They paved over paradise, put up a parking lot

“They paved over paradise, put up a parking lot.”
- Joni Mitchell

Just a few months ago, it was a vast, green lawn. Not wild perhaps, but alive. Now it’s covered by crushed rock and weighted down by tons of metal, glass, and rubber. Nothing lives there anymore.

I used to come to the UofO Library and was lucky to find a seat at a bay window without someone already being there. Now only the last few seats to the left are taken – the seats that look out on the towering firs of the old graveyard. The rest are all empty. Who wants to look out on a parking lot?

I live in a small apartment near campus. Five guys live in the house across from me, each with his own car. The small parking lot between us is overflowing - bursting at its seams. It wasn’t made for this many vehicles. The neighboring lots are suffering from the same affliction. Car use among college kids is on the rise and that’s just the tip of the melting ice berg.

Over the last few decades, automobile use in America has skyrocketed. The number of registered vehicles in the U.S. has more than tripled from 74.5 million in 1960 to 247.5 million in 2005. But that’s nothing compared to what’s happening elsewhere.

In 1990, there were 1 million autos in China. That number has increased to over 17 million in 2007. That’s an increase of %1700 in less than twenty years. Automobile addiction isn’t just an American problem. It’s global.

I’m not talking about global warming either (though that is a serious issue). I’m talking about quality of life. I’m talking about life in general.

Cars require a support system – roads, parking lots, and concrete. As the use of the automobile increases, the amount of the Earth dedicated to it increases and the amount dedicated to anything else decreases. When I think of the current transportation system, I think of a grey slab of concrete reaching out with its crooked, deadly fingers and paving over everything in its path. That may sound a little extreme, but the tradeoff can’t be denied - more cars, means more pavement. More pavement, means less forests, less meadows, less prairies, less savannas, less wetlands, less habitat, less life.

So when I hear about new roads or auto-dependent developments such as Wal-Mart, Target, Home Depot, or suburbs further and further away from the urban core, I don’t get a warm fuzzy feeling about progress, jobs, new homes, and economic growth. I get a sad and sometimes angry feeling about what’s being lost.

Our auto-dependent transportation system is literally killing the planet. And each time we make a decision that adds to that system, we’re playing a part in that killing. Even if technological advances such as increased fuel efficiency, alternative fuels, and zero-emission vehicles could solve global warming, they can’t do a thing about the finite amount of surface space on planet Earth.

Ultimately, it comes down to what we want? Paradise or parking lots. If we choose the latter, we have nothing to worry about. We can go about our business and live life the way we’ve been living it for decades – more and more cars, more and more pavement.

If we choose the former, changes must be made. We need to get out of our cars.

Each and every one of us can do something right now to start that change. We can designate one day a week to ride a bike to work or take mass transit. We can car pool. We can combine trips. We can make informed purchasing decisions such as buying locally produced products or buying homes closer to where we work and shop. If we make it a priority, we can find all kinds of fun, healthy ways to make the world a better place.

Ultimately, it comes down to what kind of world we want to live in. And perhaps more importantly, what kind of world we want to leave for our children. One filled with green spaces and the diversity of life that depends on them? Or one filled with parking lots?

Fragile Truce?

While visiting my dad in Arizona, I spent most mornings reading the local rag - The Arizona Republic. Everyday there seemed to be an article related to the environment - a welcome surprise. Unfortunately, most of them were pretty wishy, washy. But it is a mainstream paper in a Republican state, so I guess that's progress. I wrote the following letter to the editor based on a cover story about climate change and the Southwest's drought. It didn't get printed - too radical and negative for a mainstream paper I suppose:

I appreciated The Republic's coverage of climate change (Sunday, November 25) and how it is already affecting Arizona. But I had to shake my head at the opening paragraph which describes how rising temperatures are breaking-down the water-delivery system and “upsetting a fragile truce between people and the dry land they inhabit.” What truce? Humans have taken what they want from the land with little regard of the consequences. That's why we're in this mess.

Every action has a reaction. It's the first law of thermodynamics. You cannot have 7 billion people on the planet clamoring for the resource intensive American lifestyle without major repercussions. And that's exactly what's going on.

There are no easy fixes. Until our society grows-up and realizes life-styles will have to change, the problems will only get worse. We can conform to the laws of physics voluntarily or the ecosystem will force us to do so against our will. It's our choice.

The Crash

The jump

The loss of control

The near miss

The impact

The aftermath.

Invincible

Broken ribs, swollen knee, and a cracked tooth. It was inevitable really. Me being who I am, and the series of events being what they were, leading-up one by one, to the unavoidable end.

I’ve been slowly getting back into mountainbiking and there’s this group out there called the Disciples of Dirt. I’ve been meaning to go for a ride with them, but inertia and bad timing were always against me. Until Sunday.

I caught up with them for a ride. Much to my surprise I was still among the best riders. I climbed faster, I descended faster, I was faster. My confidence level was at an all time high.

Then there were the trails – Fun Girl, Cell Block, Riot, and Wine Bottle Junction. They were amazing – jumps, berms, woop-dee-dooos. I was having a blast. I was kicking some ass. I was hitting 3 foot jumps dead on. I was sliding into turns and at the last moment my tire would catch and I was pedaling off to the next thrill. I was zigging and zagging. I was swishing and swooshing. I was hell on wheels.

It all came back to me - how much I love mountainbiking. The control and the loss of control. The near misses. Catching air. Heading straight for a tree and then at the last second with just a twitch of the shoulder missing it by a breath. What a rush!

I’m going to start riding all the time, I’m telling myself. Fuck the bar. Fuck drinking. This is where it’s at. I’m going to ride forever.

My blood is pumping, my senses are finely in tune, and I’m feeling alive. There’s no jump I can’t make, no turn I can’t take, and nothing I can’t do. I’m invincible.

As is often the case, this is the exact moment it all changes.

BINGO is a trail. It seems pretty harmless. It goes down a slight hill, trees packed on each side, little bumps along the way. No big deal really.

I should’ve known better.

“Now if you’re going to jump here, you have to be really careful,” Tim said, “It’s a narrow trail and if you take a jump, and you’re not in complete control when you land, you’re going to be in trouble.”

Now let me tell you a little about Tim. He’s fourty to fifty years old, and twenty of those years have been spent riding up and down these mountains. He’s a good rider. He’s fast. He’s always in control, and he never takes a risk. There in lies his weakness. At least that’s what I’m thinking when he’s giving his warning. “Yeh yeh, yeh,” I’m saying to myself, “That might be all well and good for you, but I’m jumping.” And I ignore everything he says.

Tim rides down first. It’s uneventful. He doesn’t get off the ground once. The jumps aren’t even that big. They’re less than a foot. Easy. Child size. “Come on,” I’m thinking, “catch a couple inches of air at least.” But he doesn’t. He just takes them nice and slow and calm. And all of it is just another shove to that inevitable edge that I’m approaching.

Richard is down at the bottom with his camera taking pictures. Hadn’t I just said jokingly a couple trails ago when he 1st took out his camera, “So, if you’re going to crash, this is the time to do it. Ha, ha." It's just another nail in my coffin.

“I’ll show these guys how it’s done,” I say to myself. I hop on my bike and clip in the pedals, feel the solid combination of gravity, torque, and soil. I grip the handlebars, start the decent, and don’t use my brakes once. If you want to catch air, speed is your friend.

The trees race by, the soil rolls past, all of it a whirl of movement. Then I hit the jump dead on. No problem. Everything in control. Then I land…

BAM!!!

That’s where the trouble begins. I land on yet another jump or bump or unexpected change in the terrain, and then there’s another and another and another. I can’t keep control. I’m doing all I can to keep my bike pointed forward, but the handle bars are bouncing all over the place and the front tire is lifting off the ground and I’m heading off the trail at a speed that says “danger is imminent.”

I miss the first tree. Whew. A brief glimmer of hope is mine. Then I see the next tree and I know there’s no avoiding it. My destiny. My doom.

My fate had been laid out for me like a trail of crumbs, and like a stupid bird I had continued to peck at them hungrily without ever looking at the savage beast that lied up ahead. And now that malevolent creature was standing there with its greedy eyes and sharp, salivating teeth, wringing its hands expectantly, waiting for its prize. WHACK!!! He gets it.

I’m on the ground. I can’t breathe. I’m gasping for air. I’m wondering if anything will ever be the same again. The guys all come running up to me, “Are you OK?” But I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. All I can feel is pain and death, and I want it all to go away more than anything in this world.

I lay there for a while and eventually it starts to wear off. I start to breathe again. All my parts are moving, but damn my back hurts, and my knee, and my ankle. I feel like shit. I’m dizzy. I want to puke. But that all goes away after while.

I lift myself onto my bike and we pedal off. “Do you want to keep riding?” Chris asks as we get back to the road. “I want to, but I’m not sure I can,” I reply, “Are there places I can turn off and go back?” “Sure, all the way up and down.”

So we ride on. But it isn’t the same. I lost my zip, coughed up my mojo. I was leader of the pack. Now I’m just another chump on a bike. And that’s the worst thing about it. Who knows how long it will be to get back to that level of confidence again. But maybe that’s a good thing. I need to be knocked down a few pegs every now and then. It helps keep things in perspective.

The Litmus Test

I was visiting with my old friend Andrea, my new friend Alie, one in the same. She was in the kitchen making us breakfast after her morning jog. I slept in on the couch. Now I was sitting in the kitchen, my feet propped-up on a chair, my elbow on the table, my head resting in my hand, telling one of my stories.

All of a sudden there’s a kid standing in the open front door. Uh oh, what’s he trying to sell? I think to myself, but ask “What’s up?” anyway.
“How much is this?” he asks holding up a Tasmanian Devil stuffed animal.
Oh yeah, Alie’s free box, I remember. “Nothing,” I tell him, “It’s free.”
He spins around, “It’s free mom,” he says from the top of the porch, holding the devil up in the air like he just won a prize.

Then he goes down the steps, out of my view, and I hear him again - “It’s free,” with excitement.

Then I know: The joy of getting something for free? It's pure.

Another Side of Oregon

When most people think of Oregon, they think of towering trees and rugged mountains. Here's another side....

The Good Samaritan

I spent a couple years in Boston. Those were good years. I spent the weekdays mountainbiking and working from home, and the weeknights at the bars. My friend Rafi and I had a routine. Every Friday we’d start out at a brewpub for pints of beer and mounds of buffalo wings. Then we’d move onto the pool hall where we’d goggle over the pretty barmaids and drink more beer than we should’ve. By 2:00AM we’d be walking over to the nearby IHOP for the post-drunk breakfast. For some reason, at this time, Rafi always got it in his head that he wanted to help out the homeless. But giving away change wasn’t enough for Rafi. No. “Let’s take a homeless person to breakfast,” he’d always say. Luckily the bums just ignored his offers, thinking he was crazy or wanting booze-money instead.

Well this one time we were stumbling along beside Fenway park. Now, during a game, that’s the busiest part of the city. But at 2:00AM on a Friday it’s pretty dead. There’s nothing but dirt, debris, and darkness, and on this particular evening, Rafi and me.

As usual, Rafi started-up again, “Let’s take a bum to get some pancakes,” he said. “Awww, come on Rafi,” I replied weary and hungry, “Let’s just go get something to eat.” But he wouldn’t have it. “No really, let’s take a bum to breakfast.” Then the heavens opened up and gave him hope. There in the distance, about 2 blocks away, was a silhoutte. Rafi started screaming at it, “Hey you! Come here!” Much to my surprise, the guy turned around and started heading our way. Now, if I was walking along a dark, deserted street at 2AM, and two guys were yelling for me to come over, the last thing I’d do is come over. But here this guy was, heading our way, swinging his hands happily at his sides as he walked. I was suspicious.

“We’re heading over to the IHOP,” Rafi said as the guy got up to us, “want to go for some pancakes?”
“What?”
“We’re going to get some pancakes. Want to get some pancakes?”
“Uh, no.”

I figured the matter was settled. “Let’s go Rafi.” I chimed in, “He doesn’t want any pancakes.”
I should have known better.
“Come on,” Rafi said ignoring me, “We'll buy. Let’s go to IHOP and get some pancakes.”
“No thanks man.”

“You don’t want pancakes? Why don’t you want any pancakes? Come on. Let’s go get some pancakes.”
“No man, I’m not hungry.”

“Why don’t you want any pancakes? What are you doing out here walking around the streets at 2 in the morning if you don’t want any pancakes?”
“I don’t know, man. I’m just walking around.”

“What? You can’t just be walking around. What are you doing out here this late at night? Why don’t you want to get some pancakes?”
“I’m just walking,” the guy replied, looking at the ground, hands in pockets, shuffling feet. He was getting uncomfortable, not wanting to come out with it.

“Well if you don’t have anything else to do, you should come with us to get some pancakes.”

That was it. The guy finally broke down and came out with it, his body swayed back and forth with city attitude and confidence, and he said it: “Hey man, I’m just looking to suck some dick.”

“Huh?” Rafi just stood there. Stupified. Mouth gaping open.

“You heard the man," I said taking control, "He wants to suck some dick.” I turned my attention to the guy, “What’s your name?”
“Edwardo."
“Edwardo, nice to meet you. I’m John,” I said and shook his hand, “This is Rafi. Come on Rafi. Let’s go.”

After that, Rafi didn’t ask bums to breakfast anymore.