MLK Fashion Plaza
My latest group bike ride was so! much! fun!--in the abstract; not so much in reality. This was part of PedalPalooza, our annual 2-week celebration of bikes (>200 rides in 2 weeks! http://www.shift2bikes.org/cal/viewpp2011.php). So it wasn't my usual architectural exploration; instead, I put together a tour of offbeat bikely adventures. I was pretty excited about it, looking forward to showing my friends some places they'd never seen and showing some bikey newbies how to get around by bike and have fun too. Unfortunately, events conspired against that outcome.
First, the four words an ailurophilic spinster can never utter (for fear of embodying the ultimate Cat Lady stereotype): my cat got sick. Not sick enough to warrant a trip to the kitty ER, but worrisome and upsetting, and it needing monitoring.
So I was already 50/50 on canceling the ride altogether when, the night before the ride, I got flamed on our group's bikey listserve, in response to what was in retrospect a badly worded ad for my ride in which I referenced the yelp review of the MLK Fashion Plaza (our final destination; http://www.yelp.com/biz/mlk-fashion-plaza-portland), forgetting that a big chunk of the readership is humorless monomaniacal (bikes & sustainable living = good / everything else = bad) ultra-PC Nazis (there I go again). The backlash was swift and angry--'culturally insensitive' was the gist (but in other, more inflammatory terms).
I was baffled that anyone could get it so wrong, and devastated that they would attack me so publicly and viciously (instead of, say, approaching me privately and civilly with their interpretation and issues). The 50/50 tilted more towards 80/20 in favor of canceling.
[Sidebar: after much reflection I finally understood how the yelp review can be misread that way, if you utterly lack a sense of humor and knee-jerk a stiff-necked ultra-PC response to anything that whiffs of bias. Instead, my interpretation is that it's meta-review: less a review of the actual establishment and more mockery of the poseur wannabes who might shop there. And I am down with that: kid livin in his Mom's basement walkin the walk and talkin the talk (and wearin the gear) but not actually living the life? Risible in the same way that disaffected suburban youths dressing like Sid & Nancy are. I mock them, but I also mock some of the very readers of the listserve for their extreme ubergreen sartorial choices, and mock haute couture for its unwearability, and mock even my own wardrobe for its almost Amish avoidance of frills and furbelows. I eventually spotted the phrase that clanged the alarm for them: Ghetto Emporium. Which for the ultra-PC police is instantly and only ever the 1970s Elvis-ized "ghetto" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ox1Tore9nw). Welcome to the new millennium and idiomatic urban slang, suckahs! And I now also see how my own ad's comment (intending to humorously channel the reviewer) about "filling your gangsta/ho wardrobe needs" might incense someone who's wildly misinterpreted (or not read) the review. But still. Ugh.]
Even worse, the morning of the ride brought an abrupt end to the false summer of sunny 70s and a return to the June-uary of chilly relentless (tho light) rain. At that point the ride was doomed: the cyclists of Portland are shockingly fair-weather riders, and the combination of rain plus the flame wars was too much for any ride to bear, let alone my offbeat dork adventure (uncool! stay away!).
Sure enough, there were only three people at the ride start site: one super-nice friend who's intrepidly supported my rides (thanks!) and, unexpectedly, my neighbors (I gave them a PP calendar with my rides circled; they’d mentioned they planned to attend but I figured it was a "let's do lunch" thang and was flabbergasted to see them). But it quickly went all pear-shaped after that.
We were sitting in the gazebo at Peninsula Park, chatting happily, paying no mind to the odd man standing at the edge of the gazebo muttering to himself, when suddenly he wheeled around and began railing at us about how he was trying to, well, pray (although he used other more fanciful religionspeak) and how we needed to shut up and respect (key word) his need for utter silence: "You wouldn't go into a church and start talking like that!!" was his repeated refrain. Well, it's NOT a church, it's a public park, but OK, we piped down, and some of us wandered over to watch a wedding in progress in the rose garden.
Which was (sidebar le deux) typical Cirque du Soleil Portland: bride in a fuchsia frock with turquoise hair and a black feather fascinator; groom in black-and-white (engineer-style) striped pants and a bright red shirt; guests wearing everything from generic suits and ties to, well, CdS attire; all huddled under umbrellas in the steady relentless rain. That's my Portland (and why I heart Portland so)!
After 15 min or so, our conversational decibels inevitably rose again, and the mumbler wheeled around again and tore us a new one with the same invectives about invading churches, plus we were bringing a negative vibe into his holy space, etc. This time, my neighbors pushed back and, I'm ashamed to say, I joined in (I blame the aforementioned stress), pointing out it's a public space, plus it's our meeting spot so we can't just leave, and by the way, we're just chatting happily so reconsider who's bringing the negative vibe, etc (and it was pouring with rain and this was the only dry place), but we again piped down and let him continue.
[Sidebar III = he did make one good point: if someone were having a wedding in the gazebo (gesturing to the wedding party), we wouldn't interrupt, right? And he was right--24 hours of reflection later, I've realized there's a distinct divergence for the group versus the individual, in that folks would respect and avoid a group doing, say, yoga or tai chi, or davening, but a single person, probably not so much, in the same way that in a public space, a person talking on their cell phone is more annoying than two people conversing. But that's a conundrum for another time.]
Luckily at that point a few more riders showed up (we frantically shushed them) and we took off shortly thereafter. But by then the ride was ruined. I was so rattled by the sick cat, the flaming, the pugnacious prayer, the weather, the low ridership, and my usual introverted hinkiness about leading a ride that I couldn't pull it together and make it fun for the few lovely kind friends who had overcome all the odds and shown up. So I was a bad, grumpy leader, snapping at a rider who was all chatting and laughing (having fun?!) and failed to pay attention and LOOK OVER THERE! and such-like. Ugh again. Even worse, they were expecting my usual architecture ride, and my bikely adventure was an unwelcome switch. But they gamely hung in there most of the way, following the PP dictum that "if you go on a donut ride and it ends up all libraries and strip clubs, either join in and have fun, or go home!"
And it WAS a fun ride, just maybe on another (sunnier) day with riders who are up for it: checked out iron-monger sculptures at the Saratoga Pocket Park (one of Portland's many 'unimproved roadways' (aka wildly pot-holed dirt road), more of an alleyway/empty lot connecting two streets, which the neighbors reclaimed and converted into a park and community garden), breezed along the Peninsula Crossing off-road trail, rode through an arty garden at the edge of the Columbia slough, watched a giant heron flapping 'round over the slough, then rode atop a levee next to the slough (a bit too PIR-adjacent, but OK), picnicked at the Children's Arboretum, viewed some unexpectedly nice (and awful) architecture in a nearby tiny out-of-the-way neighborhood, and then arrived at the MLK Fashion Plaza. Which, as it turned out in the end, is apparently a matter of personal taste: two riders skedaddled as soon as we hit the parking lot; my neighbors were all elevated eyebrows and "We'll wait out here with the bikes"; one rider took a quick glance around and beat a hasty retreat; and one lone rider explored in depth but found it baffling. So maybe it's just me, ♥ing the MLKFP and its wonderland cornucopia of sparkly fabulous delights--I fell in looove with clear acrylic sneakers and plaid long shorts on this trip.
Photos of the ride:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/editrixpdx/sets/72157627001157634/
Photos from the 4 July 2010 ride that spawned this ride:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/editrixpdx/sets/72157624431815604/
Epilogue: some day I hope to return to the perky humorous writing of yore. Maybe when I recover from the past 6 weeks of overwork and undersleep and hyperstress. Maybe.
First, the four words an ailurophilic spinster can never utter (for fear of embodying the ultimate Cat Lady stereotype): my cat got sick. Not sick enough to warrant a trip to the kitty ER, but worrisome and upsetting, and it needing monitoring.
So I was already 50/50 on canceling the ride altogether when, the night before the ride, I got flamed on our group's bikey listserve, in response to what was in retrospect a badly worded ad for my ride in which I referenced the yelp review of the MLK Fashion Plaza (our final destination; http://www.yelp.com/biz/mlk-fashion-plaza-portland), forgetting that a big chunk of the readership is humorless monomaniacal (bikes & sustainable living = good / everything else = bad) ultra-PC Nazis (there I go again). The backlash was swift and angry--'culturally insensitive' was the gist (but in other, more inflammatory terms).
I was baffled that anyone could get it so wrong, and devastated that they would attack me so publicly and viciously (instead of, say, approaching me privately and civilly with their interpretation and issues). The 50/50 tilted more towards 80/20 in favor of canceling.
[Sidebar: after much reflection I finally understood how the yelp review can be misread that way, if you utterly lack a sense of humor and knee-jerk a stiff-necked ultra-PC response to anything that whiffs of bias. Instead, my interpretation is that it's meta-review: less a review of the actual establishment and more mockery of the poseur wannabes who might shop there. And I am down with that: kid livin in his Mom's basement walkin the walk and talkin the talk (and wearin the gear) but not actually living the life? Risible in the same way that disaffected suburban youths dressing like Sid & Nancy are. I mock them, but I also mock some of the very readers of the listserve for their extreme ubergreen sartorial choices, and mock haute couture for its unwearability, and mock even my own wardrobe for its almost Amish avoidance of frills and furbelows. I eventually spotted the phrase that clanged the alarm for them: Ghetto Emporium. Which for the ultra-PC police is instantly and only ever the 1970s Elvis-ized "ghetto" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ox1Tore9nw). Welcome to the new millennium and idiomatic urban slang, suckahs! And I now also see how my own ad's comment (intending to humorously channel the reviewer) about "filling your gangsta/ho wardrobe needs" might incense someone who's wildly misinterpreted (or not read) the review. But still. Ugh.]
Even worse, the morning of the ride brought an abrupt end to the false summer of sunny 70s and a return to the June-uary of chilly relentless (tho light) rain. At that point the ride was doomed: the cyclists of Portland are shockingly fair-weather riders, and the combination of rain plus the flame wars was too much for any ride to bear, let alone my offbeat dork adventure (uncool! stay away!).
Sure enough, there were only three people at the ride start site: one super-nice friend who's intrepidly supported my rides (thanks!) and, unexpectedly, my neighbors (I gave them a PP calendar with my rides circled; they’d mentioned they planned to attend but I figured it was a "let's do lunch" thang and was flabbergasted to see them). But it quickly went all pear-shaped after that.
We were sitting in the gazebo at Peninsula Park, chatting happily, paying no mind to the odd man standing at the edge of the gazebo muttering to himself, when suddenly he wheeled around and began railing at us about how he was trying to, well, pray (although he used other more fanciful religionspeak) and how we needed to shut up and respect (key word) his need for utter silence: "You wouldn't go into a church and start talking like that!!" was his repeated refrain. Well, it's NOT a church, it's a public park, but OK, we piped down, and some of us wandered over to watch a wedding in progress in the rose garden.
Which was (sidebar le deux) typical Cirque du Soleil Portland: bride in a fuchsia frock with turquoise hair and a black feather fascinator; groom in black-and-white (engineer-style) striped pants and a bright red shirt; guests wearing everything from generic suits and ties to, well, CdS attire; all huddled under umbrellas in the steady relentless rain. That's my Portland (and why I heart Portland so)!
After 15 min or so, our conversational decibels inevitably rose again, and the mumbler wheeled around again and tore us a new one with the same invectives about invading churches, plus we were bringing a negative vibe into his holy space, etc. This time, my neighbors pushed back and, I'm ashamed to say, I joined in (I blame the aforementioned stress), pointing out it's a public space, plus it's our meeting spot so we can't just leave, and by the way, we're just chatting happily so reconsider who's bringing the negative vibe, etc (and it was pouring with rain and this was the only dry place), but we again piped down and let him continue.
[Sidebar III = he did make one good point: if someone were having a wedding in the gazebo (gesturing to the wedding party), we wouldn't interrupt, right? And he was right--24 hours of reflection later, I've realized there's a distinct divergence for the group versus the individual, in that folks would respect and avoid a group doing, say, yoga or tai chi, or davening, but a single person, probably not so much, in the same way that in a public space, a person talking on their cell phone is more annoying than two people conversing. But that's a conundrum for another time.]
Luckily at that point a few more riders showed up (we frantically shushed them) and we took off shortly thereafter. But by then the ride was ruined. I was so rattled by the sick cat, the flaming, the pugnacious prayer, the weather, the low ridership, and my usual introverted hinkiness about leading a ride that I couldn't pull it together and make it fun for the few lovely kind friends who had overcome all the odds and shown up. So I was a bad, grumpy leader, snapping at a rider who was all chatting and laughing (having fun?!) and failed to pay attention and LOOK OVER THERE! and such-like. Ugh again. Even worse, they were expecting my usual architecture ride, and my bikely adventure was an unwelcome switch. But they gamely hung in there most of the way, following the PP dictum that "if you go on a donut ride and it ends up all libraries and strip clubs, either join in and have fun, or go home!"
And it WAS a fun ride, just maybe on another (sunnier) day with riders who are up for it: checked out iron-monger sculptures at the Saratoga Pocket Park (one of Portland's many 'unimproved roadways' (aka wildly pot-holed dirt road), more of an alleyway/empty lot connecting two streets, which the neighbors reclaimed and converted into a park and community garden), breezed along the Peninsula Crossing off-road trail, rode through an arty garden at the edge of the Columbia slough, watched a giant heron flapping 'round over the slough, then rode atop a levee next to the slough (a bit too PIR-adjacent, but OK), picnicked at the Children's Arboretum, viewed some unexpectedly nice (and awful) architecture in a nearby tiny out-of-the-way neighborhood, and then arrived at the MLK Fashion Plaza. Which, as it turned out in the end, is apparently a matter of personal taste: two riders skedaddled as soon as we hit the parking lot; my neighbors were all elevated eyebrows and "We'll wait out here with the bikes"; one rider took a quick glance around and beat a hasty retreat; and one lone rider explored in depth but found it baffling. So maybe it's just me, ♥ing the MLKFP and its wonderland cornucopia of sparkly fabulous delights--I fell in looove with clear acrylic sneakers and plaid long shorts on this trip.
Photos of the ride:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/editrixpdx/sets/72157627001157634/
Photos from the 4 July 2010 ride that spawned this ride:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/editrixpdx/sets/72157624431815604/
Epilogue: some day I hope to return to the perky humorous writing of yore. Maybe when I recover from the past 6 weeks of overwork and undersleep and hyperstress. Maybe.