On a recent bike ride to the university, one of my commuter streets was blocked to traffic.

Cyclists were steered to the sidewalk while a road crew–looking like worker-bees in their yellow, orange and black vests–loped alongside trucks and trailers.

On the sidewalk another cyclist headed toward me, so I slowed, then stopped, letting him pass.

One of the worker-bees grinned, “Hey—traffic jam!”

They waved and sang, “Have a great day,” as I cycled past.

Only in Portland, I thought—will you find a jovial road-crew.

Back on the road, I pedaled past amber-colored ash trees in the neighborhood, and thought I heard a whip.

At least, that what it sounds like when movie characters lash a crop.

I saw a bald-headed man, outfitted in a black top and black trousers, flat on his back on the sidewalk.

He was cracking a whip in the air while he lay prone.

Only in Portland.

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20 October 2018

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