March 1, 2018
Pre-dawn on the Ross Island Bridge
Portland is a far throw from the Balkans, and this entry doesn’t really have much to do with this tour. It was an interesting and unusual morning though, and one I want to remember.
This morning’s ride was a do-over for the ride I had in mind earlier this week. My intent was to get out the door early and bike across the Ross Island Bridge in the dark, so that I could get a better look a Tilikum Crossing. I’ve been admiring the view of this bridge, illuminated at night, as we’ve been driving back to Stacey’s (our Air B&B of the moment) after the evening’s showing at PIFF, the Portland international film festival.
The Ross Island Bridge is a bit scary to drive across - four narrow lanes, always busy with 40 mph traffic - and all I’m able to do from behind the wheel of the car is to sneak quick side glances at the bridge between gaps in the oncoming traffic. It looks like obviously the best view of Tilikum Crossing though, and I’ve been vowing to come back on the bike with the camera some morning.
Tuesday was to be the day. I planned on getting out before six and biking across the bridge and having breakfast across the river at JoLa Cafe. When I woke up in the morning though and saw that it was raining and near freezing, I thought better of it and rolled over next to Rachael to warm up and sleep in a bit longer. I still got in a nice ride and breakfast At the JoLa Cafe, but there was no point biking across the Ross Island Bridge after the lights went out on Tilicum Crossing.
Today is much better. It’s dry, windless and a cozy 37 when I wake up at 5:30. This is the time. I’m out the door a bit before six, retrieving Rodriguez from Stacey’s garage. Sunrise is about 6:45 now, and it’s only about a mile to the east end of the Ross Island Bridge, so I should easily get there while it’s still dark enough to get a good look at Tilikum Crossing. My plans are almost thwarted though when I narrowly avoid being held up by a mile-long, slow moving freight train. The barricades are just beginning to fall as I cross the tracks.
As I was saying, the Ross Island Bridge is a bit scary to drive across. It would be impossible to bike across except for the reasonably wide sidewalk, which fortuitously is on the north side of the bridge so it gives a good view of the city.
Even on the sidewalk though it’s a bit unsettling to bike across, especially in the dark. It’s a long bridge, a bit over a mile. Traffic going my direction is essentially nonstop, with morning commuters rushing into the city. There’s a constant, disorienting roar on my left shoulder, as well as a sharp drop off into the traffic lane. On my right, there’s a two hundred foot drop to the river, screened off by a too-low concrete railing. Once you get past the river there’s still a long drop, but this time to the interstate freeway. The sidewalk is a bit uneven, a bit gravelly. There’s really nothing to like about this as a bike route.
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Except for the view. The view is every bit as great as I hoped it would be, and well worth doing this once. It is great getting a complete, unencumbered view of Tilicum Crossing; and it’s also great to see it on such a still morning when the bridge is mirrored by the glassy Willamette River.
Actually, it might be worth doing a second time someday. The colors of the bridge are computer driven, controlled by an algorithm affected by river temperature and flow. I’ll have to come back again in the summer, if I can make myself get up that early, and see it with a different palette. I’d probably have to get out here before five, but at least the traffic shouldn’t be as bad at that hour.
So, that behind me, I head back to JoLa’s for breakfast. I lean Rodriguez against the tree, reach for my pannier to pull out the bike lock, and come up empty handed. No pannier. No lock. No money. No breakfast.
Irksome.
We live in the attic at Stacey’s. It’s a bit of a production getting out the door, because we don’t wear shoes in the house in order to protect her floors. We leave our shoes at the bottom of the stairs when we come in, and squat on the narrow, cramped stairs to put them on again when we leave. I recall setting down my pannier by the door when I put my shoes on this morning, so I’ve apparently forgotten it there.
Nothing to be done but to head back home. I could probably get breakfast, because I’ve memorized my credit card number (I’ve done this before, and was happy to find out it works if you find the right person to interact with); but I don’t have my iPad either (it’s in the bag), so there’s nothing to read. And anyway, I want the assurance of finding the bag again.
So, back to Stacey’s. It’s a nice ride, it’s not cold, and as compensation I get to enjoy the fireworks as a few hundred crows explode into the sky from the crown of a tree ahead of me.
Crossing Tilicum Crossing, I realize that I didn’t leave the bag on the stairs after all. The barn is secured by a combination lock, and I can’t read it in the dark. I remember fishing my phone out of the bag on my way to the garage, so I could use its flashlight. Anxious now, I bike a bit more seriously and wonder if I’ll have to backtrack this morning’s ride to see if it’s dropped onto the sidewalk somewhere, somehow. Please, no - I’ve lost my wallet twice in the last few years and really don’t want to go through that again.
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Back at home again, I sat around by the heater for awhile until Rachael was ready to leave on her own ride. She’s been having some navigation issues starting out from our new location, so I agreed to start out with her until we hooked up with our normal route out to the Columbia. After that we went our own way, as I split off to find some long overdue caffeine and a spot of breakfast.
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It was grey and borderline damp when I stopped in at Blend Coffee; but an hour later it was beautiful and almost warm - some of the nicest cycling weather we’ve seen lately. I biked out to Rocky Butte, one of Portland’s volcanic outposts, to enjoy its views along the Columbia; and then returned to the apartment to complete a fairly lazy but very pleasant training ride.
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