bridges

Downtown Portland has the Willamette river running through it, and is subsequently criss-crossed with bridges. Generally, I like bridges. One of my favourite places this year -- anytime, really -- was the ponte vecchio in Florence. I kept dragging F back to it, and even though it was a bit touristy and full of the obvious twee musicians, strolling couples, trap-py shops, I loved it.



The bridges in Portland are different from that, obviously, this sort of paradoxical blend of the romantic and downright creepy. There are all these really pedestrian friendly trails *along* the river, and when I run on them it's usually me and other steady breathy folks in water-proof breathable fibres, but there's also an underworld to the bridges, dank little temporary settlements, people Lurking, people toting all of their belongings. Like the ravines in toronto, but less pastoral. Running along the trails, you usually encounter at least one person doing something odd and sketchy, like culling... something... out of the river. And the east side of the river in particular is completely ridged with warehouses, razor wire, bleak stretches without people.

So the river's a draw, and bits of it are all gentrified with restaurants and fancy pedestrian bridges, but there's also an undertow of menace.

I went off to buy new running shoes yesterday, and it turned into a bit of a sketchy adventure. I'm on the west side of the river, and the running shoe store is on the east. I marched across the bridge closest to here, the one I usually run across, but once I got to the other side, I felt kind of creeped out. The light was dim and grey, and while there were a few stalwart cyclists (all of them with bare ankles, despite the chill), there was no one else walking. And I had to kind of walk across an expressway ramp to get off it, and it didn't feel nice.



So after I bought my shoes, I thought I'd go to another bridge to come back, one further north. I asked the woman at the store if I could walk across the Morrison bridge, the one there. She sort of half-heartedly said yes, but it was hard to get on. She was sort of vague, but I found the pedestrian bit, but then I rejected it halfway across when it required me to go down under the road onto a winding out-of-sight staircase on which I could see a lurking sketchy man.

So I walked back to the main road, and about a km to the next bridge -- which featured the rare sight of the drawbridge up and many "SIDE WALK CLOSED" signs. I tried to get down to the river to the pedestrian bridge I knew was there, but found myself in all these dark deserted parking lots, so I scampered back up to the main road.

Now, it was near dark, and I was a bit jumpy. I went further north and asked a guy and he said he didn't think there was a pedestrian way across this (4th) bridge. So I went *another* km or so to the trusty bridge I knew, but gratefully found, the MAX (tram) system, and got myself on. Then I gave a lurking fellow $1 when he asked in karmic relief.

So I rode home on the brightly lit tram, listening to a dykey woman yammer on a cellphone about alligators and giving 50% effort to something, and two other women compliment each other's coats. I was reminded of the way that Madeleine L'Engle described the tesseracts of time travel in her novels, something about the fabirc of time folding over on itself so that everything happened at the same time and yet separately. The tesseracts of the city, criss-crossed in bridges.