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.
20 October 2018