Bookstore Wisdom

While visiting Powell's Bookstore in Portland I found the job seekers section. Then the job seekers self help. Then I found "Detour". This guy started out on a rainy recession soaked day and ended up as the Director of Architects for Humanity in Port-au-Prince. Not bad.

[Dorothy] Which way do we go? He's pointing both ways? [Scarecrow] Of course, some people do go both ways.

“The never-ending hell of a recession has finally hit the midwest and my firm is now requiring us to furlough, which has resulted in my salary being less than what I was making 5 years ago without a masters degree. It's depressing. That and I feel like a slave most of the days. Sitting in an office, attending tumultuous meetings with clashing egos, and rarely feeling like I am being heard are really getting to me”(sic) – landscape architect and friend in email from today.

I am east of Seattle, staying with friends who live on a mountainside. This has its advantages like beautiful views, a secluded location with lots of space for chickens, ducks, a garden and an Anatolian Shepard that is the size of a small pony. It has its disadvantages like a hill that winds up the mountain with no reprieve. On my second trip up it on my bike I tried to hitch hike. I got no takers and ended up pushing my way up the hill, at full tilt, nose to the ground. Other than the hill, this place is idyllic and Scott and Mini are fabulous hosts. They drove me into Redmond to catch a bus into the city for my meetings with firms. I won’t call them interviews since that implies that there is a job to be filled. There are amorphous, future, hopefully potential jobs at the end of this yellow brick road but nothing is for-sure. I’m waiting for the wizard to finally let down his guise, come out from behind his thundering front and get honest with me.

“Ya, Dorothy. It’s not easy out here”.

There are positive things to be learned from these meetings. I am realizing that the meetings are often about growing my knowledge of the situation and where I fit. I understand why I am asked to explain my process, walk through my portfolio and talk about projects – firms want to see what I’m made of. I got some good feedback from one HR woman who interviewed me recently. I will take another swipe at my portfolio with her comments. Good stuff. Was it worth huffing it to Seattle for this? Perhaps. But the more important meetings are the ones where my ideas and their ideas for what may/could/fingers crossed come along are discussed and turned over, I start to see myself as part of their team (and hopefully they see me in their team). It’s like a trial run at working with them. Except that I don’t get paid. But I hope they remember my face, the conversation and when the time comes, inshallah, they give me a call.

As I evoke different religions’ gods, offer up my future to fate and get superstitious about what I have no control over, I pray that no black cats cross my path today and the salt I threw over my shoulder primes up some clairvoyance for Portland.

“When written in Chinese, the word ‘crisis’ is composed of two characters. One represents danger and the other represents opportunity”
John F. Kennedy

Back in the USA - back to the Debt Ceiling Vortex

LEFT: Milk cartels from yesterday at work at the border.

Day 2:
No sleeping pad was a bad idea. The cold, hard ground made for a rough night and I woke up with a snotty nose. I hoped to spend a bit of time recording the previous day since there wasn’t an iota of downtime in the 11 hours in the saddle. But with mileage to make and legs that may be unwilling, I got on the road.

It occurred to me that the genesis of this trip came from the numbing routine of writing cover letters from my parents’ kitchen table (although appreciative of their generosity) and the seemingly clear connection between needing to move.

It wasn’t really about the economy or the fear of swirling down the economic toilet as “Debt Ceiling” discussion is on every front page. However, this bike trip was inspired and made a necessity by elements having to do with both of those things. Still, thus far, it seems that the bike part and the job-searching part of the trip have been very separate. I flew to Seattle from the east coast and spent four days “procuring” used touring bike equipment in the summer – a task all bike shop salesmen and community biking groups said would be impossible. I found a Croatian American bike fanatic, a friend of a friend, who had been hit on his bike while commuting to work three weeks ago. His horrible misfortune (a badly bruised leg and a totaled bike) turned into a stroke of luck for me as he can’t work at his job but spends his days hobbling around his living room, fixing up old bikes. He made me a little diddy I named Tito after his ancestral dictator. While doing this I arranged meetings and interviews while sitting on curbs and at coffee shops. I researched pannier set-ups and chased down maps. Bikes then jobs then routes then interviews.

So far the open road has assuaged the psychological aggravation and angst of being unemployed. My little grey bike is my noble steed carrying me on my job-hunt. Starbucks and McDonalds with free wi-fi are my office. I put a set of pressed “interview clothes” in a plastic bag and buried them in one pannier so that I can arrive crisp at meetings. Yet often I tell my interviewers about my journey. Jobs are so scare in the US and each position receives an extraordinary quantity of applicants so I hope this detail will make me distinctive. Still biking seemed to be one component to this adventure. Job-hunting seemed to be another.

At Larrabee State Park in Washington I met Dan, a guy from Bend, Oregon who lost his Meineke shop and with 800 dollars to his name, decided to go to Alaska to look for work. And Nancy, a woman whose house was foreclosed upon in Colorado, bought a motorcycle and decided to live off credit cards for a while since she really has nothing more to loose, she says. Perhaps one thing that commonly results from unemployment and slipping into that economic toilet is a need to get out in the world, physically move through it and hope that the journey will provide some direction that the job market hasn’t. I’ve refound a connection, although it’s not exactly how I envisioned it.

Dan found me on the road a couple miles later. He was on his way to catch the boat in Bellingham to Alaska. He pulled an orange reflective vest from his truck.

"You should wear this", he said.
"Thanks - my mom would be grateful to you". I've worn it since. I can also hold STOP signs at road closure, if need be.

Day 3:
Small town Arlington, Washington did not have a single coffee shop – well, at least one that you didn’t have to drive through. When I asked about this, I was directed to the Starbucks in the Safeway or the McDonalds up the street. All roads lead to these two shops, it’s amazing. I ordered a coffee at the McDonalds and set up my computer. Might as well profit from the wi-fi while I’m at it. The man next to me, sharing my outlet was glued to his screen. He looked up despondently.

“Following the US economy as it crashes”, he said. “We’re down 300 points”. In front of him was the business section of the newspaper and he was making marks next to individual stocks.

“Sure feel sorry for those with 401ks”. In front of his newspaper was a Bible, laid open with dog eared pages. He was either double tasking Bible school homework or hoping that God may have something more hopeful to say than the business page and the stock market page on his screen. It seems the economy seeps into interactions on this trip whether I ask about it or not. They ride up next to me on coastal highways or invite conversation at McDonalds.

It’s Obama’s 50th birthday today. Although it seems our economy is sliding down a slippery slope, I hope he does something fun today. He deserves it.

Driving a 2 wheeled big-rig

Day 1:
Morning one, I decided my bike was too heavy. I packed an old liquor box with more clothes and my book (I’ll be too tired to read, right?). Still, as I pulled the bike propped off the wall, I wasn’t so sure. I wobbled like a big rig until I gained speed. I cursed every stop sign that made me stop (and start again). The Vancouver neighborhoods sat quaintly upon rolling hills. I wasn’t impressed at its cuteness at the time. Once out of the city I could maintain some speed, stay along the well planned bike paths and head up and down coastal mountain roads with less trouble. Two bridges later I was well into the interior of British Columbia, riding through gridded farmland, past numbered streets filled with blueberry farms, Christmas tree farms and raspberry patches. The numbers both helped me chart my progress and play the ‘are we there’ game with myself. With one aggravating closed road just before the border I zigzagged my way into the country, crossed the border with minimal trouble and realized that all the anticipation to get into the US still meant that I had another 30 miles to ride until my planned 1st night stop at Larrabee State Park, south of Bellingham.

Luckily there was ice cream within minutes of the border.

The agriculture changed to cows, corn and wheat and Edaleen Dairy was doing steady business. Edaleen figured out that Canadians like their cheap milk and have set up a virtual dairy cartel along the border. With Canadian border agents looking on, and probably stopping in for their 79 cent cone, “Beautiful British Columbia” license plates flow over the border to Edaleen’s. Americans may go to Tijajuana for plastic surgery, cheap narcotics and saltillo tile. Canadians go to Edaleen’s for milk, cheese and ice cream. They don’t kid around either. Grocery carts lined the store, filled to the hilt with gallons of milk and tubs of ice cream that could double as kiddie pools. Signs along the windows tell patrons that Edaleen’s isn’t responsible if they try to smuggle more than their legal limit. Read: “you can buy it. Just hide it well”. Kids swarm outside with ice cream dribbling down their faces while their parents load their trunks with cheap dairy products. I wonder how far a Canadian will drive to get cheap milk. And if a single family can drink 20 gallons of milk before it goes bad or if they become the middle men in a cheap milk smuggling industry in southern Canada. It’s all hidden by the wind mills and dancing cow sculptures nestled in the grass. No one would suspect.

I got some ice cream, promised to have been made locally behind the shop. I vowed to eat only local food and bought BC cherries and peaches for the road. By the time I made it to Bellingham, the sun was going down and locals told me that Larrabee was still another 15 miles south along the coast. I rode by a vibrant main street and wished I could have stayed and checked it out. I worried if I stopped my legs wouldn’t start again. Without a small local food shop to stop at, I bought a can of chile from the gas station (Amy’s Organic, mind you. However made in Petaluma) and continued along winding Chuckanut Road towards Larrabee. I made it at 7:57pm. The park office closes at 8. There were a number of small walk-in sites along a ridge and after eating a cold can of chile and some malt balls, I went to bed.

Day 8 - HB Lanarc, West Hastings Street, Vancouver

Date	July 29, 2011
Word/Phrase of the Day	Beard West Falea
Start location	Vancouver, BC
End location	Vancouver, BC
Laid my head	Tim’s newly free ‘guest bedroom’
Miles cycled	<5
Miles on other transport	0
Flats/Problems	0
Bike Mates (miles)	-
$ food	20
$ coffee (#)	0 (1)
$ beer	8 (1)
$ gear	-
$ lodging	0
Beards (per mile: Tim’s new suggestion for a way to measure ‘hipsterness’)
Firm visited	1 – HB Lanarc
Advise for job seekers	Check back in. You contact us. Keep in touch. – Janine de la Salle
Take home lesson	Is there an IPhone ap for this? An automated ‘just checking in’ service?
Highlight	Biking to SE False Creek Olympic Village
Rain?	Nope

HB Lanarc’s offices sit on top of Vancouver’s Academy for Swordplay and Knightly Arts. Next to the building is a film school. Across the street is the ‘best classical music record store in the city’ (according to Tim). So around the bike rack in front of the office was a mix of adults in chain mail carrying weapons, young hipsters discussing static frame usage and disheveled men walking slowly and unaware on the pavement staring at records in their hands. HB Lanarc (www.hblanarc.ca) is on the second floor and is what you’d expect of a design and planning firm. Modern, crisp, efficiently arranged. It has recently been bought by Golder – the AECOM of Canada. HB Lanarc, careful not to get lumped in with the resource extraction services and other slightly dubious development activities that Golder is known for, remains in their office, retains their name and just added the small print “… part of the Golder family) under their logo.

"Golder's offices are in a business park on the outside of town", a woman said. Read: "We are NOT them". At least not in brand or feel. There are both advantages to having a strong “parent company” and disadvantages. The advantages are that they may be able to head in directions that they never had thought of before. As it was pitched to me, “if you can think of it (and if it makes good business sense), they will let you do it”. No need to convince small clients and mitigate small budgets. The size of the organization means that some failure in speculative activities is factored in. It’s why Walmart and REI can have fantastic return policies and small stores can not. They can shoulder the loss when a person returns a grill or a backpack after giving it a good “try” with the reasoning that “it just wasn’t for me” and happy retail agents will smile, refund the money and then toss it in the trash. If this analogy is confusing or sad, just imagine that your project is that tattered backpack. And in the small firms, often when it fails, you get thrown out with the backpack. It's not as cut-throat as that but small businesses feel the bumps of failure more acutely. The advantage of working for Golder or AECOM is having bosses like the retail agents in blue and green vests with smile pins.

I met with Janine de la Salle at HB Lanarc (…”now part of the Golder family”), a woman who studied international development, got into foodie issues while researching Havana and voila, was sheparded by Mark Holland (the H in HB Lanarc) into food system planning. Mark left HB Lanarc recently and Janine now seemingly has great opportunity for exciting responsibility and big shoes to fill. However, it seems that she’d like some help filling those shoes and we talked extensively about how the provinces, the city and private firms engage in food system planning and design in this region as well as throughout the world. We interestingly talked about how west coast planners often say that it is impossible (or at least difficult) to compare Europe and its history and planning path. Yet, after hearing me spout about Croatia, comparisons in northern Europe, observations in Africa and experience (albeit short and limited) in Switzerland, she seemed interested to take another look over the ocean, at least for some variety of thought. And I realized that I had found my niche in her chin stroking, cog turning contemplation about where to take food system planning in HB Lanarc. Janine and I could be a good team and I sense quite a bit of ability to grow, manage and “rise in the ranks” with this niche. I suppose this is what I want. I’ll have to think on that a bit. However, Janine said that her ability to hire me won’t come up until they pitch these ideas to the new bosses and see if they want to go to bat.

Once again I am in the hopper. People seem ready to hire, interested in my potential, but non-committal. And so I left Janine with my portfolio and CV and hope that she keeps me in mind. She said to let her know what comes out of my west coast trip. The problem is that if the trip is successful, I’ll be working elsewhere.

Squishy economy + Wanderlust = Bikescape 2011 Getting a job and enjoy the ride along the way – Vancouver, BC DAY 7

Date	July 29, 2011
Word/Phrase of the Day	‘you brought summer with you’
Start location	Seattle, WA
End location	Vancouver, BC
Laid my head	Tim’s newly free ‘guest bedroom’
Miles cycled	<5
Miles on other transport	142
Flats/Problems	0
Bike Mates (miles)	-
$ food	8
$ coffee (#)	0 (1)
$ beer (#)	0 (3)
$ gear	-
$ lodging	0
Firm visited	-
Advise for job seekers	-
Take home lesson	-
Highlight	Sunset beers at the Whip
Rain?	Nope

I made it to Vancouver. Chuck, my bike guru in Seattle had outfitted a perfect late 1980s road bike for the trip. Whereas bike shops were mostly shocked at my price point (you’d think propelling your own self as a way of transport would be cheaper than being one of four people on a monster bus, riding a multi-million dollar underused train or flying, oh no, burning calories to get where you want to go costs), Chuck found the perfect guinea pig for his yard sale searching, bike shop parts pile style of bike creation. The only thing new on my bike is the fancy black and red spotted handle bar tape. Everything else, from my yard sale cleats to a handle bar bag that Chuck used to ride around Yugoslavia in the 70s, has seen its share of the road. But he fixed, lubed, adjusted and tightened everything for me. The steely grey Schwinn needs a name now. In honor of Chuck Perov’s ancestral homeland, I’ll name him “Tito”. He’s stalwart like Comrade Tito. He’s going to stand the test of time (at least for the next month) like Tito.

I decided not to pack my panniers just yet and arrived at the Vancouver bus station with my old Burkinabe rice sack, tied with a chord to make sure the made-in-China zipper doesn’t split. Two construction workers helped me tie the sack to the back of the bike since I only needed to go about six blocks. I had a meeting set up with Janine de la Salle, Vancouver’s food planner extraordinaire at HB Lanarc. I had been trying to nail down a time to meet with her and after going back and forth on times, she suggested yesterday afternoon at 2pm. As I had already made bus arrangements, that left me, by the time I got the rice sack affixed and every other bit of luggage slung on my back, about negative 20 minutes. I didn’t even sling my leg over the bike before it toppled. The rice sack made the bike extremely top heavy and the bike slid out from under the bag as if trying to escape. Pinched for time, I walked it over to a backpacker’s hostel just to the north of the station. As Tim pointed out later, accommodations around bus stations often aren’t the best. The Ivanhoe Hotel had about six drunk men standing out in front of it. Two police cars were positioned on the curb. The man next to me in the lobby was having a conversation with himself about the pay phone policy. “It’s supposed to be for short calls. She’s been in there for over an hour. I have people I need to talk to”. The pay phone cabin was empty. The man at the desk was missing half a nose but he was courteous and helpful. He told me not to go down to the intersection of Hastings and Main to buy drugs and even marked the cross streets on a map for me with a big ‘X’. I’m not sure if he was suggesting that I go elsewhere for drugs or just cautioning me about a dicey corner. I left my bag in a locked room in the lobby.

My meeting with Janine ended up being cancelled and rescheduled for the next day, a morning meeting over coffee. Dripping with sweat, bike grease from my chain all over my hands and right calf, this was a relief. And all I wanted was a beer.

I met Edward at the Whip Bar. Edward went to UVA, as I did. We didn’t know each other there, however. I met him while looking at UBC. He was in the last death throws of his MLA thesis, an urban agriculturally focused project that DPZ was involved in, in farmland near a bedroom community to Vancouver. He was driving hard to finish while looking for jobs. He found himself in that rosy window of time when firms were hiring with abandon. 2005ish was a dangerously expectant time for our profession. Soon after getting his Masters he went to work with a firm here in Vancouver and has been there ever since. We stayed in touch and he has been my connection to the world of food planning here. We drank micro-brewed beer from Victoria and Vancouver and while I dreamed of moving here (I am looking at the mountains out of my cousin, Tim’s window as I type), Edward pined to go back east. He’s looking and debating whether he should just quit his job and move back to Virginia, to the mountains and look for a job with a small firm in Charlottesville. The idea is fantastic. If I can offer a bit of advice back at him (as payment for all of his fantastic help), be careful about putting yourself in the job hopper, unless you are willing to wait. But his new nieces and nephews are calling and the bluegrass twangs are getting louder. So, Edward, go east! And if you go, can I have your job?

Also, I was notified of my “ineligibility” for the billionth time for a Federal Job. I really need to learn my lesson. The federal government has no intention of hiring me. I have no clue why but you win US government, I give up.