THE PORTLAND DIFFERENCE: URBAN FEAR

The Portland difference means telling yourself one urban space is different than another.

How can anyone make such a judgement?

There’s only one way: wander around urban spaces both new and old.

From London to Paris, more like Paris to London; from Philadelphia to New York City, which most people think is only Manhattan without The Bronx, Staten Island, Queens, and my place, Brooklyn, I’ve made it a point to wander around.

Here’s what I learned wandering around Portland, Oregon: There’s one block of urban fear.

Where is it?

Urban Fear Block: You’ll want to start near Pioneer Square on SW Broadway and park your car, but since it’s a one way street you’ll need to tap your navigation skills.

I’ll help.

Coming in from the south on I-5 north you’ll drift lanes through the Terwilliger Curves, some of the sharpest turns in the whole west coast system, or so I’m told.

How sharp?

 

While Washington has the Beltway and New York has the Long Island Expressway, in Portland it’s hard to beat the Terwilliger Curves for sheer rush-hour vexation.

Squeezed between bluffs and a river, the highway twists and turns through an area with few alternative routes, making it a flash point for crashes, congestion and commuter frustration.

Five times in just over a mile, the curves change from gentle to sharp.

The result for a driver comes down to a physics lesson: It’s harder to keep a vehicle in one lane when going around a curve than when traveling a straight stretch of road.

The tighter the curve and the higher the speed, the harder it is to keep the car in the same path.

Driving even 5 mph over the speed limit increases the difficulty of going around a curve by about 20 percent.

 

The moral of the Terwilliger Curves? Keep your distance.

One morning a car in front of me suddenly swerved left into the lane separating cement barrier with the green pom-poms.

It climbed the wall and flipped onto its roof.

Car debris bounced off my truck like I was the on-board camera during a NASCAR crash.

Life goal: make it through the Terwilliger Turns.

 

Further On Up The Road

If you survive that stretch of high speed curves, you’ve got a choice: Aim right to go over the Willamette River on the Marquam Bridge, or left to 405. (Go left)

After that you’ve got another quick decision: the right fork goes to Front Ave/Naito Parkway, the left fork to 405. (Take the left)

This is where the one way streets of downtown Portland come into play.

You can take the 4th St. exit, but it comes up fast and traffic is flying off the Marquam so you’ll have to swerve over in a hurry.

The 6th St. exit isn’t much better.

Either one takes you into the guts of Portland where you’ll need a left turn to get up to Broadway, which if numbered would be 7th St.

You’ll probably take that left too early and end up at Portland State or The Schnitz instead Pioneer Square.

Avoid all the twists and turns and ease over to the right on 405 for the Beaverton exit. No, you’re not going to Beaverton so relax.

There’s an exit on the right side of the exit for 12th St.

Take it and cruise down SW Market to a left on 10th for a straight shot down past the Multnomah County Library on the left to SW Alder.

Turn right on Alder to another right turn on Broadway three blocks down.

Park your car near Pioneer Square.

 

Urban Fear With The Portland Difference

This isn’t it. Every urban center has transit corridors.

 

 

Everybody’s got someplace to go in a hurry.

 

 

This doesn’t strike fear into your heart, does it?

I didn’t think so.

Portland urban fear lives between SW 6th and SW 5th, bordered by SW Alder and Morrison St.

One block of terror. Here’s why:

This block was once the loading docks for the Meier & Frank department store.

It was the murky back side to a gleaming front where Portland’s finest used to dress up and shop.

Then it was Macy’s.

Now it’s the Nines.

Throughout the 80’s and 90’s I took the old Meier and Frank delivery wagon from the Oregon Historical Society Warehouse to the backside of the store every winter for Santaland.

We’d take it off the trailer and roll it onto the freight elevator to the tenth floor.

Winter days were dark, the shadows darker, and that’s when it hit: I got the same creeped out feeling I had roaming around other urban centers where it felt like I didn’t belong.

Not that it ever stopped me from looking around; the other places had miles of creepy feel.

Portland had one block where it felt like some bandit, some brigand, or desperado could get the jump on me.

One block where I looked out for highwaymen, thugs, and thieves.

Dark and dirty with dumpsters and trash, it had all the markings of where to dump a body, if not take a life.

In summary, my urban wishlist includes never coming upon a dead body in public, and never seeing a murder.

I’m a modest blogger like that.