These are two of the ghost bikes in Portland, memorial sites set up to mark the place where cyclists were killed by cars. They are both within a handful of blocks from my house and I pass by them on a regular basis. This being the little town it is, I knew one of the people who was hit, Noah, who worked the door at Biddy's where Sean regularly plays. I can't pass either site without thinking about the stupidity of such accidents and their astounding regularity.

While I acknowledge the usefulness of cars and trucks, mostly the way they bring me food and books and the way they get me to the beach, I still loathe the things. Along with wishing for giant foodstuffs rotating on the tops of buildings (see yesterday's post) I wish cars only existed in suburbs. At city limits you'd have to change over to bike or foot or light rail. That way all the car-crazy people would be banished to Beaverton where they could go ahead and crash their cars into each other instead of into the soft bodies of boys riding their bikes.