June 1, 2001 | 6:57 p.m.

At a stoplight on 13th Avenue, I sat watching the street ahead, wondering why the diesel engine made the car feel like it was straining, chug - chug - chug, whenever I stopped.

A boy with good sneakers bicycled through the crosswalk right in front of me, standing on the pedals of a beautiful old bike - the sort with no straight lines whatsoever, just curves, from an era where design was about more than just function.

He was the image of living here. Balancing, standing up, on the pedals of an old Schwinn, good sneakers and the University of Oregon campus, one-way streets and the Circle K.