Bicycling Through Homelessness (Part 1)

Saturday. It’s a beautiful Portland morning. I’m biking with a friend into the heart of a unique homeless community. Is that heart dead or alive or somewhere in between? It’s like bicycling into a story, but the story is unknown.

I will report with my eyes and of course I will miss a lot. But I think I can see more on a bicycle ride than a walk. You can subtlety meander on a bike in a way you can’t when walking, and that provides a more expansive yet also secretive scope of vision. That is, if you are looking. I am looking.

(Three hours later)

Okay, I thought I would narrate my ride with a present tense chronological treatment, but what I saw made that impossible. There was absolutely nothing linear about it although I did go from point A to Point Z.

How am to write about what I saw on this ride, which was more of a coast, a coasting through homelessness, physically and metaphorically, and the good thing about coasting through homelessness is that you get to coast right through and leave it behind in reality and metaphor, but as a writer I don’t want to leave what I saw behind, so I guess the technique I will employ here is to provide some images and observations and meanderings, and also offer very few insights because I still don’t know what the hell it was I saw. And if that last Faulkneresque sentence barely makes sense, then I wrote the perfect sentence to introduce this subject because what I saw on this ride through homelessness defies conventional literary treatment of any kind, at least any kind I am aware of. It is the first subject in my writing life that I don’t know how to approach. I keep hoping an idea will come to me, but nothing has yet emerged, so I guess I’ll just riff away here and call it an essay, or better yet, I’ll assay what I saw on my ride, meaning I will wrestle with it.