This morning, as I was driving east, into the blinding, rising sun, following my kids on the school bus they were riding for the first time (yes, I did that because I’m totally neurotic and they’re the most precious thing I have and a stranger is driving them to their destination and I watch way too many godawful crime dramas and I drink way too much caffeine)*, I couldn’t help but think that something about St. Paul is "off". Sure, the start of the new school year brings a certain bustle, missing during the summer, but the atmosphere is all wrong at the moment.
And, I know what is causing this feeling. The RNC. We’ve been talking about and preparing for the Republican National Convention for so long. And, by we, I do mean the collective we that is St. Paul. For weeks, spare green spaces, such as those near freeway ramps, have stored concrete barriers, fencing, and other material meant to create a perimeter defense. The city passed an ordinance, temporarily extending the hours that bars can serve liquor, from two a.m. to four a.m. This would be welcomed news if I was in college, required little sleep, or was childless. Then the barriers were installed; the cyclone fencing created a corridor and a dead-end to Kellogg Blvd. The National Guard arrived in full riot gear. Law enforcement agents and vehicles appeared from all over the state to lend a hand. Helicopters fly surveillance through the day and night.
It looks like—feels like—martial law has been enacted. Independent of each other, John and I each came to the conclusion that the convention wouldn’t be so lock-down if the Democrats were hosting. Denver couldn’t have felt like this.
If you don’t get to0 close to downtown St. Paul, you may not know it, but I’m hanging out at Dunn’s right now, at the corner of Grand and Snelling, and for all intents and purposes, it’s business as usual. Mac students studying and housewives waiting to pick up their preschoolers. Same ‘ol.
One block over, though, on Summit Avenue, the bike lanes are busy. These aren’t your garden-variety, spandex-clad, VPs on expensive bikes, squeezing in a quick club ride before returning to the office, which is what I typically see on my afternoon rides. No, these are twenty something, grungy road warrior-types on vintage single-speed bikes, no helmets, riding in a small packs. And, there is something slightly menacing about them. As my friend Colin, who also has witnessed this phenomenon, says, “They ride over the hill [into downtown St. Paul], and they never come back.”
*for the record, I didn’t follow the bus so much as meet it at school, and, from a safe distance, I watched the boys get off. Roly-poly, tumble-bumble, pell-mell. They made it!!
1 comment:
We are purposely avoiding St. P until after the RNC pulls up stakes. It's a little too stressy for me.
Glad the boys made it to school alright. I love the 'Roly Poly Puppy' analogy, it's the perfect visual. LOL!
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