Bicycling Through Homelessness (Part 3)

During my ride, I saw cedars, oaks, wetlands, herons and other birds, a snow-capped Mt Hood, goats, sheep, rabbits and squirrels. I saw all this beauty at the same time I was riding through a homeless community. It was the most mind boggling juxtaposition of scenery I had ever experienced in my life.

I saw a woman sitting on the ground reading a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica and then I caught a glimpse of what I believe was a tiny home made up of hundreds of volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica.

I nearly swerved out of control seeing (I think) that. Surely if this home did exist, it was the only home of its kind in the world, but it occurred to me in that moment it was utterly practical and brilliant because libraries and homes across Portland had tens of thousands of these thick volumes with nowhere to go but to a landfill or recycling because no one wanted encyclopedias around anymore except someone who might build a home with them.

I saw two women barbecuing something on a Weber grill and laughing.

A young couple dressed in summer attire took photographs of flowers near the creek.

One man was sleeping or resting in the entrance of his tent and using a tire for a pillow.

I saw 30 full shopping carts arranged around as a tent as a sort of fence. Outside smoking and rummaging through their gear, were the tent’s presumed inhabitants: an attractive young couple completely devoid of the ravages of drug use. She was wearing her hair in ponytails. He wore his long like Jesus in the mid century Hollywood movies.

A card game was going on.

One tiny dirt path off the trail led to a gated tent community with wire and pallet fencing. A dog was in the “yard” and staring up at me. It occurred to me that there was exclusion within exile even here.

I think I saw a game of yard darts in process. I know I saw a dartboard nailed to a tree.

More than a dozen people lounged in recliners and couches.

My friend and stopped at a food cart village along the trail. There were members of the local homeless community patronizing various food carts. One of them ordered Salvadorian food, like I did. It was one of the best meals I’d eaten in years. I wanted a beer to wash it down with but the beer garden was closed. I imagine another time I could sit in the garden, drink a beer, and talk with the trail’s homeless population, if indeed they would talk to me. Am I some kind of interloper in this scenario? Are you an interloper if you just want to talk to someone living a situation that deeply distresses you, but that you don’t judge? I can’t seem to mind my business on this issue, especially when I encounter multiple times every day.

If I eventually check out on this issue, then I know I’ve checked out on being a decent American, and there’s way too much of that going on today. I want to combine kindness with action. Two simple great things that go together in perfect simplicity like bread and butter.

Oh yeah, there was a motorcycle gang at the food cart village as well and more racial diversity than I’ve ever experienced in my entire Oregon life.

During our ride, my friend and I talked about what was going on around us and possible solutions. He described the homeless as refugees, fleeing or not really fleeing the brutality of American capitalism. He insisted they should be treated as refugees, housed in facilities with sanitation and basic services, and processed into whatever nation-within-a-nation we can establish. As with most refugee camps, the refugees may have to wait years before processing. I wasn’t sure I agreed with my friend on everything about his analysis and solution, but anything is better than what is going on along this trail.

The Hoovervilles of the Depression disbanded at some point. Will these camps? They’re not even camps. A lexicographer needs to invent a new word to define them but will it be a noun? A noun seems totally inadequate. Was it a person, place or thing I saw on this ride, that I rode right through. Maybe it’s a verb because I did observe varying movements. Perhaps this word or phrase will become a new part of American speech and perhaps we don’t need a lexicographer to invent it, but rather we need a new American Shakespeare. He invented 1700 words still in use today! There’s got to be one, and it does matter finding the right one.

The ride is over. But I will ride the path again soon. How can I not?

A final thought: I want to bring paperback books for these people to read, if there are any readers besides the encyclopedia reader, living along the corridor. I suspect there are. I don’t want to make a big writing deal out of bringing these books, but I would throw in a few of my titles, and leave it at that.