Biking to Beaverton

For Christmas I received a gift card and pass to the Columbia Sportswear employee store. It expired at the end of March, so I was motivated to go as soon as I could. I also imagined it would be fun to travel there without a car and, after Meg suggested I take Aaron with me to look for some clothes or shoes for him, I had assembled my small team.

After a week of rain and snow showers--the kids' school was even delayed for two hours on Thursday because Angry Birds Space debuted Superintendent Chalmers woke up with an inch of snow on his Mercedes parked in front of his West Hills fortress--the sun finally showed its face and made our journey all the more pleasurable.

Armed with a water bottle, albuterol, and a stack of free chalupa coupons (thanks Trail Blazers!), we left port around 11:00 on our two-wheel steeds. The Springwater Trail lies about one mile from our house, so we were soon competing with hipsters and weekend warriors with squeaky bike chains for space on the busy trail. And once we neared the Hawthorne Bridge, our route over the mighty Willamette, we had to ride through the participants in some sort of race that required the entrants to carry large buckets of water. The bridge was of course full of salmoning walkers and runners, but it didn't phase Aaron at all--he seems completely comfortable navigating the bridges and streets of Portland. We rode to the nearest MAX stop downtown and rode the train to the stop in Beaverton that I used when we lived there. In fact, we rode the same route to our old house that I used to take when I had a bike locker at the MAX station and used it on non-rainy days as part of my commute to work. Aaron didn't recognize the house or the neighborhood, but he had a few fragments of memory come back to him the more we rode through. We stopped at Taco Bell for chalupas and nachos and Home Depot for some mineral oil before making our main stop at the employee store. As we locked up our bikes in front of the building, I searched my pack for the special pass that would admit us to the store. But nothing. I must have left it in my camera bag at home. Should I call Meg and hope she was around and willing to drive the pass out to me? Should we just turn around and go home? Of course I did the logical thing and explained my sob story to the woman working the front desk and she admitted us after I satisfied her with a detailed description of what the pass looked like.

The store wasn't too big and it was a little crowded, so it was a little difficult browsing their wares. Their selection of childrens clothes was severely lacking, which irritated Aaron because he didn't get to pick up anything new, but I ended up finding a pair of shoes for each of the boys. I ended up with a pair of pants and a pair of shorts. We stuffed our purchases into our two backpacks, saddled up our steeds, and rode a mile or so to the Burger King that Meg and I used to loiter at after attending religion classes together while we were dating back in the 90's (I think). Aaron professed his extreme hunger and thirst and had no doubts about being able to handle a box of 20 chicken tenders. He ate 17 in about 15 minutes, but that was good enough for me, although he complained of stomach cramps on the first leg back home. So  taking a short break at Fred Meyer to look for a water bottle seemed like a good opportunity. Not only did we find a nice water bottle on sale, Aaron rummmaged through a bin of older video games and found a Zelda game that he wanted for only $15. He agreed to let me pay for it and hold on to it until he saved up enough money to pay me back, although he was scheming ways to finance the purchase within 24 hours. With a new-found enthusiasm, we made the short trek back to the MAX station and had to crowd our way into the somewhat busy train into town. It was a great relief when we were able to exit the train 20 minutes later and enjoy the clean air and freedom from all the strangers mooching a ride into town.

Aaron needed a few breaks on the ride home, but this was the farthest he has ever ridden before, so I was more than happy to accommodate him. After reaching home, Aaron was so happy just to rest, while I was jubilant to exit the pollen prison that has come to torment me the last four years. I have a love-hate relationship with spring: the rebirth of the plants and animals brings real joy to my heart and lifts my sagging spirits, but the pollen-releasing plants and trees send suffering to my eyes and nostrils, even when I resort to the aid of chemicals to control the outbreak. Meg and I went out with her friends almost immediately after Aaron and I returned from our journey, and I was sneezing and miserable (and not because I bowled under 100 not once but twice) for much of the night. I almost always enjoy the time I spend outside during the spring, but it almost always comes back to haunt me.