:: When you're looking at six months of incessant rain, bone chilling cold, and swarms of texting-while-driving asshats in SUVs, skipping town for a tropical beach sounds like the perfect revenge. But after a few months of being unable to find a decent beer; a good meal that consists of something other than [rice + beans + fish], or music that was recorded within the past year, you begin to realize that the jungle's always greener on the other side of the equator. Really, I just needed to pan back a few degrees of latitude to see the beauty of where I live. In addition to having a vibrant night life, numerous adventure-sport options, and the best donuts in the free world, Portland is a prolific breeding ground for the bread and butter of my business--freaks, derelicts, and fringe wandering fanatics. Cults of every type thrive in the Petridish of the PNW: Indie rock bands; performance poets; DJs; pro skaters; Hash House Harriers; Linux geeks; Frisbee golfers; pinball gangs; sci-fi graphic novelists; adult soapbox derby racers; transvestite punk rock circus performers; mutant DIY bikers; satanic Santa societies ... the list is never ending and their various gatherings are attended by hundreds of practitioners.

Mini-Bike Winter, hosted by the Zoo Bomb crew, draws a few hundred bike freaks together from San Francisco, Seattle, and the greater British Columbia metro area for five days of Greco-Roman themed antics on kids’ bikes including: blind chariot races, naked midnight rides across the city, huffy tossing competitions, tricycle/PBR relays and, of course, bombing downhill through Washington Park at 40mph in the dark on tiny bikes with no brakes. One of the highlights of the most recent gathering was the brutal Ben Hurt Death Match—a vicious bike chariot war between club wielding opponents, last one standing wins. Punk rock, public nudity, and gladiator drag queens dominated. Despite considerable carnage, no one died, and it was widely reported that everyone had a scandalously good time—even the Canadians.

The following Saturday morning more than 500 inebriated runners took over the city during the annual Portland Urban Iditarod.

To commemorate the start of the Alaskan Iditarod, costumed teams hauled a "musher" with a shopping cart around the city on an arduous all day bar crawl. I missed the early morning start and was still laying in bed wondering how I might find the race when I heard them stop traffic for three blocks outside my window barking and mushing through downtown in a clattering drunken shopping cart riot. I bounded down the stairs wih my camera thinking: 'I love this city.'

If you want to see your city with new eyes all you have to do is leave and come back again (preferably after the weather improves).