Yesterday I was in a left turn lane (Macadam north onto Boundary west, in case you care). My carefully laid plan was to turn left (hence the lane) and immediately turn right, into one of the two gas stations I know about in quasi-downtown Portland. I was ready. I was confident. The light turned green.

Ahead of me, one car ahead of me, to be precise, a Chevy Malibu lurched up and down several times, rattling its precarious load of bicycles. Some bizarre mating ritual among the American cars? I wondered. But no. As the car started ponderously (it’s damn hard for a Malibu to move ponderously) into the intersection, I saw that it was being towed by a nylon strap - such as those used to tie down loads in truck beds - by the wee truck in front of it.

As I gawked at this sight, the light turned red and the car between me and the Malibu gunned it through, leaving me a perfect view of further hijinks. They pulled into my chosen gas station, and the strap fell off partway into the curb cut. Just as my over-active imagination was supplying scenes of carnage as the Malibu, bikes and all, rolled backwards into a busy two lane street…I realized it wasn’t happening. What? This is a slope! Where is physics?

I quickly realized that physics was with the person in the Malibu whose foot was on the brake pedal, and that probably the weight of that person and the TWO other passengers of the Malibu were in close consultation with physics when the well-laden car busted loose of its nylon tether. These two fine individuals, along with the driver of the wee pickup, proceeded to jump out and push the car to where it blocked one pump and the entrances to both avenues of pumpage. I sat aghast. The light turned green. I decided an eighth of a tank would get me home.