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Commuting With Angels and Demons ... And It’s Not Even 7 a.m.

By Joe Kurmaskie

I swear I don’t look for trouble, for things to happen to me on a bike, but it seems that more often than not, when I pedal out the driveway, they do.

A couple of fellow bike travelers who have dogeared my books dropped me an e-mail from south of the equator:

“Joe, we’re halfway through Central America and not much has happened...”

“I pedaled downtown this morning and all hell broke loose,” I replied.

Is it me? I haven’t conducted a scientific study on why this is the case. No one seems willing to part with grant money for such an undertaking, and the fact that I’m not a trained scientist poses a real challenge. If I had to take a guess, I’d say I’m a trouble magnet — good and bad — due to an uneven mix of things like my outgoing personality, a shoot-from-the-hip approach to problem solving, my lack of shame, and on account of being more spinal column than cerebral cortex.

Or I’m just one of those people.

Take this morning’s ride for instance. I thought I was scheduled to appear on the local NBC affiliate’s morning show. Not owning a television is no excuse for misreading the producer’s e-mail, but in my defense, “Pioneer Courthouse Square Studios at 6:45” could have meant a.m. or p.m. I’ve always done morning shows, not the evening news. Portland has come a long way in the bike world, baby, when I’m prime time. Often mistaken for homeless on wheels back in the day, we’re now the active family feel good segment at the end of the telecast. Or it’s a slow news cycle.

In the cool of the predawn morning, I lit the bike up like a holiday tree and pedaled for downtown. When I say “the bike” I’m referring to the entire 16-foot muletrain set up — tandem, trail-a-bike and trailer — which, after pedaling 3,000 miles of Canada fully loaded, isn’t that hard to navigate without passengers or gear, but it does draw looks. I imagine myself the bicycle version of a school bus before the kids load on for the day.

It’s peaceful at that hour, the first light bathing Mount Hood in pink as I maneuver over the Broadway bridge and arrive in the square to see a group of students — a band or chorus — holding a banner in front of The Today Show-style window. Teenagers are not easily impressed, but they turned in unison to have a look at my rig; smiles and gasps. I had a look at their poster, and gave them the thumbs up. We all looked into the window of the studio. Less excitement there, just green screens and a weatherman pointing around the solid colored screen as if he was swatting mosquitoes. I took the hitch off the trailer to bring the rig into the studio, but my escort was nowhere to be found.

“I’m not sure what he told you, but I don’t have you on the schedule,” the network employee said after I got his attention by banging on the studio door. When I mentioned which host I was to be chatting with he offered a sympathetic smile, “That’s our evening news. I guess we’ll see you back here in 12 hours.”

Riding across the bridge for the second time in as many minutes, I noticed the sun was peeking between the buildings and the mountains now. Even though I’m not a morning person, it was a fine way to greet the day, a few hours earlier than I prefer, but my blood was going and I felt some color in my face. Fully alive, I’m never better than when I’m in the saddle.

Suddenly I hear, “Hit em, Hit em, Hit em.”

It came from a brain trust behind the wheel of a truck the size of which should be reserved for folks running ranches or mining operations in the Outback. Waiting kitty-corner at the light as I took the right turn, he made eye contact as he tossed out his twisted cheer, closing it out with a loathing little smile. Was he rooting or egging on the car beside me?

The vast majority of drivers are accommodating, pleasant and watchful, but when a guy like this affirms the stereotype you have to see it for what it is — self-loathing ... or evil. There is meanness in this world and I ignore it at my peril. But for Pete’s sake, I’m towing a trail-a-bike and a trailer. He’s gotta see that there’s kids in this equation. I’m projecting here, but his response might be something about cyclists not having a sense of humor. I don’t confront ... except to mouth the word “loser” as I round the turn and head for home. What? I was smiling as I did it and he might not have seen it.

All the same, that felt good.

I chanced a look back to see if he’d gone all Stephen King’s Christine on me, but it’s far worse than that.

“Yikes!” I actually said the word out loud.

I’d left the trail-a-bike and trailer detached in front of the studio window. With the panniers and equipment inside the trailer, I calculated that I’d just displayed more than $1,000 worth of gear in Portland’s “living room” unattended.

As I pedaled back downtown, standing up and hammering the muletrain ala the bell lap of a contested race, I wondered how long my possessions (some of the few possessions I actually care about) would remain on display. Twenty minutes is a lifetime to tempt people in the big city. Perhaps the glee club or band members had watched over it in my absence. I wouldn’t even care if they’d rifled through it for stuff, as long as the bulk of it was still there. Maybe the early rising criminals would mistake it for a piece of art. There was always a chance the theft would be caught on the local news morning show. Cameras were rolling.

It’s a good thing I didn’t stop for that fortifying Snapple before turning around for my trailer. The security gal had already locked it up and called the police to take it to impound. I arrived at the same time as the cops. Another minute and my gear might have been swallowed up in red tape and hidden away like the boxed-up Holy Grail at the end of “Raiders Of The Lost Ark.”

As I pedaled over the bridge ... again, I felt fortunate that the trouble — good and bad — that I’d attracted had left me upright and enjoying my third sunrise.

Of course the day’s still young...

Joe Kurmaskie rides a bike for the joy of it. His next book, “Mud, Sweat and Gears: One Family’s Rowdy Adventure Across Canada on Seven Wheels,” is now available. For more information go to www.metalcowboy.com