I ride my bike everywhere.
posted by nate on August 29, 2002
However, for the last two months, I've been riding my poor bike without giving it proper maintenance attention. This resulted in the filthy, gummed-up derailleur going out of whack, which in turn resulted in me nearly getting killed on busy roads trying to do the mad dash between cars.
Heaving all of my weight onto the cranks, a jarring, gnashing, awful sound would signal my impending doom.
Stuck now in the sloth-gear, I must have appeared humorous to the oncoming carnivorous driver, me in slow motion, inching along. "Ha ha! Stupid biker! At last I will destroy you!" Agh! I've got to adjust this when I get home, I remind myself, just escaping death. Of course, I forget.. and continue to do so for months, until it gets so bad my bike hops from gear to gear constantly. This, I decide, is not respectable for a man writing a bike-zine.
Finally, on my way out the door, rushing as usual (I'm perpetually 30 minutes late in life), I decide to give the problem attention. A few seconds and I've rotated the tension adjustment a 1/2-turn and my bike rides so smooth--it feels really weird. How many things in my life are continuously avoided when a few seconds of attention make such a difference? I don't know, I don't have time to think about it. I'm late.. I've gotta go!
Critical Mass, May 2002: There were upwards of 250 people milling about in the North Park Blocks, many waiting in line for Food Not Bombs grub. A young skater is harassed by Portland Police. As Dumpster Dave talks to Joe, I notice his new shirt stating FUK YUR SUV. I chuckle.
We head out, bike bells ringing, people yelping and an air horn blaring: a mild form of the addictive riot euphoria spreading throughout the group. We wander downtown, taking over the streets. This results in a mix of anger and honking support from the people trapped in their cars. We head over the Burnside bridge, across a random side street, down Hawthorne, north on 21st, and then back down Burnside towards the fucked up Sandy intersection. When I arrive, bikes are stalled and scattered, spread throughout the intersection.
This was one of two bottlenecked moments of the ride. We froze the whole haywire-congested mess of an intersection where Burnside, 12th and Sandy meet. Having driven this area many times in the past, I know this is one of the most maddening traffic stops in Portland. You wait forever while the other three directions go once, twice, then your light finally goes green. The cars ahead inch forward. Exhaust and heat fills the air. 10 seconds at most and the light goes red! Again, you watch the other 3 directions go twice.. What the fuck!?
Suddenly this guy snaps. He starts revving his engine. I mean really flooring it.
Black smoke fills the air as he methodically destroys his inefficient combustion engine.
He's yelling out the window at the bikes: "Yeah?! Well, I can express my opinion too!!" All I hear is "See? For every noble thing you do in the world, there's a stupid, ignorant, cynical fuck who'll do an equally (if not more) effective, damaging act, just to spite you."
A group of bikes gather around the car. The driver gets out. Everyone watches as heated words are exchanged. Suddenly a CRACK! knifes through the air. The driver gets this animal look on his face, mixed with uncertainty (what's the evil I'm ready to fight?) Bikes begin to roll down Burnside. Nobody is quite sure what has happened, but everyone is aware that the situation is becoming more dangerous. Word spreads that someone has knifed his tire. "Oh man," I say, "That's stupid! Just ignore the guy! Keep riding for christ's sake. Now the cops see us not only as a traffic impedance, but as vandals. A group likely to bust out into a riot rather than a positive example of city transportation..." (Not to mention the driver probably loathes bicyclists now. I can just see him driving one day, deciding to express his opinion with a flick of the wrist on the steering wheel and BOP, down goes the hapless biker.)
Unbelievably, the cops don't chase us down. We continue our slow ride, onto NW 23rd, the pulsing vein of Portland yuppie consumerism. Suddenly, a similar stop occurs.
As I catch up with the lead, a tattooed, evil-looking jock is exiting his car which is blocked in a minimart parking lot. His daily soda run has been inexcusably delayed!
He weaves through us ominously, then asks "Who's your leader?" Snorts of laughter from the stalled bikers. "Nobody. We're leaderless."
"Who cares?" I retort, "Let's go! Forget this guy.." But he wants a fight. It's as if the euphoria we've created by our simple, bike-driven statement has translated to violence in this guy's head. And if he throws a punch, he's faced with a 250 strong, common-cause-bonded, bike-wielding mob. What a dumbass! We ride around him.
Soon afterward the cops finally show. A kid who has been dangerously weaving in and out of oncoming traffic gets arrested. Pepperspray is brandished. The rear end of the mass shoots off down a side street and continues down to 20th, back to the north park blocks where the ride started.
Suddenly we notice an obese old man breathlessly running after us. He looks livid and is grasping at collars of the bikers in the rear. We're riding just fast enough to pace him. He's putting his all into catching up and knocking us over. (I must destroy this evil band of hooligans!!) Then he yells "I ride my bike to work every day!" What? We pick up just enough speed to lose him. Later I realized this guy was in the car adjacent to the one revving his engine at the Sandy/Burnside intersection..
As the group disbands and the city returns to order, I can't get the image of the incensed, obese bike-commuter chasing after us, trying to knock us down.
To one more person, Critical Mass has become a hated thing.
I know many people who argue vehemently that Critical Mass is nothing more than an irritating, pointless obstruction to their commute home from work. They say they don't want to be in their car but increasing distances between home and work force them to drive. And after they've been at the desk for 8 hours in Beaverton, why should they wait 10 minutes for a band of anarchist bikers to dawdle along in front of them on a major street, blocking all lanes of traffic? The only response I can offer is "But it's fun! You should ride your bike!"
What else is there to say? We all make our own choices in life. Ultimately, it is always ourselves deciding what we do. Granted, the majority of our society mindlessly following the well worn rut of consumerist, petrol-burning, tv-watching existence forces the rest of us to deal with the consequences (ie: the only jobs being in Beaverton.) It can take a lot of effort to not live this way. Riding your bike everywhere is one step, however, and the fact is that it's fun and quite feasible in the city makes me ride Critical Mass, and to hell with all the damn commuters stuck in their cars! It's their own damn fault they're angry.
