working at Aetna Disability taking calls from the injured, the sick, the depressed, the injured/sick and depressed. As a temp, I was put in what was known as "temp row" which was almost across the floor from the rest of the mixed business intake team. After I accepted a permanent assignment there, I got moved into their row and then when we moved upstairs from the fifth to the ninth floor, I was pretty much in the center of everything... which made it hard to concentrate sometimes.

As far as transportation was concerned, I usually caught the 14 Hawthorne downtown in the mornings on 16th, across the street from my studio apartment. I ended up moving in with my friend Emily a block over around 17th and Madison, which didn't change my commute much. After work, I would just walk, crossing Hawthorne bridge, hearing the bikes whiz by, watch the boats pass under the bridge, wait as the larger boats crossed the bridge as it was raised.

On Fridays I would take leftover bread from my almond butter sandwiches and feed the Canadian geese. Sometimes I tricked myself into thinking I had managed to tame them. Then one would bite my fingers to let me know otherwise.

Sometime in March I got a bicycle. It was a beautiful TARDIS-blue (yes, I'm a Doctor Who nerd, deal with it) mixte Concorso frame with Campagnolo brakes, wheels and derailleur. Damned if I know what all that means. I just know that my current coworkers pointed out that some of the parts on the bike were older than me.

At first it sort of sucked, having to get used to being sweaty and cold at the same time since all I had that was weather-appropriate was a waist-length leather jacket. My other coats were too long and would get caught in the gears. Then I got used to it, glad that I didn't have to worry about waiting for a bus, missing a bus, or having a bus pass me by because it was too full of passengers to take any more.

I love crossing Hawthorne Bridge to get home after work. While car traffic is jamming, I just cruise by. If I were brave enough and there weren't as many pedestrians or other bicycles on the bridge, I'd try to ride no-handed, pretending I was flying across the Willamette. Even going uphill here isn't that bad (except for a few spots which are easy to go around). Sometimes I'd go on night rides on my bike up to the Mt. Tabor area, although I haven't developed the fortitude to go all the way up yet. Going downhill is like flying, but a bit scary once you hit Hawthorne Boulevard again due to car traffic. Although it isn't as heavy as it is during the day, it's still a bit unnerving to have to grind the brakes once a light turns red or if a car comes seemingly out of nowhere.

It's sort of odd how many times I've walked down Hawthorne, either to go home, go pick up groceries, go shopping, go to a coffeeshop like Chance of Rain or the Fresh Pot or go to a movie at the Bagdad or Cinemagic. If I was a territorial beast, I would pick this street and the surrounding residential streets as my patrol. That's pretty much what I do anyway. Like clockwork, I pick up produce at Uncle Paul's tented produce stand and other groceries from the Safeway just down the road on weekends. I've watched shops close and open, a church get razed to the ground (heaven knows what they're building there now), all from the comfort of the sidewalk.

On the other side of my neighborhood is Belmont, a sort of sweet little sister to Hawthorne. Home of Opposable Thumb, Paradox Cafe, Saint Cupcake, the Avalon Nickel Arcade, Pine Street Biscuits and various other cafes, pubs and shops. There's also a cemetery I like to stroll in on misty weekends to indulge my former pseudo-goth proclivities.

Granted, I could get most places on foot, but I do love my bicycle.

I currently work at SurveyMonkey.com in the Pearl District. My commute has not changed much except I get to go down the West Bank Esplanade on my bicycle every morning and watch the sun rise over the East side and the Willamette River. I like looking at the bridges, especially Burnside since it reminds me of a mix between castle turrets and a lighthouse. I turn after Burnside Bridge, where quite a few people take shelter for the night in sleeping bags and piles of cardboard. I usually pass the Japanese American and Bill of Rights Memorial before reaching the stoplight. It's an austere setting with large craggy rock sculptures with names (and the Bill of Rights) hewn into the rock.

Is it just me, or is it a bit disturbing to have a "Bill of Rights Memorial?" I wasn't aware that our first ten amendments of the Constitution were dead... Ok, maybe I was aware, but I wasn't aware that it had been made "official."

Sometimes my bike jars a bit as I ride over the MAX line tracks. My second wreck and repair was on account of my rear tire getting caught in a streetcar railing. Seriously, when my bike's hurting, I feel it too.

As I cruise through the Pearl District, I see (and narrowly avoid at times) trucks delivering their goods to the various retailers and restaurants here. I pass by the Powell's Technical Bookstore as well as the City of Books. There's also a smell of freshly baking bread wafting through the air as I ride by since the Pearl Bakery is gearing up for another busy day right across from the technical bookstore. I have to admit that the smell of freshly baking bread is a more welcome one to wake up to than that of raw sewage (which occasionally emanates from vented manholes in the street as well as along the riverfront).

It's always a bit of a harsh reminder to bike from Old Town to the Pearl, just because they bleed into each other, but starkly contrast each other. For one thing, Old Town has a good crowd of homeless people sleeping in doorways, pushing shopping carts full of their earthly possessions and cans and bottles to recycle for cash, as well as people lined up with food stamps in front of stores. Then there's the Pearl District, full of specialty shops I can't afford, the large bookstore and the Whole Foods down the block on Burnside. Also what's interesting is that Old Town includes Chinatown, but it just seems like sort of a ghost town. I recall someone mentioning that most of the Chinese population sort of migrated to 84th street. Just like I know there's a predominantly Eastern-European population on the Southeast side near Foster.

I just wonder how far the polishing, "pretty up Portland" machine will go. There are always glossy new towers of glass and steel going up. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that since I do like the older buildings. Still, I hate how decrepit they seem to be getting. There has to be a way to preserve the older historical buildings and still appease the condo-developer, urban hipster crowd. I guess the New York Times is right about how there's a new flight from the suburbs to the city. Part of me can't help cringing whenever I see a young, attractive couple with what I like to refer to the "SUV of Strollers," one of those large monstrosities with huge tires and enough storage capacity to go grocery shopping and fit at least two kids. Then again, I'm not a breeder. I just hope that I don't get priced out of my apartment in the next few years.

Once again, I've digressed. The conclusion for now is that I enjoy my morning commute, crossing the bridge, cruising along the riverfront and navigating through the alphanumerically-ordered streets.

I also recently purchased a subscription to Zipcar, so when I have friends visit from out of town, I have a way to shuttle them or go to the coast should we choose. I'm quite amused that they have hybrid options. The new hybrid Honda Civic is pretty damn sexy. Still, I sort of miss the loud rumble of a full fuel-combustion engine.

At any rate, the conclusion, if there's one to be taken from all this, is that there are a whole lot of ways to get around in Portland... and I haven't even referenced the "slutty" ways of getting around in Portland either!