A couple of days ago, I was bragging to my brother Joe about the dry autumn we’ve had this year in Portland and how even though I'm working, I feel like I'm on vacation still. We traded emails and texts; it was good to hear from him. We haven’t caught up since I left Texas. The very next day, just before work, the rain hit.  Not the light, almost invisible mist Portland seems to have constantly, not the torrential flood-producing downpours Texans get when rain finally hits either, but a medium to heavy-ish rain shower. I was ready: two new fenders on my new bike, rain pants, a sweet new Gore-Tex jacket I bought at Buffalo Exchange for $75.  Plus, it’s not like I live that far from work, two miles from Biwa. I put an extra pair of socks in my bag as was recommended to me and rode to work.

I came to find out my rain pants sort of suck, the jacket works marvelously, the lights on my bike are as important as my helmet, and that I should expect to change my socks as soon as I hit the door at work. All in all, not a bad initiation.

There’s a reason why Portland restaurant service is casual. Much of the staff of a restaurant are bike commuters or car-less. Many of the patrons are in fact as well. Half hour after I started my shift, two gentlemen in their early fifties came in all rain-geared out, fresh off their bikes, soaked on the outside, dry underneath; they hung up their protective layers and sat down to enjoy a meal.  Portland’s just a more casual “get it done” kind of city, the opposite of stuffy.  Sort of refreshing, if not just a little wet at times, too.

So, I was bragging about a dry autumn to my brother Joe the other day. He was bragging about the new Lamborghini Gallardo he just picked up. Nice.

Anthony Garcia
http://twitter.com/wineisdivine