It’s been a month since I crashed during (ugh) my first bike ride after moving to Portland, and I finally feel fine sitting at a computer for a long period of time. I’ve even been back out there, riding a grand total of 12 miles last weekend. A quick recap: I went about 15 miles on a sunny Sunday, through town and along the river, and then my tire went into the streetcar flange when I was about two houses away from my own. I fell left (good for a right-handed person), and I hit more body parts than I care to list. Nothing is broken, I’m told, and my bike is fine. I was wearing a helmet, and I’m thankful for that. I think the biggest wound was to my ego. Apparently, though, I’m one of many, many seasoned bikers who bit it on the streetcar tracks here despite feeling confident in knowing how to ride near them. Perpendicular is my mantra, and yet …
On more than one occasion over the past few weeks, I have wished I had a car. When carrying half a bag of groceries half a mile is difficult, you know you have a problem, but such is the life of the carless. I guess it’s nice to get this experience out of the way early so I can negotiate the streets downtown like a tortoise-speed scaredy-cat from now on. Oh. I also would like to remind regular readers that before I moved here, I praised the city’s warning sign to bikers about the streetcar tracks. Oh, the irony.
