Logorrhea

January 4, 2025

For another day that was mostly a rainout, today was surprisingly full. I got out for an unexpected walk first thing in the morning and then occupied myself for much of the afternoon with decluttering the storage unit a bit more. But filling in the gaps today as it has for at least a week is dealing with this seemingly bottomless eruption of words that keep spewing forth into the faces and eyes and ears of innocent victims like from an out of control fire hose. It was fueled at first by all the emotions from our health crisis and by the Lazarus-like realization that I’m getting my old life back after all. In parallel though, the Archival Project is ongoing and adding fuel with its flood of long forgotten memories blowing in like a gale force wind.

And for all I know it’s also being fueled by the prednisone, or from suddenly going dry overnight after an adulthood as moderate but steady drinker. Actually, there’s quite a bit going on here in the Team Anderson household at the moment.

One of the real delights of the storage unit work was finding the hand-written journal of our first tour of Andalucia back in 2004. I published this journal years after the fact just from memory and the photographs, having forgotten a journal even existed; so in parallel to Life, I’m updating the published version of that older journal by adding the original in parallel. It’s a wonderful experience for me to be reminded of what actually happened on that first day when we climbed from Malaga to Antequera, me pushing my bike over the steep shoulder of El Torcal because I was so sick. I’d completely forgotten that this was another tour where I arrived sick. Just to remind myself of the feeling of rediscovering this lost narrative, here’s the entry for our second day out, our 60 mile long ride to Ronda, and the experience of climbing that 2,000’ pass in the blazing sun on a 90 degree day. And sick.

But there’s more, because the Archival Project keeps uncovering additional lost treasures. Yesterday two more old journals were discovered, and as much as I’m savoring reliving our first experience in Andalucia I’m impatient to get through it and turn to the journal of my very first bike tour, the one from Bellingham to Salem in 1980. Its a journal I’d forgotten I’d even written.

Oh, and I finally see the first scaups of the year early this morning; but I can’t identify and take credit for them because it’s still too dark out and they’re too far off in the middle of the river to tell if they’re the lesser or greater ones. But they’re around.

__________

So maybe we should try to keep the rest of today’s post just a bit terser and more focused, huh?

Rachael and I are both up early while I eat first breakfast and carefully down my pills, discussing our lives and our plans for the day. Rachael is pretty glum, not sure of what she wants to do with her day because her foot hurts so badly this morning. And she’s frustrated, because when she went to a specialist about her arthritis she only got advice on her hands, not her feet because he’s a hand doctor only and doesn’t do feet. She needs another refferal to a foot doctor this time, and we’re running out of days before we fly south.

My plan is to get an early start and walk along the river for the two dry hours in the forecast, and then have second breakfast at Park Avenue Kitchen. Afterwards I’ll go to the Portland Art Museum to take in the exhibit of Paul Macartney’s photography that Elizabeth recommended to me. I’m waiting dawn and am just telling Rachael I want to time it so I can see the sunrise if one happens this morning, when she looks out the window, sees a rosy line across the sky to the east, and says it’s happening right now.

I immediately bolt up from my chair, hurriedly gather my belongings, kiss my wife goodbye, and rush to the waterfront. But I’m too late of course, and it’s uniformly gray when I reach the river.

South of the Fremont Bridge again. These new lights really are an enhancement, and although it’s quiet now it won’t be long before the first of the runners and dog walkers arrive,

Looking back. There was a really minimal sunrise this morning, a thin rosy band that soon disappeared.

Another bridge shot, and another chance for the new phone camera to show its worth.

There really are more birds around this morning, but the light is still too poor to make out much of anything. A fleet of Canadians drifts past below, a blurry cormorant spreads his wings like it’s a wake-up yawn, but that’s about it. But then a lone bird races by, heading north up the center of the river, skimming just above the water. A minute later another comes, and then another and then a small wing of five or so, spread side to side like they’re straifers coming in low on a bombing raid. They all look and behave the same way - small black ducks streaming toward what’s likely a common destination. Scoters. Least scoters most probably because they’re the most common, but it’s too dark than do anything other than hazard an educated guess.

I’m cheered though by the thought that maybe there’s a flash mob forming and I pick up my pace hoping I’ll get there in time to witness it.

There’s no flash mob when I come to the most likely spot, but for the next hour I walk slowly up river enjoying my increasing confidence with the new camera - I feel more competent and in control every time I’m out with it now. I’m starting to come away with some bird shots I’m reasonably happy with, even in this dim gray light.

Seems like there’d be scoters here, but no. I wonder where they’re converging to today?

It’s just starting to sprinkle when I come to Salmon Street so I turn right and away to from the river and start climbing toward town, taking advantage of overhangs where I can find them. I’m slowed down though because I’m starting to develop shin splints and it’s painful to walk. It’s a relief when I come to the Park Blocks and turn south toward the cafe.

It’s a relief to come to the North Park Blocks. I’ll be more than ready to get off my shin-splinted legs when I reach the cafe.

As I pass the museum I stop for a shot of the exhibit I’ll be back for later.

An hour later I’m fed, caught up on the blog, and ready for my refill. And then step one of the seven step saga I’ll hit Rachael with when I’m finally home occurs:

I ask what the refill policy is and am told you have to pay for them. I fish out a buck and drop it up at the counter, but she informs me that refills are $3. That’s rich, but I fork over my last two Georges from the wallet and lay them out too and take my pot of black gold back to the table.
The time comes to leave, but I have to go to the bathroom first so I grab the key from the wall and head to the stall. The key doesn’t work though, so I say screw it, rehang the key and step out the door into a downpour. It’s only three blocks to the museum and the Macartney exhibit I’m headed for next. I’ll go there and go there, is my thinking.
I get to the museum, but it’s a zoo instead today with folks converging from the sidewalks like scoters on their way to a flash mob. When I enter the main entrance I see the lobby is full with a long snake of a waiting line for people waiting for their admission. Later I’ll learn that this is First Saturday, apparently a very big thing at the museum.
So I say screw this too, I’m not going to stand in the line for a half an our waiting while I’m desperate to use the bathroom. I decide to take my water elsewhere and head to the nearest streetcar stop, just a block away.
I come to the street car stop and see that the next northbound tram isn’t due to arrive for another 18 minutes. Even with these shinsplints I can walk home faster than that, so I start limping north down 10th Avenue.
Less than a block later I hear a familiar sound approach from behind. it’s the streetcar, and the sign was apparently incorrect. I utter a groan and a wry chuckle at the irony of it all. It’s too late and I’m too slow to race down to the next stop, so I just keep limping along.
Two blocks later I come to the public library, always a problematic spot day or night, when a man approaches me and asks if I can spare a buck so he can get a meal. I say no and keep walking with my hood on and my head down because of the rain and the pain. And it’s truthful enough - my last single is back at the cafe where it paid for a third of my refill. I’m just past him when he turns and starts shouting at me. “Did you even hear what I said?” I repeat his words back at him, but then he shouts that I said no even before he opened his mouth, which is untrue. He keeps shouting at me, yelling about how people who can’t even spare a buck don’t even belong here and I should get off his beat. I agree, and continue on. Beat it feet, just beat it!

Back at the ranch, Rachael waits patiently when I finally find relief in our bathroom and share my story. Then it’s her turn, and while I’ve been out she’s transformed, ebullient, and optimistic. She went out for her own walk while I was out, and tried out the colorful new ankle sleeves she ordered from Amazon (you’re welcome, JB) as something that might give her some relief while she waits for a referral to a foot specialist. And they’re great, transformative even. She said that the whole walk was essentially painless. So that’s wonderful news of course, the best of the day.

“Bauerfeind Sports Ankle Support Dynamic - Ankle Compression Sleeve for Freedom of Movement - 3D AirKnit Fabric for Breathability - Premium Quality & Washable.” And they’re in her fan, too,

The day ends with an email from Andrea informing me that they’re in Eureka this evening enjoying Chinese. Roddy’s another day closer now, and in another two hours up the coast he’ll cross the border into Oregon. That makes our departure for Tucson feel closer too. Not long now, I remind my less patient partner. Not long.

Heart

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Patrick O'HaraYou're a fantastic writer, Scott. Damn....... Your tales aren't even about cycling, but I keep coming back for more! Keep doing what you're doing.
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1 week ago

Carolyn van HoeveTo Patrick O'HaraAgree!
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1 week ago