Bike Date: Very Romantic

This weekend is my five-year “okay now we’re going out for reals” anniversary with Ben. I have long maintained that an important part of a functional long-term relationship is the willingness and ability to cultivate independent interests; in order to keep growing as people, and in order to have new insights and experiences to bring to the table, I think we all need the room to take on new pursuits without feeling compelled to include our partners. For two years now, I’ve been geeking out on bikes and bike culture in Portland, an interest that Ben has indulged and supported, but never really shared. Which has been fine: I indulge and support, but don’t share, his interests in rock-climbing, professional baseball, and cars with more than 200,000 miles on them.

However, one of the things that seems to be happening as we get older and more like grownups is that the overlapping section in the Ven diagram of our lives consists more and more of cleaning the house, expressing our dismay at the on-going debacle in Iraq, and thumb-wrestling over who has to go buy cat litter. Working the hours that we do, we don’t have that many shared experiences that aren’t mediated by Netflix anymore. So, after our recent camping trip with his family, during which I gave climbing another (abortive) try, we decided to take a weekend to climb and bike together, as a way to share time that we’d both enjoy.

Fortunately for me, forty-five minutes after that conversation, the car broke down in a pretty serious way, which meant that not only wouldn’t we be able to drive anywhere to go climbing, but we’d be needing the bikes to go anywhere without paying for Tri-Met. Now, I think the last time that Ben was on a bike was a year and a half ago, when his truck battery died and he had to strap it onto my bike rack and pedal to the auto shop to get it recharged. However, when we decided to go out last night, he wanted to go to Encanto, a New Mexican-style restaurant I hadn’t been to yet about two miles from our house. Two miles is not far enough to be worth paying $3.40 for bus tickets, but it is far enough to take too long to walk and still get downtown for a 7:10 movie afterwards: in other words, it’s biking distance. So, after some dithering about footwear and whether or not I was actually wearing lipstick (?!), we biked to the restaurant. It was fine summer evening weather, and the ride took all of ten minutes. We sat outside and had an excellent meal with an even more excellent margarita, as well as some actual conversation (I guess I should wear dangly earrings more often).

By the time we were done, we had less than an hour to make it downtown for the movie. Since it was so nice out, I suggested we ride the extra three miles or so down Willamette to the MAX, rather than catching the bus on Lombard. Ben agreed, and I, at least, had a great time pedaling in the setting sun with him. In Portland, I almost always ride alone, and I’m often running late for something; I was surprised at how joyful biking with Ben made me feel. It was like we were kids again, but together this time, racing or chasing the ice cream man.

When we got to the Portland Avenue MAX stop, the ticket machine was broken. The train wasn’t due for another eight minutes, so I suggested we bike to the next station, on Killingsworth. As we pedaled down Interstate, I got a little devious. “You know,” I said, “if we just bike to the Rose Quarter, we’ll be in the Fareless Square, and we won’t have to pay for tickets. It’s all downhill between here and there anyway.”

Ben agreed, so we cruised past the Prescott and Overlook Park stops, then flew down the hill towards Albina/Mississippi. Once we were there, I called, “You know, we could just bike over the Broadway Bridge. It’s practically as far to the Rose Quarter as it is to just go over the bridge, anyway. It’s totally up to you, though.”

I’m a terrible person: I knew his ass was hurting, and later that night, when I got a good look at how badly he bruised his ankle on the bikeframe during this adventure, I felt like a total jerk. But, after a longer pause, Ben agreed that we should just go over the bridge. Once we’d done that, it was a five-minute ride to Fox Towers, where we saw The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (an excellent documentary with characters so weird yet archetypal that they couldn’t be made up).

After the movie, we had another classic urban bike adventure. We got to Pioneer Square just as the Yellow Line MAX was pulling up, and by the time we’d bought our tickets, it was already en route to the next stop. So, cutting along 4th, we hauled ass to China Town in the dark, with no bike lights, making it to the last west-side stop just before our train did. We MAXed up to Portland Avenue, then rode the rest of the way home on Willamette under the glow of the streetlamps.

Although I’ve always respected that Ben isn’t into cycling, I have to admit that I’ve occasionally been jealous when I’ve seen other hip young Portlanders on bike dates. Finally getting to go on one myself was very romantic. It meant a lot to me to get to share this thing that’s become such a part of me with the person I most adore. Plus, nothin’ says lovin’ like a (nearly) carbon-neutral evening on the town.

Even more romantic: waking up the next day, having coffee in bed, and then riding up to Kelly Point Park together. If he’ll still bike with yo in the morning, you know it’s love.