I’ve been on a terrible streak lately, forgetting one thing or another as I leave our apartment to go out for coffee or a ride.  Last week I forgot my bike lock before riding over to the east side for coffee with Bruce. Fortunately I realized this on the sidewalk before leaving, so I could just go back inside and get it.  Otherwise I’d have arrived unable to lock up the Rodriguez and have had to beg the establishment to let me park him inside somewhere.

And a few days ago I biked out to the river to look for birds along the Columbia Slough, but forgot the camera.  I was sure I’d see one new bird after another without being able to get a decent shot, but fortunately/unfortunately that didn’t happen.

I’m sure part of this reflects how old I am, but it’s also partly the fault of this stupid apartment we’re staying in.  The lighting is poor, and so is the layout - we haven’t really solved where to place things so they’re easy to gather up when it’s time to go somewhere.  It’s a problem Rachael’s been having too.  So we’re trying to help each other out, reminding each other of things we need to take with us. 
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I’m off to the Caffe Umbria in the Pearl District this morning, far enough away that I’ll bike to it.  I usually go to the nearer one, but they don’t have the savory scones I like and I’m due for some variety in my morning diet.  I’ll have to lock up Rodriguez, so I take the Kryptonite lock that I usually don’t carry because it’s so heavy.  On the way out the door Rachael grills me: Do you have your wallet, your phone, your keys, your camera, your glasses?

Check, check, check, check, check.  I’m gone.

At Caffe Umbria I lean Roddy against the bike rack, fish the kryptonite lock out of the rucksack, and pull the keys from my pocket.  So here’s a new problem - the key to the kryptonite lock isn’t on the key ring.  Sometime between my $1.50 breakfast at JoLa Cafe a few days ago and this morning it somehow slipped off the key ring.  Groan.  Life’s not fair.

I consider alternatives.  I look in the cafe and decide that it’s too crowded for me to impose on them by asking to bring the bike inside.  I decide I can bike the few blocks over to Elizabeth’s leave the bike in the car and walk back for coffee, but I don’t have the car key.  So I bike back home, comforting myself as I climb back up 12th with the fact that at least I’m getting a few more miles in before breakfast.

At home, I look everywhere I can think of - on the usual shelves and counter tops, in the back of bike shirts, in pants pockets.  No luck, and I’ve about decided my kryptonite lock is now useless because we lost the second key to it long ago, when in a brain flash I think back again on what happened at JoLa Cafe: after unlocking the bike, I put the keys in the pannier so I wouldn’t lose them on the road.  I fish around in the pannier, empty everything out, and finally find the key on the bottom.

So I’m gone again.  Three blocks later I’m biking down 12th Avenue racing the lights when I realize that now I’ve forgotten my helmet.  I’m not going back again, but at least I slow down a bit and bike more carefully.

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So am I forgetting anything else?  Oh, yeah - the map.  It’s a new tour.  Where are we going this time?  Somewhere in Spain, I think.

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