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.

Days 1-6: Seattle Procurement

In a land far, far away, Quanah Parker got a 401k

Two days ago, as we were flying past Mt. Ranier, the snowy mountain sitting on the horizon at the same level as the plane window, looking down on thick, green forests with water in the distance, I challenged myself to react to an imaginary scenario. What if I got offered a job next week, here in Seattle. Would I take it? The gut imagined reaction included a bit of panic. I am getting so used to being on the path of searching for a job that the prospect of actually getting one is a bit scary. Even in such a great place as Seattle. Scary because it creates a permanence that I keep saying I want but I haven’t had all that much experience with in the past decade. I have gotten comfortable being the rubber band, with the elastic lifestyle yet always in a semi-state of tension. I have gotten comfortable with my tendency to see the ‘grass as always greener’ and look forward to other pastures (and speaking in many mixed metaphors). This created the movement that made my 20s so dynamic. I don’t regret that. And I am looking, now, to root. But I wonder if rooting must be specifically in a place, a destination or if there are other ways to root. So now I challenge myself to find those other ways to ‘root’. How do nomads root? I’m reading a book about Quanah Parker and the Comanches, the nomadic Plains tribe. They carry their families with them. They keep their pack light and simple. Everything comes from one thing – the buffalo. The things in their life they find most essential move with them. They either chase after them or take them with them. Movement is key to their survival. I’m not saying I’m a Comanche. They were also known for having lice and scalping captives. I AM saying it’s interesting and ironic that I choose to cycle down the Northwest coast IN SEARCH OF a place to root in. Perhaps I unconsciously know this nomadic lifestyle better than any other and may not be completely comfortable moving out of it. Those recipes that I described above essentially say that the decision I make will include a great deal of compromise. It may simply mean that I have to figure out how to keep on being a bit of a rubber band, even if ZGF, Berger Partnership, Swift Architecture, Mithun or Weber Thompson (fingers crossed, fate blessed) hire me in one city.

Cafe Verite (again), Ballard, Seattle
2 cups of drip coffee
"I've got an answer. I've got to fly away. What have I got to lose" - Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
Air mattress
Brita
Bike miles: 0
Car miles: 0
Train/bus miles: 0

Caffeinated Day 1

Seattle.

Day one.

I am starting my northwest bike job adventure at a coffee shop. Verite Cupcake Shop in Ballard in Seattle. I say this only because the ceramic cups, the cool air (in comparison to the steamy heat of DC), the hip coffee shop women with pink bangs cut into the shape of V on their forehead, the dads walking around with babies in backpacks, the dogs sitting underneath tables, the boutique hip-semi-orthopedic shoes, the Kavu shop, the Indian flute music and the bicycles that are everywhere is everything that the northwest is to me right now. Ask me again in a month. I’m curious what I would add or delete from that list. This list is part of the illusion tied into my job hunt since for me it has always been about the big picture of place, job and life versus the particulars of employment, simple.

I’ve decided I need some litmus, some way to measure this trip.

It seems worth it, however, to try to look past the superficial statistics like the ratio of locally owned coffee shops to Starbucks in a radius around an intersection, the number of micro-brew beers on tap per capita, the variations of definition of “northwest hippy” given to me (not because I asked but willingly offered up by numerous “indigenous” Northwesterners when trying to describe their homeland). I should stick to quantifiable, empirical data like my carbon footprint, the number of firms I visit or the number of miles traveled on a pie chart sorted by mode of transportation. Yet when all these factors are listed, it seems like none of the information is really irrelevant. Since I am looking for the entire package, every bit of this information is critical. In fact, it’s like a landscape analysis, charting drainage patterns, eco-tones and transit stops to determine “quality of life”. And the recipes can be quite different. Would I take a job in Washington because the opportunity to work on frequent international assignments and being close(r) to my family would heavily factor into the reality that I would have to plan ‘mountains’ into the weekend, not into my afternoon. Or consider working in Seattle where bankers bike commute, my ‘fancy fleece’ and flip flops count as dressing up and the flight attendant on the way here recounted her last hike up Mt. Ranier with the fact that I’m just as far from my east coast family as I was in Switzerland, and diversity thus far (and I realize this is day one, in a hip Seattle neighborhood) extends to Chaco color scheme. But, well, gosh… this is a useful exercise since I am having a hard time coming up with other low-weighted reasons in this city at the moment. It’s no new discovery that Seattle is a pretty awesome spot!

If coffee shop radii is just as important as 401k, here is what I’ve come up with:

Friends visited

Coffee shop camped in for computer sessions (name, music played, coffee consumed)

Miles by bike/bus/train/car

Head laid in/on couch/tent/floor/bed

Firm meetings

- 3 adjectives used to describe the ‘state of the profession’ (by interviewer)

- 3 adjectives used to describe the work they are doing currently (by interviewer)

Firms that ignored me

Flat tires

Bike mates

I’d love suggestions for this list. Critique away!

On the Road Again - trawling for jobs and enjoying it along the way

"Just can't wait to get on the road again
The life I love is making music with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the road again"

After a bit of a hiatus as a nomad (‘nomad’ defined as someone who moves around frequently, and by ‘frequently’, I mean spending less than a month in each location) I am back at it. I had a Fulbright for ten months and a six month contract in Switzerland. It was a good chunk of work and I am grateful for it. Now I find myself again in these revolutions of career building which is not to say that I am climbing up any ladders, just cycling in and out of experiences which, I argue, or at least tell myself, makes me a diverse and flexible candidate in this business.

What business am I in, remind me? Landscape architect. Planner. Urban Designer. Throw in manger, writer, editor, translator, babysitter, dry wall specialist.

But I’m getting a bit fed up. It’s a general feeling of frustration that stems from this jump I took into a field with both feet, feeling passionate and creative about it throughout school, and now empathetic to the employers (we are all in the same boat). Yet I'm curious how we can use our creativity to try to deal with our collective professional sluggishness. My cohort, an imaginative bunch, have splintered into every direction. They are starting their own businesses, working at bike shops, paying their dues as CAD bunnies, doing wedding floral design and essentially doing what they can do to keep an inspired foot in some sort of door, hold their head above water and wait out the storm (to sling a few metaphors around).

So I’ve decided to bike. I always found myself most creative when I was moving, getting my heart beating. Those 4pm runs through Sam Hughes neighborhood in grad school, when my creative juices had been squeezed out of me, got me going again. Well, I feel a bit dry right now. Biking, then, seems like a very normal reaction to my unemployment situation. I have no income. I can’t pay for buses or trains or planes. So I will bike from Vancouver to Eugene, Oregon, in search of a job. It’s my own holy search for employment (among other things, perhaps), not via donkey but by bicycle.

I start next Saturday. Holy smokes. Next Saturday. This prompted a trip to REI last night to figure out how one actually does bike a couple hundred miles. It seems simple enough of an endeavor. I’ve biked long distances before. Once. In Peace Corps my friends Lindy, Drew and I decided we were going to bike from Dori, Burkina Faso to Niamey, Niger (about 300 km) over four days. It took us six. Despite running out of water, losing the road to sand, patching over 20 flat tires, following donkey paths and camels, we survived. A simple paved road down the northwest coast shouldn’t be all that hard, it seems.

Oh, no. It is. Worth it, but not easy. Not in the mind of a) major retailers or b) dedicated bike touring folks. I engaged a dedicated bike touring REI salesman yesterday evening. And really, it was very helpful although I have to edit out pieces he considers ‘essential’. Did you know an indispensable piece of equipment for bike touring is a mirror that clips onto your sunglasses so you never have to turn your head? I am sure I will now get struck to the ground by a driver who I can not see but it seems extraneous (and, well, nerdy). But what do I know? I haven’t marked it off my “kit of parts” just yet. But I did buy padded underpants (which also look silly but deemed necessary), a pair of socks, and the rest I will buy when I get there. I have a plan. The plan is not to have a plan.

This “plan” also holds true for my attempt to get a job. I made a hip concert poster style “advertisement” for this bike trip. I sent out multiple cover letters and emails of inquiry. I got back a couple of “sure, common’s but we have no work for you” and many instances of simply being ignored, but I am still doing this. The extent of my plan is to find a community biking organization in Vancouver and ask “where shall I start” and go from there. I plan to show up at interesting landscape architecture and planning offices and ask if I can come in, lean my bike up against a wall and talk to someone.

And between those awkward meetings, spend a great deal of time getting to see the southwestern tip of Canada and the northwest coast of the US by bike, visit with friends, enjoy myself and hopefully stay invigorated for another round of job searching (and soul searching) in the “worst economy since the Great Depression”. So now I’ve said it once, and I promise never to say it again or only to elude to it. This is only partly about jobs and the economy – I will leave the majority of the commentary on that to the New York Times. It’s about: Vancouver, Seattle, Portland, Corvalis, Eugene and everywhere in-between.

And my hosts: Tim, Edward, Brita, Katie, Anna, Tex, Jamie, Vince, James, Alison, Eleanor, Sam and Lisa.

“Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway
…
Insisting that the world keep turning our way and our way”