Rambler Ride Report and Review

Road Gravel Trail

Up down all around on a 

Right Proper Ramble

Yesterday I finally got out on my Ocean Air Cycles Rambler for a "real" ride. I built this bike up in October, and since then have put nearly 1K miles on it. It's broken in and kitted out, with the fit dialed in. But nearly all those miles have been on my 24-mile round-trip pretty flat commute, and I've been itching to see how the Rambler handles what it's made for and what I most love riding; mixed terrain with a fair amount of "profile." The verdict? It's everything I hoped it would be, and a wonderful machine, with the perfect balance of lively feel and stable handling. 

I got a late morning start in cool calm weather; we've been locked into a pattern of fog, low clouds, and temps in the upper 30's for days. I threw some food in the handlebar bag (dates, an apple, and a sizeable bag of Christmas cookies and a dark chocolate bar) and was off. My loose plan included some quiet climbs in the West Hills of Portland, ending in Forest Park before crossing back over the Willamette River on the St. John's Bridge and heading through the east side to home. 

My route headed over the south shoulder of Mount Tabor, and I decided to head up to the top to check out the view and test out my legs. 

Tabor is in my neighborhood, and between running, walking the dog, and riding, this was my 4th trip up in 5 days. Nearing the summit I took a short steep gravel pitch rarely used by bikes, and with the White Industries 44/28 crankset and an 11-34 9-speed cassette, the climb was smooth and the Soma B-Line tires hooked up just fine. I dropped off the hill on fast gravel and didn't even think about the Rambler's handling; it went where I wanted with little input and no twitchiness.

I meandered through southeast to the Eastmoreland neighborhood, joining the Springwater trail at 42nd. I crossed the Willamette on the Sellwood bridge and headed up the 2nd climb of the day through Riverview Cemetary. This is one of my favorite climbs, and the Rambler felt comfortable and light as I meandered up the hillside to the top. 

I still felt fresh at the top, which was good because Next up was Council Crest - at about 1100 feet the highest point in Portland. A traverse along Terwilliger brought me to Westwood, and the narrow winding route to Fairmount Drive, which circles the hill. In places the old concrete roadbed resembles cobbles, and I passed one rider patching a pinch flat on his skinny tire - a fairly common sight on this popular climb and descent. After checking to make sure he had what he needed, I continued up, entering the fog near the summit.

 With no view and the temperature near freezing (though fortunately windless) I grabbed a quick snack and started down the first real "bomber" descent of the ride. With its sweeping turns and long drops, it's easy to reach speeds in the mid-40s on Vista, and I let the Rambler go as much as I dared. My braking had nothing to do wth the bike's handling, but my own hesitation on the damp pavement. It was here I really appreciated the performance of the Paul centerpulls with Kool-Stop salmon pads. The brakes have plenty of stopping power, but with no grabbing or squealing, and modulation was excellent; it took minimal effort to keep my speed in check, and I was soon downtown and rolling through the bustling shopping district of Northwest 23rd, trying to regain some heat after the chilly descent.

 I warmed up soon enough as I climbed Thurman to Leif Erickson Drive, the wide gravel route that traverses the west hills for nearly thirty miles through the heart of Forest Park. On a Sunday, Thurman is lined with cars for blocks before the gate at Leif Erickson, the most popular entry point to the park, which gets heavy use by runners, dog walkers, and mountain bikers heading in to ride the Firelane 5 loop. The crowds thinned the deeper I got into the park, until by the mile 3 marker I felt I nearly had the park to myself, and the only sound was the occassional train whistle from the tracks along the Willamette at the base of the hill. 

Leif Erickson is pretty rocky in places, and I was gettting a litle jostled and was tempted to bleed some air off my tires - I was definitely riding more pressure than I needed. But knowing the path smoothed further in, I decided to keep riding, and I soon left the roughest sections behind and  continued on gravel, wet leaves, and light mud, with no traction issues at all. After six miles in I reached the junction with Saltzman road, and turned left to climb this gravel route to the top at Skyline Boulevard. 

After nine miles of mostly uphill gravel, I was glad to reach pavement and the end of the climbing I had planned for the day. After climbing to nearly at the same elevation as my high point on Council Crest, I was back in the fog, and since Skyline is narrow and has relatively heavy traffic, I switched on the Luxos U headlight/Pixeo taillight for my short traverse to Germantown Road and the second big descent of the day. A fast, chilly, swooping descent soon brought me to Highway 30 and the St. John's Bridge, where I took the lane for the crossing back over the Willamette. 

At this point I had planned to meander along the bluff on Willamette Boulevard past the University of Portland and get home through inner east Portland. But I was feeing surprisingly good after the big climbs. The Rambler really had disappeared under me and it was nice to not be thinking about comfort or mechanics. I just wanted to put down more miles on this ride. So I grabbed a cup of coffee and refilled my water bottle at Burgerville, and turned left instead of right to head out to Kelly Point Park, where the Willamette joins the Columbia River, and the big container ships pass on their way to dock or sea.

. 

After a quick couple of photos, I finally pointed east toward home and the long flat ride out Marine Drive along the Columbia. 

I was getting a little tired and had some difficulty finding a good flat cruising gear. (Warning: it's about to get even more bike-geeky) With my current gearing, I stay in the big ring except for long and/or steep climbs. and on the flats I'm almost always in the 17 or 20 tooth cog. So I float between about 57 or 67 gear inches, and I need something in the low 60's like an 18 or 19 would provide. This ride had some fairly stiff climbing, and I don't think I ever used the 34, so a closer spaced 11-30 or 12-34 cassette should work fine for most of my riding.

I ended the ride with the sun finally peeking beneath the low clouds as I climbed beside the future home of the Gateway Green bike park. 

I gave brief thought to a detour west on Prescott for the pumpy climb up Rocky Butte. But my legs were getting noodley, my throat parched, and the sun about to set. I put off Rocky Butte for another day and pointed for home.
Here's a map of the ride:

And the link to map data is here.

Final thoughts: Before building this bike up, I had a nagging fear that a 650b bike would be slow and clunky, despite all I'd read to the contrary. But the Rambler has been a dream to ride, putting all my fears to rest and fulfilling all I hoped this bike could be. This is my first foray into the world of 650b. Before building it up and taking it for that first test ride I had never swung a leg over a 650b bike. I saved for several years for a bike like the Rambler, considered going with a custom bike, and was almost dead set on a 700c road bike. But the more I read and talked to others, the more I realized that for my size (I'm 5'8") and style of riding, a 650b Rando-style bike could truly be as close as I could ever get to the One Bike To Rule Them All. Talking with Rob Perks at Ocean Air, first by email and later in person, only confirmed my desire to go with the Rambler. The bike is thoughtfully designed, light and comfortable, and noticebly more springy and "alive" than my Soma Double Cross or Lemond Poprad, both built with oversize tubing. It makes me smile every time I ride it.

Some notes about the build. I've been wanting to build my own set of wheels for awhile, and my wife gave me a wheelbuilding class at Sugar Wheel Works for my birthday. Jude was a great teacher, and I had the wheels made before I had the frame in hand. I used Pacenti PL-23 32-hole rims with a SON generator front hub and a White Industries T11 rear hub. Inspired by Rob's commitment to keep the Rambler U.S. made (by Zen Fabrications here in Portland), I went that route where it made sense as well, most notably with the White crankset. Other build details include Nitto 44cm Noodle bars that I wrapped in a Harlequin pattern with shellaced brown/yellow cloth tape, My old Brooks Pro saddle mounted on a Ritchey-branded Nitto seatpost, Chris King red headset, SKF square taper bottom bracket, and Dura-Ace downtube shifters. The front rack is a Nitto Mark's Rack, the handlebar bag is an Acorn Boxy Rando bag transferred with the saddle from my old Nishiki Riviera GT touring bike, and I mounted Berthoud stainless fenders. Another great touch with the Rambler is the clean internal routing for the wiring, and I followed Rob's directions for running the wiring inside the front and rear fenders as well, protecting the wires from snagging and making for a very clean look. This is also my first entry into generator lighting, and the Bausch and Muller Luxos light is amazing. Most of my daily commute is on an unlit bike path, and this time of year I'm in the dark both directions. Having my route clearly lit up without blinding oncoming riders is nice.

For anyone else considering a Rambler, or entry into the world of 650b road bikes, I say don't wait. This bike really is a companion, the kind of machine that makes me want to explore backroads and roll for miles and miles.

Lots more pictures here:

Orphans

Here's a few Baiku I wrote recently, just lying around on scraps of paper. All composed and recited while riding. Yeah, I get funny looks. I don't care.

Indian summer

Ends with whiskers rimed in frost

And forecast for rain.

Pumpkins carved last night

Front walk blanketed in leaves

Our invitation.

Pavement, gravel, yes

On my Sunflower yellow

Ocean Air Rambler.

Count the syllables

Ram-bler, Ram-bl-er, who knows

Either way I ride.

Riding Going-To-The-Sun Road

Some roads call to me

across years and distance, like

Going-To-The-Sun

My love affair with the western National Parks started when I left high school 2 weeks before the end of my senior year to take a job as a cook at Old Faithful Lodge in Yellowstone. That summer changed me forever. A couple years later I found a National Geographic book about the national parks and first read about Going-To-The-Sun road, the engineering world wonder that bisects Glacier National Park, crossing Logan Pass at the Continental Divide. If ever there was a road that just begged to be ridden, it was this road. Even the name - Going-To-The-Sun road - calls for riders. 

Last week while vacationing with my family I got the chance to ride up and down the west (longer) side of the road, and it was without a doubt one of the most spectacular rides I've ever done. If you have done it, you know. And if not, put it on your list of must-do rides.

Like our trip to Yellowstone last year, and J-Tree earlier this year, I tossed the 1990 Diamondback Apex MTB on the roof rack because it's a reliable, go anywhere, comfortable bike that I'm not worried about hauling over hundreds of highway miles and leaving locked to the rack while doing tourist stuff. I picked it up a couple years ago for $5 as a CL divorce sale, and it's one of the best 5 bucks I ever spent. Only the WTB Rocket saddle and new rubber was added, and after an overhaul it's a pretty fun ride, if a bit ugly. I debated bringing a nicer bike, but in email exchanges with friend Chris B from Bozeman, who hoped to join me for the ride, we discussed the gravel sections (construction) and the benefits of a front triple for climbing. In the end, I ended up going solo (more later), the "gravel" was fine, and I rode almost the whole 12 mile climb on my middle chainring. I was comfortable on this bike for the 46 mile RT, and it was one of the longer rides I've ever done on a MTB.

Going-To-The-Sun road gets a crazy amount of traffic during the height of the season; it's the Old Faithful of Glacier NP, the center of tourist activity. The road is narrow and windy and hugs a cliff face thousands of feet in the sky for a good part of it's length. As a result, bikes are excluded between Apgar Village (west side) and Rising Sun (east side)  from 11 A.M. - 4 P.M. daily. So riders have to plan accordingly and get an early start or be willing to ride at night. I had been told that if you were heading down by 11, you were probably OK since you would be going (at least) as fast as any other vehicles. But I also noticed a couple riders get pulled from the road down in the flat McDonald Creek valley by shuttle Bus drivers. Apparently one of the duties of the shuttle drivers during peak hours is to pull over and load up late cyclists. The shuttles are equipped with fold down front bike racks, and I noticed the drivers keeping a seat or 2 open on "full" shuttles for this possibility. I was determined to avoid this indignity.

We were camped at Sprague Creek campground. I read to plan on 3 hours up from Avalanche, and to add about 45 minutes from Sprague. I hoped this was conservative and I'd be at least a bit quicker. I knew the descent would be much shorter. I hoped a 6 A.M.wake up would have me back near 11, and I ended up real close.

As I said, Chris was hoping to do the ride as well. But he and his family were pulling in Saturday and we were all leaving Monday, which really only left Sunday, and the girls had hike plans.... Plus the weather forecast was deteriorating later in the week (it ended up raining steady from early Friday morning through early Saturday morning - the most rain they had all summer so far.) On Tuesday I ran into Trey, one of my teammates from BRM! I was super-surprised since I had no idea he was there. He was staying at the lodge for the week with his wife and daughter before heading to Canada. He said he was planing on riding Going-To-The-Sun the next morning. I thought about inviting myself along, but we had family hike plans up at Logan Pass. It ended up being a beautiful day, and he had a great ride. That fueled my desire to get up there before the weather turned; it looked like needed to be Thursday or bust.

After breakfast and ride prepping I was on the road at 7, shortly passed by one cyclist on a road bike, and just past Avalanche watched him catch the tail end of a short line of cars following the pilot car through the construction zone while I was flagged for a 10 minute wait. This construction ended up being a good thing. I was worried about traffic on the ascent, but it was surprisingly light in the morning so I had the road nearly to myself for the whole way up. But also, because of the flagger, the cars would come in small waves about every 15-20 minutes, between five and a dozen vehicles, and then silence until the next wave with virtually no one coming down at that time of day. The forecast was sketchy with possible morning showers and high chance of thunderstorms later. In camp I stepped out to look over the lake and it looked pretty good to the west. But when I mounted up and got on the road heading east, clouds were already building over the mountains and I was afraid I wouldn't finish or get back to camp dry. But as it turned out, it was cool, a little breezy at the top, with a headwind the last couple miles as I approached Logan Pass, but the weather stayed dry.

Past Avalanche Campground the road follows McDonald Creek for about 6 miles of gradual uphill before it leaves the creek and begins the steady 12 mile climb. About 3 miles and maybe 1K up is "The Loop," the only switchback on the west side. There's a bathroom and a main trailhead for the Highline Trail and Granite Park Chalet. From here, it's 9 miles of steady climbing. The valley drops off to your immediate right, and the views just keep opening and you enter alpine meadows and slowly pull level with glaciers that earlier loomed above. 

The climb is relentless, but never steep. The road is a marvel, really. About half way up this stretch is a curve called Big Bend where you can see all the way up to Logan Pass, and the rest of the road ahead. it's breathtaking and a bit daunting. The last 1-1/2 mile, from around Triple Arches up, I started relly feeling it, and the headwind picked up. But it's also when I knew the weather and clock would not turn me back. On the last curve approaching Logan Pass there were a couple mountain goats right there to greet me as I topped out. I snapped a quick picture at sign, then headed to the visitor center for a little sit down and a summit muffin.

 I greeted three other cyclist on top; two who had just come up the east side, and the guy who passed me way down by Avalanche. He didn't seem to have been there for very long, which felt good. I arrived on top about 9:45, and was heading down and opening it on the descent by 10.

Traffic was still pretty light coming up, and NO ONE passed me going down until I hit the valley floor. I hardly touched the brakes, and had one of the funnest smooth and winding descents I can remember. In minutes I was back at the construction zone for another wait, and then rode the final miles back to 

camp.

  McDonald Lodge was one mile before camp, and I happened to glance into the parking lot as I rode by and saw my car! I pulled in and there was my wife and daughters walking across the parking lot from the general store. We walked to the lodge together and I enjoyed a coffee on the porch looking over the lake. It was 11:20.

Note: On leaving Lake McDonald, I got on my bike and stood on the crank and "ping" - broke a drive side spoke. The wheel went wobbly, of course, and I had to open the rear brake to get back the last mile. I almost never brake spokes, but not too surprising on a $5 bike, I guess. Good timing, that.

This bike doesn't have a rack, and only one water bottle cage. I felt like I needed more than I could carry in a seat bag (jacket, food, water bladder, etc) so I wore a Vaude pack, which I hardly noticed. I wore a light Patagonia LS wool shirt and Gi shorts, with Keen sandals on platform pedals - no "bike" clothes at all. 

The ride put a grin on my face that lasted for days, I think. And even before it was done I started thinking about doing it again. After all, I only rode half of Going-To-The-Sun road. Next time I'd like to go up and over. Maybe have lunch on the east side, hang out, and return after 4 P.M. I've also read that it's a fantastic ride by full moon. That would be spectacular!

The Arctic Stella

Back in the Bike Boom

Arctic Cat sold bicycles

Imagine that now!

A couple weeks ago I picked up a scrappy fixer-upper bike from my LBS, Oregon Bike Shop.

James had the bike out on the curb for our neighborhood's "First Friday" celebration in April and I was kind of intrigued, but didn't think any more about it until I returned for the May "First Friday" and noticed it was still there. Beer in hand and with a live reggae soundtrack I gave it a closer look. Just parts-wise it piqued my curiosity with Sylvan pedals, Weinmann concave 700c rims and centerpull brakes, and Suntour deraillers I suspected were upgrades.  I left it there, but returned Saturday morning and brought it home.

Pretty rough, for sure. The paint is rattle-can, and poorly done at that. But notice the chromed fork and stays?

Those are Campy dropouts, btw.

fairly distinctive lugs.

And wrap-around seat stays.

I suspected it was French based on the Nervar Star crankset

and the Pivo stem.

I posted to bikeforums and got some additional pointers about possibilities; I thought maybe Peugeot or Gitane, but Stella came up more than once. After going at the seat tube with some Goof-off, I discovered this:

The bottom rectangle, unfortunately, lost all lettering in my removal or the rattle-can painting. But the top triangle is a Columbus tubing decal used to ID the main tubes (triangle = main "triangle." Full Columbus tube sets used other decals). Looks like this bottom one, but silver:

The large white rectangle would have said "Stella" based on a photo one of the bikeforum members posted.

Or perhaps something else...

Based on this blog post I found from Paul's Bike Shop in Shakopee Minnesota, it looks like I've got an Arctic Cat bicycle, sold by the snowmobile dealer possibly in the late 60's (?) and definitely in the early 70's. Made by Stella bicycles of France. Louison Bobet won the Tour de France in 1953 and '54 riding Stella bicycles. It looks like Arctic Cat carried several models, including green ones like this:

 And cruisers like this:

Arctic Cat also sold some pretty cool mini motor-bikes. It's hard to imagine how pervasive bicycles were during the "bike boom" of the 70's. Maybe more bikes are out there today - I don't know. But for sure the market has become more specialized. Some of the bikes sold back in the day were pure crap, for sure. But you could buy a decent bike at your local hardware store or, apparently, snowmobile shop. Now you need to go to special bike shop to get a decent bike, where trained bicycle "associates" will sell you a bike identical to that ridden in Le Tour, even if all you want is to get out with your kids on Saturdays. My guess is Arctic Cat did not sell the lycra the associate will try to convince you is necessary for efficient and comfortable riding, though I wouldn't be surprised if they did carry wool shirts, which are more practical and comfortable for most riding anyway. We've come a long way, but not necessarily all for good.

May 3

Forty-five degrees
East wind and rain in my face
This is May? Really?

Velo Cult Grand Opening

After a couple of weeks of pretty nasty weather - lots of rain, wind, a bit of snow - it looks like spring is finally here for real. I started my spring break one day earlier than most ("Budget Reduction Days" they call them) and got out for some nice non-commute riding around town. Lots of bright green buds, and the cherry and plum trees are in full glory. Good cruising.

Portland-made wood helmets

Friday evening I rode out to far NoPo to help set up for the PDX Bike Show. It was mostly chatting up vendors and volunteers, with a little banner-hanging and carpet-taping to justify my presence. I made another ride out there Saturday morning for the show. Honestly, it was mostly stuff I'm only mildly interested in, a mix of expensive bikes I don't really want to ride, niche gadgets I don't need (upright bar extensions, cycling skirts, race-changing backpacks) and a couple intriguing items (the retro-shift system designed for cross racing, and wooden helmets (I suppose to go with the local wood Renovo frames and wood Sacro Bosco rims, both of which were also at the show.)

In the back room they had a section for used vendors, and I finally found a 26.8 Suntour XC seatpost for the 89 MB-2. I've been looking for three years, so I was pretty happy;  it's past time to get that bike on the road (and trail). Another guy had a pretty nice 700c rear wheel. Deore LX hub laced to a Bontrager asymmetrical Fairlane rim with a nearly new 11-28, 9-speed cassette. $15. I'm getting ready to build up a new (to me) Soma Double Cross to replace the Nishiki Riviera GT as my commuter/tourer/all-purpose bike (It's getting too hard to find and maintain 27' wheels/tires and 126mm spacing w/freewheels.) Because the Double Cross has 132.5 rear spacing, it can take road or mountain hubs, so while I was mostly just looking for a 9-speed cassette, it's kinda like I got the whole wheel as a free bonus. The guy who sold it to me said it came off his recumbent, and was built by the guys at Sunset Cycles. Nice guy, nice wheel.

But now my "problem" was that I had already scheduled a stop to look at a wheelset for the Soma on my way home. A fellow OBRA member had built a set of XTR hubs up with Ambrosia rims and Phil spokes for his Surly LHT, which he was now selling. It seemed like a perfect wheelset for $200, but I'd spent part of my wad and needed to make a bank run on my way there. Short story: they were gorgeous wheels, I had a good talk with the builder/owner - a great guy, and he accepted my offer of $180. My neighbor took a picture when I rolled up with a grin on my face and wheels strapped on my back.

Later that evening I rode back into the Hollywood district for the grand opening of Velo Cult. It was kind of a re-opening, I suppose, as Velo Cult has, well, legendary cult status in San Diego and SoCal bike circles. Jonathan at bikeportland has background info on the move and opening here, here, and a grand opening recap here. Suffice it to say, the legendary status already seems deserved, and I think this is going to be my new favorite bike shop - and not just because I can get coffee AND beer there.

The space is big and beautiful - the former home of an antique mall. Hardwood floors, lots of wood counters, benches, and tables. The ceiling is open beams with a skylight/cuppola in the center. One thing I like is that you don't walk in the door to a rack of merchandise or the need to negotiate a maze of new bikes. Instead, you step into a large and inviting open space. To your right is the shop area, a wall of tools (like a mural, really) topped by a display of vintage road, track, and cyclocross bikes, with benches and tables for sitting and chatting. to the left of the work area is a retractable drawbridge - a stage to be used for performances and guest speakers. To the left of the entrance is a long beautiful counter with more benches where the beer and food are served. This space is topped by a small collection of vintage mountain bikes. All the merchandise is actually in the back half of the store, with the new bikes against the back wall. All steel, I think. I saw Surly, Raleigh, and All-City Cycles, but they may carry more. No carbon anywhere. Component selection leans heavily towards touring and vintage-y stuff, with a a lot of Brooks, Nitto, Velo-Orange, and On-One (who also just opened North American operations in Portland.)

I had a chance to talk with a couple of the employees, as well as owner Sky Boyer, and all seem truly happy to be in Portland. The grand Opening started at 6, by the time I left at 7 the place was packed. It looked like most of the vendors from the Bike Show had migrated to the opening, and I saw plenty of others from Portland's bike glitteratti, including Martina from Clever Cycles, Kiel "Mr. Bike Train" Johnson, Chris King, John Howe and most of Team Beer, and plenty of others.

Cunningham designed roller-cam brake. Cam plate unhooked so bike could be mounted on display stand

There was a lot of eye-candy to check out, but a couple of Velo Cult branded bikes caught my eye - they looked fully rando-ready, were obviously getting used, were almost certainly employee rigs on display. and they were quite different in several respects. I didn't get pictures of the one in the center of the display, but closer inspection of the head badge showed it was one of Mark Nobilette's frames - in 650b. The other had a couple odd features I recognized - a beefy unicrown fork and a rear roller-cam brake mounted beneath the chainstays. Many years ago I bought a new 1987 Trek 850 mountain bike and it came with a beefy seatstay mounted U-brake. I also know the spacing isn't right to replace them with cant brakes, but you can use roller-cams, which are IMHO awesome brakes. I suspected something and asked Sky about it. Turns out it's a powder coated Diamondback MTB he built up for his wife's first overnight tour. And it's now her favorite bike. Another vote for the awesome and comfy mid-late 80's MTB's!

Velo Cult touring rig - a re-purposed late 80's Diamondback MTB

Comfortable seating in front of the shop area

Beer taps in foreground. Eventually tere will be mexican food as well. And coffee, of course.

Some of the comments on BikePortland when news first broke of Velo Cult's relocation were of the sceptical "another Portland bike shop?" variety, but I think Velo Cult will do well here. Surprisingly, there isn't another local shop like this. Most of our other shops cater either to high end racers or wannabes, or are fixie-oriented. We've got a Specialized concept store, a chain of Trek-focused stores, the big national P-chain, and some small neighborhood selling-a-little-bit-of-everything-everything bike shops. But Velo Cult is something different - It feels instantly comfortable, like the kind of place where you would plan to meet other pre or post ride (I hear they plan to open at 7 on Sundays - smart!) or just to get a bite or a drink and hang out. Of course it's a business and won't survive unless we buy stuff. But the emphasis seems first to be on celebrating the bike and cyclists and the riding life, and then on selling you the stuff you want to make that happen. I find that much more refreshing than the usual experience of stepping in the door to a rack of spandex and a smiling salesperson.

First time Overnight by bike

in which seemingly dumb decisions turn out just fine...

I've been longing - for years - to do an overnight bike trip. I decided this was the summer but with the approach of the new school year, my window was narrowing, until last week when I reached the "now or never" point. To tell the truth, I was scared to go, and finding excuses why I couldn't/shouldn't. But T - bless her - kept prodding, and I knew I'd regret letting my fears of the unknown keep me from this dream. So with a good weather forecast and three days open, I finally packed the panniers. I had a lot of options and still didn't know for sure until the morning I left which I'd choose. I was intrigued by Leafslayer's recent Lolo Pass/east side of Mount Hood trip, but was a little worried it might get too hot on the east side, and frankly wanted a little less solitude for my first trip, especially since I'd be alone.

In the end, I decided to ride the Max light rail to the end of the line in Hillsboro, and head to Astoria and the Oregon Coast via Vernonia. That would give me a chance to ride the 20-mile Banks-Vernonia trail. And if the loaded riding and 1000' climb to Stub Stewart State Park did me in, I could call it good there and head home the next day. This was the route, from the Portland Bureau of Transportation's great bike route site.

Pictures from my trip are here, as well as day-by-day description of my route. I started writing that description here, and realized that where I went/what I did was not the essence that made this trip so special for me. In hindsight I probably rode too much and didn't stop and linger as much as I should have. But I know myself well enough that it doesn't surprise me when I push myself too hard - I ended up covering exactly 300 miles, driveway-to-driveway, in three days. And no, that was not planned, just a kind of freak round number coincidence. I realized that without company - someone to talk to and share the experience with - I was free to do whatever I wanted, and what I really wanted to do was ride. And without having to get home - or anywhere, really - by a certain time, I also realized that someone in reasonably good fitness can ride a lot in a day, even carrying a load. Yes I was tired at the end of each day, but it was a good tired, a satisfied tired, not a dropping from exhaustion tired. For the most part I was glad to be on the bike, and my destinations came when I was glad to get off the bike. In that way, this first bike camping trip was exactly what I hoped it would be.

One thing that finally got me out the door was deciding this first trip would be a learning experiment. Since I've backpacked and climbed quite a bit, I had the gear and experience to travel self-contained. I just hadn't done it by bike. I knew I could always turn around, and if I had some irreparable mechanical breakdown, it wasn't like I would be out in the wilderness. I could get home somehow. The hardest part - truly - was getting out the door. The rest of the trip just unrolled from that first pedal stroke, and it alll went remarkably smoothly for something with little real planning.

Here's a short list of what worked

My Bike: I took my regular commuter, a 1986 Nishiki Riviera GT. Friction shifting, 27" wheels. The ride was smooth, and I had no mechanical issues at all.

Luggage: I have a Bruce Gordon rear rack that carried 2 smallish "vintage" Overland panniers. On front I have a Nitto rack that held an Acorn handlebar bag. Other than strapping my quilt and flip-flops onto the rear rack, these carried everything I needed with room to spare. I forgot to weigh it all before I left, but I did when I got home, and figured that with the food I took and ate, I was probably just under 30lbs when I left home, not counting water.

Sleeping: I took my homemade Ray-Way 2-man tarp tent (left the bug net at home), a ultralight Thermarest 3/4 inflatable pad, and my homemade Ray-Way quilt (strapped on top of rear rack.) I had tons of room under the tarp and slept very comfortably. I had to scout sticks for the tarp the 1st night, but for the second I found a long piece of 1/2" pvc along the road and used the saw on my Leatherman to cut two 4' lenghts which I strapped onto the rack and took to camp with me. But that night I ended up stringing the tarp between 2 trees. For backpacking, I use walking poles to pitch the tent. For future bike touring I can see the value in getting about six 18" sections of aluminum tent pole to avoid the nightly stick hunt.

Cooking/eating: I took my Snowpeak Gigapower stove, which with the cartridge nested inside a Snowpeak titanium Trek 700 pot which nested inside a Trek 900 pot. I could use the smaller pot to brew a bunch of tea and have dinner going in the larger pot. Everything nested together in one nice light compact little bundle. For both dinners I ate Trader Joes Indian food retorts over Uncle Bens boil-in-a-bag rice. Both packages fit in the larger pot at the same time and took about 10-15 minutes to heat. Very tasty, very filling. For breakfast I went with Russ and Laura's suggestion of PBJ wrapped in a tortilla. I also brewed a big pot of tea first thing each morning. During the day I didn't really stop for lunch, but would stop late morning somewhere for coffee and a pastry, then throughout the day munch fruit/nut trail mix (raw nuts), whole wheat fig bars, and maybe stop and get a banana. I felt like I was regularly shoveling food in, which is why I really like handlebar bags.

Water:  I'm kind of a camel. I tank up on tea in the morning and sip throughout the day.  I consciously decided for this trip to only mount one water bottle. I had a pretty good idea I'd never be more than 30 miles from a store or park where I could refill, and only carrying one bottle would force me to get off the bike and maybe also meet some people. For the most part it worked. Surprisingly, the driest section of the ride was the last leg, between Yamhill and Hillsboro, when I was coming back into town. I leaned over the fence and filled up at a nursery irrigation sprinkler.

Clothes: I wore my Keen commuter sandals with light wool socks for riding and they were great. Off the bike I wore flip-flops. I decided for this ride not to dress like a cyclist. It was an NLR (No Lycra Ride). mostly this was an experiment in comfort, but I also had a theory that drivers would see me differently if I dressed like a tourist on a bike as opposed to a cyclist. most of the time I wore lightweight nylon Patagonia Gi II shorts and a puckerwear SS shirt. In the cool of the morning I wore a lightweight Patagonia R1 longsleeve wool zip shirt with my Marmot DriClime windshirt and some nylon running pants. I was as comfortable on my bike as I've ever been - this worked for me. I also had along my old Burley rainjacket; it stayed in the bottom of the pannier.

And I took Bagbalm and used it liberally. It worked - 'nuff said.

As an experimental ride, this was a roaring success. Getting this under my belt has given me a tremendous confidence boost to continue ranging out on overnighters. I scared myself away from returning over the higher and more remote pass up the Nestucca River, opting instead for the longer but more moderate Little Nestucca route. But already, a week later, I'm planning on how and when I can go back and ride that road.

I want to thank Kent (Mountain Turtle) Peterson, Michael (Leafslayer) Johnson, and Russ Roca & Laura Crawford (The Path Less Pedaled) who all, unknowingly, provided inspiration and encouragement with their practical and down to earth trip reports and touring advice, most of which can be summed up by saying, "Don't worry about the bike, don't worry about the gear, just get out there and ride." I did. I will.

In Praise of Ritual

If you are oppressed, wake up about
Four in the morning; most places
You can usually be free some of the time
    If you wake up before other people.

William Stafford, from "Freedom"

When I say to my wife "variety is overrated" and she rolls her eyes at me as she searches her library of cookbooks for a new recipe, that's a telling snapshot of one of the differences in our personalities and one of the great ways we balance each other. I like routine, and while I admire spontaneity, it doesn't come easy to me. I'm also aware that one man's ritual is another's OCD.

I'm a morning person, by necessity and temperament; bike commuting forty-five minutes to school and showering in time to be in my classroom by 8 A.M. means my days start early. I suppose I could sleep until the last moment, throw on some clothes, grab a pop-tart and roll out (for that matter I could do what nearly everyone else does, stay up late watching crap on TV, buy a second car, and drive to work every day). I prefer my ritual.

For nine months of the year, Monday thru Friday, I wake at 5:20, eat a breakfast of organic steel-cut oats, toast, tea, and grapefruit juice. I take my time with this part - it's a ritual, after all - since it's the only time of the day that I'm present and awake and the house is quiet, so I read as I eat. I find this short time is a good time to read short things. For instance, while the bible is a big book, it's easy to read 3-4 chapters a day over breakfast, and get through it in a year. I've done that a couple times and probably will again, but I'll need a new translation to keep it fresh. Recently I've been starting each day with poetry. Several years a go I picked up a copy of the Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry from a free pile left behind by a retiring art teacher colleague. As a recovering English Major, I'm plenty familiar with all things Norton, but I also realized that with the exception of smatterings of Whitman, Eliot, Yeats, and a couple others, modern poetry was an unfilled gap in my education, so I started reading. Three years, 1500 pages, and countless footnotes later, the gap is filled. I enjoy poetry, and looked forward to this ritual; one could do a lot worse than starting each day with oats, good poetry, and a ten-mile bike ride. I'd often think about a poem or run a couple lines in my head like a mantra as I turned the pedals. Usually I didn't, but still found the poems often set the tone for the day. Some poets were hard plowing - like reading Leviticus/Numbers/Deuteronomy in the bible. I know Ezra Pound is a giant of The Canon, but when the explanatory footnotes take up more page space than the text, you know you're in deep waters and you start looking for shore (ie, who's next?) Others, like Hopkins or Snyder, were pure delight, and their poems were the ones that stayed with me all day.

Finishing the anthology probably puts me in some obscure and exclusive group that numbers less than a dozen fools who read The Whole Thing including introduction, author profiles, and all the footnotes. I tell my own students life is too short to read bad books. This was not a bad book, and a ritual I'm glad I did. Next hole to fill: War and Peace?

In Praise Of Unnecessary Errands

The edge of the world
is just across the threshold
the unknown that close

When I was 18 and working as a cook at Old faithful Lodge in Yellowstone Park, I once rode my bike  - a red Montgomery Wards 10-speed - to the town of West Yellowstone for a burger and a milkshake. That was 62 miles round trip, and a couple thousand feet of elevation gain coming back. I was so tired after the climb past Firehole Cascades that I pulled over at a riverside picnic spot and took a nap on a table. But it was a really good burger, and probably one of the most memorably scenic rides of my life.

This last Tuesday I rode 25 miles round trip to buy the new Gillian Welch CD (which I highly recommend, btw). It's not that I needed to ride 25 miles to get it; I could have given my money to the faceless BigAppleiTunesStoreCorporation without leaving my seat. Or I could have done what I normally do and take a short ride in support of my Local Independent Record Store. But I had a gift card from my mom and no pressing business, so I went for a ride. I got some fresh air, saw some good scenery, explored a new trail, supported some artists who I think make the world a better place, and came home with two really fine collections of music (I also picked up Pat Metheny's new CD, What's It All About. Bonus points - name the 60's song he covers that contains the title line, the actor who starred in the original version of the movie, and the actor who starred in the recent remake.)

I don't much like driving, and despise having to run errands by car. But running unnecessary errands by bike, like picking up some great new music, or finding out if the pour-over coffee at Coava really is better than french press (I think it is), or checking out the new food cart pod on the Springwater Trail - those kinds of errands feel more like a blessing, like something that makes my day richer. I am thankful for unnecessary errands that get me out the door and into the world, and that add to my community rather than subtract from it.

Read, Ride, Repeat.

In Laudem

"In Laudem" is Latin for "In Praise of," and I want to use it as a jumping-off point for an exploration of things and experiences for which I am thankful. I had a mini-epiphany yesterday and realized that ignoring the richness of each day was an invitation to discontent. It's a hazard of busy-ness and perhaps a crime against the community - family, friends, neighbors - I share my life with.

Edward Hirsch, in his book Poet's Choice - a collection of poems and commentaries that originally appeared as columns in Washington Post Book World - says that "praise restores us to the world again, to our luckiness of being. It is one of the permanent impulses of poetry." In the same chapter (a discussion of Gerard Manley Hopkins "God's Grandeur" which I wrote about when I began this blog) he quotes Auden, who says, "there is only one thing that all poetry must do; it must praise all it can for being and for happening."

So in that spirit - In Laudem...

Ronde redux

One day in April
De Ronde Portlandia
Hell of the Northwest

For the fourth year in a row I've joined a growing group of local riders for the word-of-mouth "unofficial" De Ronde Porlandia. I wrote about the ride two years ago here. The appeal is hard to explain unless you're the kind of person - like me - who finds a certain joy in climbing hills. If you know the meditative feeling of slowly gaining altitude, you get it. And for me it doesn't matter much whether it's on foot or on a bike. I remember a couple long days on my Nepal trek back in 1980, switchbacking with a full pack up out of valleys for 5000' to reach some ridge top campsite or village. The rhythm of breath and step, the burn in the thighs and salt in the eyes - it's all a reminder of how well the body knows its work. I've climbed lot sof mountains with lots of wonderful people. As a Mazama climb leader I had the pleasure of helping lots of folks make their first real "climb." It seems to me climbers can be divided into two types; the "dashers" who just want to get to the top, and the "plodders" who enjoy moving up the mountain. I'm in the latter camp, and I prefer the company of those who aren't feverish for the summit.

Not many would call "De Ronde" a fun ride, but if you like to go up, there is a joy in sharing the burn with six-hundred other grimpeurs.

The build-up starts in early April when someone forwards the announcement that once again, there will not be an official Ronde on the Sunday following the Tour of Flanders (the inspiration for de Ronde and source of the kitty mascot.) This year the UCI didn't coordinate their schedule with the unorganizers, so the date fell on the weekend of the Amstel Gold, which was perhaps more appropriate for reasons which have to do with certain teams and their malted beverage sponsors. In short, de Ronde is about climbing, but it's also about beer. The day of the ride was mostly clear and windless, with highs forecast for the upper low 50's - perfect. I rode from home, and by the time I hit the NW industrial area, it was like a gathering of the clans, with kitted-out riders converging from all corners of the city. 
I chatted a bit the last few blocks with a long-legged rider on a single-speed Bianchi. He'd never done the ride before. No fooling? De Ronde has been done fixed, but I hear the guy left his knees on Council Crest under a rock somewhere. On this ride, the derailleur is your friend.

College Place

Brynwood

The last three years I rode the Nishiki tourer - it's got fenders and is my only road bike with a front triple. That 26x28 combo comes in handy on this ride. But I also felt like I needed the lower gears to push a heavier bike uphill, and lots of guys ride it all on a compact double. Which I don't have. But I thought maybe the Trek 560 might be fun to ride. It was, but 38x26 was my lowest gear. I was able to ride Brynwood and College, but not without pulling into a couple driveways and spinning short recovery laps gasping like a fish. Still, I was happy to be on something a little more sporty. Besides, steep hills have been tackled on steel for decades.

I heard rumors of a keg at the top (unfounded), but with the team affiliation of the person definitely not responsible for this ride, beer was obviously on a lot of riders' minds.

The person definitely not responsible for organizing this ride

Beer

More Beer

 
Like years past, finishing time was about four hours, and the party on top all smiles.

Hosed

The sun peeked out for a day or two earlier in the week. March set a couple records in Portland this year. Most days with precipitation (30 - the previous record was 27) and latest date to hit 60 degrees for the first time in the year - I think we barely squeaked it in on March 31. but we're back in full wet wintery/spring 40's and wet mode now. In commemoration:

April 14

Low gray sky cold rain
A shivery soggy joy
I'd still rather ride

April 15

Worms on the trail
it's OK I'll weave my way
while you find new homes

Read, Ride, Repeat.

Thaw

Redwing's five-note song
in morning's merciful light
bids winter farewell

Creed

Tarik Saleh says

ride your bike don't be an ass

what more do you need?

Hit and Run

In which I get Smacked in the Head and Dream of Malcolm Gladwell and Al Qaeda

I started this a couple weeks ago. I violates the central Baiku principles of brevity and simplicity, and on a couple occasions I fear skates dangerously close to old-white-guy-manifesto territory. But whatever - I got it out of my system.

Saturday I got out for a longer ride. I had planned on hooking up with some team members for a jaunt out to Sauvies Island, but at the meet-up I found out JB had pushed the start a half-hour later and since my time window was kind of narrow, I headed out alone. At first I figured I’d just stick to the initial destination and maybe we’d cross paths there, but the nice thing about riding alone is being able to follow whims, and some quiet climbing was appealing, so I left Hwy 30 and headed up Saltzman to Skyline, and then out to the “Rocky Rabbit” loop. I ended up being a really nice ride, and I even got to play leapfrog with a small pack of Grundel bruisers.

I returned through St. Johns and right where Willamette Blvd turns into Rosa Parks, I was t-boned and laid out into the street by a runner who crossed without looking up. I was a little bruised, a little mad, but generally OK. The guy was in a hurry and after asking if I was all right, he continued with his run. I guess he was really lucky I wasn’t a car. It was a weird encounter and has me thinking a lot more about the price we pay when cars, bikes, and pedestrians come into conflict.

Last year, 62 pedestrians were killed by cars in Oregon, a big jump from the previous year. I say, “killed by cars,” but the car is, of course, just the instrument. I’m trying to be conscious of my language whenever the subject of car/bike/pedestrian conflicts comes up. The other day I went off (alone, in my head) on a poster on a cycling blog who claimed, “Cars hate bikes.” Whatever. Some drivers really have a hard time sharing the road, and some may even “hate” cyclists as a group. But we dilute the real issue when we lay the blame on an “cars.” A car is just a tool, like a bike or a hammer, and any of them can do damage if wielded recklessly.

That said, I’m also reluctant – especially since my “run-in” with the pedestrian – to lay a blanket of blame on all the drivers behind the wheel of the cars that killed those 60 pedestrians. When a cyclist or pedestrian is hurt or killed by a car, my instinct, like that of many cyclists, is to lay the blame on drivers, assuming inattention, alcohol, phones, or outright aggression. Last week we had a cyclist seriously injured by a driver who turned around to attend to her dog and veered into the bike lane. But Saturday’s encounter was a reminder that quick judgments that always blame the driver are often false, and the whole story is, of course, more complicated. If I had been in a car instead of on a bike when that runner collided with me, and if – God forbid – he’d been killed, it would have been his “fault.” I have to assume that at least some of those pedestrians killed last year made a similar mistake with tragic results. According to Portland police bureau traffic division captain Todd Wyatt, who spoke at the Active Transportation Summit in Portland last week, “most of the people killed last year who were pedestrians, most of the time it's the pedestrian's fault. I'm sorry but I want people to know that so they cross safely." A lot of people view that as an extreme example of victim-blaming, but he’s basing his information on the actual accident investigations.

And if you want to argue his point – ask yourself why. I think for too many of us (passionate cycling advocates) our agenda sometimes gets in the way the truth. What we really all want – and I think most people who drive cars would agree with this – is less people getting hurt and killed on the road. We have to know why it’s happening – beyond the simplistic “cars are coffins” sloganeering – before we can find real solutions. Captain Wyatt may bring a police bias to the issue, but that may also include knowledge from which we all can benefit.

Another story: like most cyclists, I also drive. Last week I had to run some errands in inner SE Portland on a dark, rainy evening. Negotiating the narrow side streets in the most cyclist-dense section of town, with parked cars blocking my view around corners, I was aware of how easy it would be to miss seeing a rider or pedestrian, especially if they were unlit and/or in dark clothing. And if I hit someone, like others drivers involved in similar “accidents,” I have no doubt I’d be vilified by some in the “cycling community.” But I’m one of them too. Aren’t I? Again, it’s too easy, too simplistic, to frame the argument as “cars vs. bikes” especially when most of us spend time in both camps.

Getting behind the wheel of a car is scary – and it should be. I wish more people were scared to drive. Cars can be incredibly destructive machines. I’ll be the first to admit that the consequences of a mistake or aggression behind the wheel usually have far more serious consequences than the same action taken by a cyclist. I dread causing an injury – or worse – to someone while I’m behind the wheel. And it would be no consolation to me if it was the walker or rider’s “fault.” I have no doubt that each driver who was behind the wheel when those 60 pedestrians were killed will never ever forget that moment. It’s a tape that will continue to replay often without warning and beyond will. Some may, in the future, suffer symptoms of PTSD. And who was at fault makes no difference at all – blame brings no peace - in terms of the permanence of the loss to those left behind.

So what do we do? First, we drive or ride or walk like our lives and the lives of others depend on it, because they do. What we do – including how we choose to get around - can and does profoundly affect our community every day. I’ve been thinking a lot about that – especially since reading this: The whole speech is good. But around the middle of page 9, Malcolm Gladwell begins discussing the difference between Private good and Public good, and the importance – the necessity – of investing in Public Good. It’s what Andrew Carnegie did when he built those wonderful libraries we still have all over the country. It’s what Kennedy called for in his famous “What you can do for your country” speech that launched the Peace Corps. And it’s what bike infrastructure is doing in creating safer, healthier, and more livable communities – whether you actually ride or not. Those focused on Private good ask “What’s in it for me?” while those who seek the Public Good know that’s the wrong question, and are willing to give – in time, taxes, and toil – to make their communities better.

The terrorist attacks of 9/11/2001 killed 2819 people. Since that day the U.S. has spent billions upon billions of dollars to make us “safe” from terrorism. In the process, the “War on Terror” has become perhaps the world’s biggest growth industry But safety is, of course, an illusion, and the fact is that even if we hadn’t gone to war in Afghanistan and Iraq, or created a Department of Homeland Security, or started body scanning airline passengers and conducting warrant-less wiretaps – if we had done nothing but bury the bodies and grieve - each of us would still, today, be far more likely to walk out the door and get killed by a car than by a terrorist. In 2008 nearly 38,000 people were killed in car accidents in the U.S. That’s about one every 12 minutes, and it’s the leading cause of death for people between the ages of 2 and 34. The carnage costs each of us about $1000/year, and the total annual bill is about $165 billion. Each year 2 million Americans suffer permanent disability in a car crash.

What’s my point here? And what does this have to do with terrorism (or Malcolm Gladwell for that matter?) 9/11 was a horrific tragedy, and I don’t mean to imply that we, as a nation, didn’t suffer and shouldn’t grieve collectively. And of course we have a responsibility to attempt to ensure that this kind of tragedy doesn’t happen again. But at some point we need to ask the hard questions about how far we’re willing to take our anti-terrorism campaign, and whether what we’re doing is worth what it’s costing us, financially, as well as in personal freedom. For ten years now, it seems as if anti-terrorism measures have received a blank check. Businesses are thriving by thinking up new ways to make Americans “safer” from terrorists, for which the government apparently just takes out another line of credit. But are we safer? Do you feel safer? Does the world look safer? Ten years later, what’s the return on our investment?

In all the discussion regarding the causes and cures of our current financial crises, it’s only recently that anyone is hinting that perhaps we might begin to crawl out of the debt hole by scrutinizing more closely our military spending. I hope this leads us as a country to begin to have the discussion we need to have about what “homeland security” really means.

I would propose that if we’re really interested in protecting American citizens, there’s lower hanging fruit than chasing Al Qaeda around the wilds of central Asia. Instead, it’s time to shift our focus to investing in substantive changes that bring real results that will not only make us safer, but will improve our quality of life and the way our communities feel.

This is where Malcolm Gladwell comes in. In the speech referenced above, and in the introduction to his book Outliers, he talks about the town Roseto, Pennsylvania. This was a place founded by immigrants from Italy and named after their Italian hometown. Gladwell discusses them because of the remarkable physical health of their community. The people of Roseto showed almost no incidence of heart disease, high blood pressure, hypertension, cancer – the things that kill people before old age kills them. And their health, after intense study, could not be attributed to diet, exercise, locale, genetics, or any other medically understood factor. Ultimately, The people of Roseto were found to be healthier because they were a community, in the true sense of the word. They went to church together, raised their kids together, ate together, celebrated together, sat on their porches in the evening together, and grieved together. They lived in little houses set right next to each other and were in constant contact with each other on a daily basis – they lived, in Gladwell’s words, “cheek by jowl,” and the fact that they shared their lives as a community made them physically more robust.

Now Mr. Gladwell doesn’t mention bicycles or sidewalks or cars, but it isn’t hard to fill in those blanks. Today, Roseto is no longer any different than the communities that surround it. It no longer has the unique community feel, and its residents suffer the same health maladies of obesity, diabetes, and heart disease that are killing Americans all over the country. But the lesson they left behind can show us a path to Homeland Security that no amount of military spending can buy.

Ask politicians and transportation officials what their number one priority is and they’ll most likely tell you that it’s safety. But look at how the transportation dollars are actually spent, and it’s pretty clear that safety, while a priority, takes a back seat to the speedy and efficient movement of people and goods. The bulk of transportation money is going to new interstate projects, bigger bridges, and wider freeways – in other words, increasing the car-carrying capacity of our nation’s roadways. And the ugly truth behind this - the truth I suspect we all know but rarely speak – is that the sacrifice of ten of thousands of lives destroyed on our roads each year is a price we have been willing to pay for the privilege of driving wherever and whenever we want. Think about it – just one-hundred years ago car crashes didn’t exist. Now, you would be hard pressed to find someone in this country who hadn’t lost someone close or had a family member permanently disabled in a car wreck. Road carnage is ubiquitous; it’s part of our shared culture now. We drive by, shake our heads, and press down on the accelerator once we’re past the flashing lights.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. City planners around the country are waking up to the improved quality of life offered by intentionally designing roadways to accommodate all users – not excluding drivers, but finally recognizing that community and road planning that leaves out pedestrians and cyclists ends up creating communities that are unhealthy, unsafe, and ultimately self-destructive. Increasingly, people are fleeing the auto-centric suburbs and bedroom communities surrounding our most vibrant cities, and seeking out neighborhoods where they aren’t required – by the design of the community itself – to get in the car every time they need to buy a loaf of bread or want to dine out at a local restaurant.

The time is ripe for transportation planners, elected officials, and community activists to put their heads together and realize that investing in infrastructure that allows people the choice to not drive is a win-win proposition. We create jobs. We create vibrant neighborhoods that people want to live in and businesses want to locate to. We improve safety. We reduce health care costs. We create community – and maybe along the way, we create some new Rosetos – places where people begin to get to know their neighbors, share their streets, and live happier, healthier lives.

A final story. Twice in my life I have been called before a Grand Jury to testify as a witness to a crime. The first time was because I saw a young man toss a handgun in a hedge as a cop was making a U-turn to question him. The cop didn’t see this because he was in a car; I did because I was riding by on my bike. I pointed it out to the officer as he was questioning the young man and when his partner found the gun, the guy was cuffed and taken a way. The second time happened because I was walking in my neighborhood and a neighbor of mine had her money snatched at our local ATM. She yelled, and I chased the woman who snatched the money, shouting that I’d continue chasing until the police showed up. She stopped, the police came, and she was arrested. I told her “not in my neighborhood, you don’t.” Again, if I had been in a car, this never would have happened. My point here isn’t to brag at all – in both situations I don’t remember thinking about what I did; it just seemed like the right thing to do. I was taking care of my neighborhood and my people. But I also know that the chances are slim I would have noticed anything if I had been driving, and if I had, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t have bothered stopping – most people in cars don’t.

I would propose that for a lot less money than we’re currently spending in Afghanistan and Iraq right now, we could begin to create communities where people want to walk and bike. Calming traffic and making streets safer for pedestrians and cyclist means more eyes on the street and less crime. Neighborhoods where people feel safe are neighborhoods where people care about each other, and where they want to protect and foster that feeling of community they are building together. If you ask me, that’s the true definition of Homeland Security.