Then

Before moving to Portland in 2002 we lived in Salem, about an hour’s drive south.   It’s where we met a decade earlier, when Rachael hired on with the computer division I worked for.  By the late 90’s we were starting to come up to Portland on occasion for a change of pace.  Maybe once per month we’d drive up to Portland, stay overnight at a downtown hotel, and enjoy an urban escape.  Typically we’d stay somewhere downtown, often at what was then the Day’s Inn (now Hotel Zags); have dinner and see a show or play, walk down to the Bijou on 3rd Avenue for breakfast the next morning, and head home.  A few times a year we’d come up with the bikes, typically taking the train one direction and biking the other.

About 25 years ago we were up for one of these weekends and went to a show at the old 5th Avenue theater.  We drove right to the theater and parked on the street, in front of Morton’s Steakhouse - maybe we were late for the show and needed to park somewhere nearby.  When we came out afterwards though, the car was gone.  We’d been in a hurry when we parked and I hadn’t read the meter correctly.  We weren’t parked in an available space, and we got towed away.  At the time I think it was the first time I’d ever had a car towed.

I forget now how we figured out what to do, but I think I went into Mortons and asked what happened to cars that got towed.  They directed us to the lot they get towed to, in the NW district beneath the Fremont Bridge.  Maybe we called the city and confirmed this, or maybe we just started walking.  I think it was raining, but I’m sure it was dark and getting late.  It was close to a two mile walk.

This is a night we’ve talked about many times since then.  We remember it as an unnerving experience, and just a bit scary.  In the late 1990’s this part of town was still mostly industrial, a warehouse district - poorly lit, unsavory.  One thing that startled us though was coming to a small upscale residential area - a few townhouses, a well lit oasis in the middle of all of this darkness.  What are these people doing living here, we wondered?  Who would want to buy here?

About four years later, we’d be living just across the street from that well-lit oasis, looking down on it from the window of our new condo.  Those townhouses were some of the earliest development in what became the Pearl District, and within a year of when we were there the neighborhood sky was filled with cranes.  I imagine the building that would become our future home must have been just about t break ground.

Our car was there, fortunately.  I don’t remember if we were staying overnight but probably we just hit the freeway and drove home, bemoaning our luck along the way.

Now

I forget why now, but a few days ago we were driving past what I think must have been where our car had been towed to.  I mentioned it to Rachael at the time, and we had a good laugh recalling the memorable night.

Also a few days ago, Rachael needed her drivers license for identification for some reason, and realized she doesn’t have it.  After an extensive search we concluded it’s been lost.  We don’t know for sure, but we think it’s likely that it was in one of those two suitcases UPS lost back in Nice.  She needs it replaced, so she walked down to the downtown DMV to apply for one.  She came back disgusted after finding out that the downtown DMV is only open for appointments on Thursdays and Fridays, a nice fact that could be included on their website.  So she’ll head back down Thursday.

Today though, Wednesday, she has a 9 AM doctor’s appointment over on the east side.   She’s not driving since she doesn’t have her license, but I’m happy to run her over.  First though there’s time to drive down to Cafe Umbria for breakfast.  I’ll set an alarm and head back in time to swing by and pick her up.

At 8:20 the alarm goes off so I pack up, leave Umbria, and head for the car.  The car’s not there.  At first I’m afraid it’s been stolen (Portland is such a hellhole now, we’ve been reading in the papers for the past many months, so that’s the first fear that comes to mind).  So it’s actually a relief when I see a sign posted that I missed before, and the space is temporarily closed to public parking.   It’s temporarily posted as a tow-away zone.  Better than having the car stolen of course, but still - hell.

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Ron SuchanekOne night I parked in a tow away zone. When I got back the next morning, the entire area was gone.
-Stephe Wright
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2 years ago

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I have no idea where the car is or how to get it back, but the first thing is to call Rachael, share the bad news, and advise her to call for a cab to get to her appointment.  Then I start researching how to retrieve the Raven.  A few things have changed over the last 25 years, and the procedure is different now.  First, you have to find out where your car has been taken.  There’s an app for it, one in use nationwide, I think.  You enter your state and car license number or VIN, and if it’s been registered here you’ll learn where it is.  Our’s isn’t registered, so I call the city and ask if they know where the car is.  They confirm that it’s been picked up, but apparently hasn’t been recorded in the system yet and probably isn’t ready to pick up.  I’m advised to check back with the website in a half hour or so.

9 AM, and it’s been recorded.  The website gives me the name and number of the towing company, so I can call them and get more detail.  I call the tow company, they confirm they have the car, and give me the address - it’s only about six blocks from our apartment.

They also tell me I’ll need an appointment to pick it up, because the lot isn’t manned continuously.  When I show up though I’ll need my drivers license and proof of ownership - the registration, or the title.  That throws me, because I forget for sure where the registration is.  Maybe in the car, but I don’t remember for sure.  I know where the title is though - in the safety deposit box at our bank, around the corner from Elizabeth’s condo.

I look for the safety deposit box key, but can’t find it.  It’s not where we used to keep it, but maybe it’s in Rachael’s purse?  She’s at the doctor’s though, on the east side and not really reachable now.  Elizabeth though - she has a key, because we share the box with her.  She can go get it for us.  I call Elizabeth, but she doesn’t answer.  Nothing to do but wait.

Finally though, everything falls into place.  Elizabeth’s calls me back and will be glad to go get the title for me.  I walk over and pick it from her, and then walk over to 1625 NW Raleigh, where hopefully the Raven is caged and waiting to be set free.

It’s the same place as the last time our car was towed.  The towing company has apparently been sweeping cars off the street and bringing them here for at least the last 25 years.  The place looks as I remember it, and the street feels as sketchy as it did back then - worse, possibly.

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After I hand over my license and the title, I’m told I can drive off with the car after I first hand over $212 ; which I of course do.  As I turn to leave, he alerts me that I’ll find a parking ticket on the windshield - first the city tickets it, and then they flag it for towing.  Double whammy.   Before I leave, he helpfully points out that the city parking ticket will double if not paid within a month.  Good to know.

An expensive start to the day then: $212 to the towing company, $85 to the transportation department, $25 to Radio Cab.  Not a disaster though - the first tow in the last 25 years, the second of my life.  With luck this should do me for the duration.

Also, a complement to Rocky.  When I told her I’d carelessly frittered away a chunk of our retirement she didn’t beat me up for it.  She must have figured I’d chastised myself enough already without her piling on.

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