May 11, 2009

The First Leg: Part VII

Friday 8 May, 9am, Portland, OR -- Brett gets call from Mom. She wants a list of the books that were taken. She and Grandmommy are going to replace them. Gets call from Sis. She & Jacob are going to send him some money to help out with new wedding & summer clothes. Gets lots of calls from friends sending him important and helpful things. Deals with strange mixtures of emotions. Angry. Grateful. Whiny.

10am, Portland, OR -- Brett maps out long ride up a road that looks pretty on the map, Skyline Blvd. Bikes downtown and buys sweet-looking Goodwill shirt to get sweaty on long ride. Immediately becomes new favorite shirt. Starts pedaling toward Skyline Blvd. Begins climbing above the city.

11:30am, above Portland, OR -- V-Shop calls. "Volvo's ready. Be here by closing 2pm or you won't be able to get your car until Monday."

noon, above Portland, OR -- Brett passed on long hill by road cyclist. He looks 35. Says a friendly hello. Brett says grumpy hello. Cyclist slows back down and asks about Brett's bike. Brett tells about summer plans and then about theft. Cyclist is matter-of-fact. Says his name is Rob. Says he's an ER doctor. Asks what Brett needs to get back on the road. Brett is flabbergasted. Doesn't know what to say. Rob looks at Brett's jeans and tennis shoes and sweet Goodwill shirt. Rob says he's got all kinds of riding gear. "How about some jerseys and shorts?" Brett enthusiastically agrees. Rob looks at Brett's bare hands. "How about some gloves?"

12:30pm, above Portland, OR -- Rob has to drop off some energy food at a checkpoint for a long ride he and some friends are going to do for his birthday tomorrow. After that, he explains, he can take Brett by his family's house to grab the gear, then point Brett in the right direction to get to the V-Shop on time. But they have to ride fast to make it by 2pm. Brett says he can pound it, if Rob leads the way. They ride hard for 20min, not talking. Brett drafts and pedals as hard as he can. He realizes Rob is fast. Rob realizes Brett is slow. Rob sympathetically turns him around at one point and says he'll drop of the energy food by himself and meet Brett back at a junction they had already passed.

1:40pm, above Portland, OR -- At his house, Rob packs Brett's bag with two pairs of shorts (not just any shorts, really nice bibs), a jersey, a nice wicking shirt, some gloves, two energy bars. He fills a bottle with water and gives that to Brett too. "I stole it off my friend's bike," he says. Rob points Brett on his way and says farewell. Brett is still flabbergasted.

2pm, Portland, OR -- Car repairs mysteriously cost $100 less than Brett had been quoted. V-Shop mechanics smile and say, "Hey, you vacuumed your own glass out of your car." Brett loads his bikes, goes back to hostel to pick up his last things, is given a copy of Dostoyevsky's The Idiot by a hostel resident he barely met, and heads back out onto the road. "In 6 hours," he thinks, "I'll be in Pullman." "Maybe."

3:30pm, 30mi East of Portland, OR -- Brett's Volvo begins to feel strange. Swervy. Like he's driving on ice. Brett turns off music and sits upright. Thinks it might be his suspension. Or it might be nothing. Drives for 10 minutes in state of extreme agitation. Begins to develop a stomach ulcer.

3:40pm, 40mi East of Portland, OR -- Volvo's rear right tire has a blowout. Brett maneuvers to side of Interstate 84. Gets out of car. Exchanges words with car. Christens car "Beelzebub."

3:45pm, 40mi East of Portland, OR -- Brett realizes it is now a game. He's trying to get to Pullman. His car is trying to stop him. It will not stop him. Nothing will stop him. Brett begins to unload bikes. Removes bike rack. Unloads half of his possessions from the rear of his car. Stacks everything neatly on the side of the interstate. A little too neatly. He takes a long time stacking things in clean rows. Gains access to spare tire and jack. Spare tire is flat. Brett laughs. It is loud. Slightly disturbed. Brett digs around in his gear until he finds bicycle pump. Stacks his gear back into rows. Pumps spare tire up to pressure. Laughs excessively.

4:45pm, 40mi East of Portland, OR -- Jacks right side of car up. Removes rear rim and shredded tire. Realizes he put his jack in the wrong position. Car is too low to the ground. Can't get spare tire bolted onto his axle unless he deflates it. He does so. Laughs the whole while. Strange. Loud. A man stops to see if he can help. He walks up and hesitates. "Are you alright here?" "Oh, my, yes." "Can I do anything?" "Oh no. No no no no no." Brett laughs. The man looks at him awkwardly. He leaves hastily. Brett installs the spare tire and pumps it back up to pressure with his bicycle pump. He is talking to his pump. "Good pump," he says. "Good, sturdy pump."

5pm, 40mi East of Portland, OR -- Talks to Dad on the phone. Dad looks up tire places nearby for morning repair. Also looks up camping grounds. Brett and Dad brainstorm about a problem: the spare tire cannot handle all the weight of Brett's possessions. He carries the half that he had already unloaded behind a copse of trees and stashes them for the hour that it will take him to get to the campground, set up a tent, unload the other half into the tent, then come back to pick the remaining gear up. Brett leaves a note on the boxes and bikes that says: "Friend- Please don't take anything. I'll be back in a jiffy to pick this up. I've had so many misfortunes in the last week it's almost comical. Please don't add to them."

6:30pm, 50mi East of Portland, OR -- Checks into a lovely, astonishingly cheap campsite by a creek. Thirsty. Goes to the bathroom to fill up his waterbottle. Sign says "Nonpotable water. Sorry. Camping fees have been reduced."

7:30pm, 40mi East of Portland, OR -- Brett returns and loads up his stashed possessions and bikes. Everything is there.

9pm, 50mi East of Portland, OR -- Digs around in his gear for water filter. Pumps clean water down by the creek. Fills up his Nalgene and Rob's donated bottle. Brushes his teeth. Sets up his tent. Gets into his sleeping bag. Hasn't showered in more than 3 days. Smells himself for a few minutes: spilled beer, sweat, anxiety. Goes to sleep.

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