biker chick, day three

so (sigh) i had to use my car.  until i'm properly outfitted for trimet carrying night riding, i thought it wise.  and i have to tell you that even after only a couple of days it was strange being behind the wheel of such a lugging, exhaust-emitting machine that i didn't get to power.  my legs felt left out.  for such a car freak (i drool over certain makes and models; to reign myself in i tell myself that all cars are alike: a mere aesthetic rearrangement of useless, rusted scrap metal waiting to happen, and this helps for a while) i am more and more dissatisfied with the whole idea of "having" to own a vehicle and all the expense that goes into keeping up appearances and function.  so, remiss, i drove into portland, found a lovely parking spot, paid forty cents for it and made my way to powell's, city of books.  on my way, i spied a record shop; perfect place to inquire after viola rock, i thought, ask the people who sell the music.  a bearded, bespectacled man behind the counter asked me "wassup?" and when i started with, "i was wondering if you knew..." he interrupted me with "whoa, whoa, not so chipper there, tone it down, i'm working sober!"  "ok," i began again, "portland is known for its espresso afterall," i chimed...before asking about local band venues. that proving somewhat fruitless (and not wanting to stay to find out if he was more helpful when working not-sober), i headed to hear mark bitterman talk about salt.  can't you do better for a friday night? you may be wondering.  truth is, to hear mark talk about food IS friday night entertainment.  he, local owner of The Meadow on Mississippi, which specializes in salts, sauces, wine and chocolate (and is opening a new location on NW 23rd!) expounded on his new book all about salt block cooking. he teaches like poetry, telling stories along the way about trips to salt mines across europe and croatia.  he looked younger in person than he had when i saw him on tv the same morning at the gym, now wearing "remodel" garb for his new shop and looking like he could use a *drink (*see also record shop owner).  from there, i took in a modern movie version of "much ado about nothing".  modern dress, black and white filming, full-on shakespeare.  at first i wasn't sure if they were going to pull it off, but it worked and we all gave it a round of applause.  my legs still wanting to pedal, i settled for walking back to my waiting scrap metal and bid it carry me home to a new day where neither bike nor legs would be jilted like shakespearean lovers:  saturday.