Sometimes graffiti is good. This is on the back of the bar down the street from our house. The parking lot? It's full of big Dodge trucks and SUVs. This bike thing is looking better all the time. I figure I'm riding about 65 miles in my weekly commute.
Our gussied-up kitchen is on a remodeled homes tour this weekend (ours is that first bullet point), and we figured getting out of dodge would be more fun than hanging out while Wiley loses his ever-loving mind as a bunch of strangers tromp through the house. Which explains why we're at the coast tonight for the start of a weekend away.
Which brings me to the point of this evening's post: I've noticed a lot of different smells and sounds -- just senses and sensations, in general -- lately. (Who says it's only Amy's sense of smell that's heightened because of being pregnant? Wiley's sniffing this pet-friendly room up and down, too, like you wouldn't believe.)
Sitting here, not quite ready for bed yet, I'm finally mentally unplugged enough to realize the steady hum I've been hearing is not traffic, not the port, not the train depot. It's just the rolling crash of wave upon wave a few dozen yards from here. It's a little mesmerizing now that I'm in tune with it. Clearly, I've been too wound up at work if it took several hours and finally muting the TV for that to register. Still, nice, eh?
And I've noticed lately, too, on my long rides home from work each night that I'm not just seeing, but also smelling things I never would have before. One part of my ride smells like a bakery -- like fresh bread, specifically -- but I'm pretty sure there's no bakery nearby. There's also one part, down just a couple of feet off the riverfront in downtown Portland, where I can smell the fresh water -- part river, part current, part fish, part air sweeping across it. I keep hoping the dudes fishing there on the esplanade don't rear back with their gear and snag me or some other passerby one of these evenings with a big ol' hook.
I've been riding my bike to work for five weeks now, and tonight was the first time I didn't ride home. It felt weird not seeing my bike parked there near my desk during the work day. It felt weirder not to get on it to head home when the day was done. That was because while this morning I rode to MAX, light-railed it downtown, and then biked to work as usual, around 10 a.m. I pedaled over to River City to drop my ride off for a tune-up. So Amy picked me up downtown after work and we drove straight to the coast. And as we sat in rush-hour traffic, alternating between the gas and the brake, checking the rearview to make sure no one was coming up fast, I realized it's been a while since I've been behind the wheel of a car for any extended period of time. Felt kind of weird.
Of course, so did nearly getting doored (see entry No. 1, mom) on Interstate during my ride home yesterday. So did the two head-up-their-asses pedestrians who yelled at me yesterday when they were jaywalking or generally stumbling around clueless. So it's not like biking is all bliss. Though I am liking it.
But this weekend, it's nothing but the beach ahead of us. And we've got perfect weather, too. Today was in the 90s in Portland. Tomorrow's supposed to be in the 80s here. I'm looking forward to the feel of the sand between my toes.
And the smell of the ocean.
And the taste of that taffy.
And, through it all, the sound of those waves.
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