The Government Stairs

 1/13/2006

In 1930 the city of Seattle put in a waterline that came down from Capitol Hill, through Interlaken Park, ran north under 22^nd Street to East Blaine and then up a steep 65’ ridge to the high point of the Montlake Neighborhood.  From there it continued north to serve communities beyond the ship canal.  Once the waterline was completed one of the city’s charming sets of public stairs was thoughtfully installed on that right-of-way. 

As a kid I had never heard them referred to as anything other than the Government Stairs though I guess their official name is the “Howe Street Stairs”  I still return to them and recall a cycling adventure that took place over a half a century prior. 

Kasie and I were out for a Father/Daughter bike ride sometime back when we found ourselves in the Montlake neighborhood.  She had heard most of my “Glory Days” tales before but this was the first time that we had visited this particular site where I had made my bones as a fairly major cycling stud to be reckoned with.  As we stood over our bikes looking down the Government Stairs I proudly related something that happened there about 60 years ago. 

Bobby Melvin and I stood over our bikes at the top of the Government Stairs next to Scott Mowerman's house at 22nd and Howe.  Bob claimed to have successfully ridden down them the day before.  Though we had talked about how it could be done I wanted to doubt him because I hadn't gotten up the courage to try.  I had witnessed a few unsuccessful attempts by others that had resulted in severe pummeling, damaged gear and loss of blood.  Since I hadn't been able to spot the technique flaws that had precipitated those thrashings, I had remained uninspired.  Now Bobby was messing with my resolve or perhaps it was my survival instinct.  At any rate, I wasn't sure that I had it in me that day but he was ready to do it again and said that the key was the modification that we had done to my rear brake lever.  By turning it upside down to match his, I could exert much more force on the brake and lock the rear wheel up tight.  He had modified his brake lever the week before and found that he could out-skid everyone.  He had gone through a rear tire in a single week. 

He detailed the plan for me:

"Keep the rear brake locked up, don't touch the front brake, stand on the pedals, lean back, hold on tight and ride it to the bottom.  Don't try to stop, no matter what!  Let up just a touch on the brake when you hit the landings but stay back and as soon as you go over the edge again be on that rear brake."  

Poised on the brink of the stairs I decided that I really didn't need all the drama and didn't want to try out his theory, but before I could come up with another idea he pushed off.  I stood transfixed, watching his descent.  

Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thump!  Pause.  

Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thump!  Pause.

Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thump!  Pause.

Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thump!  Pause.

Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thump!  and out onto Blaine Street where he did a tight little 180 and came back up onto the sidewalk.   

He pulled it off the way he pulled everything off.  Understated yet outrageous.  Completely considered, planned for and executed.  He stood over his bike at the bottom and looked up at me with his big smile.  In spite of my fear, I had to go.  

The violence of the descent of that first flight really caught me off guard.  The "thumpa-thumpa-thumpa” was punctuated by the rattling of the chain and the jarring shock of the tires on the stairs.  The laurels on the sides of the stairway were a green blur and the silver-painted hand rails vibrated wildly out of focus.  Just before I hit the first landing my chrome plated battery-powered headlight flew off its mount and clattered to the ground ahead of me. The lens shattered into a million pieces.  Next came the breaking glass from my twin handlebar-mounted rearview mirrors that exploded around me, briefly sparkling in my peripheral vision.  I was vaguely aware that my basketball, released by the spring-loaded arm of my rear rack, had decided to make the descent on its own.  Superfluous parts and pieces were leaving my bike like rats from a sinking ship.  No time for concern, I was committed to survival and focused on the job at hand.  

The landing between flights was quiet, smooth, welcome and really short-lived as I released the brake a bit and then jammed it on hard again as I dropped into the second flight.  Sometime during that second "Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thump" I realized that, though violent, my descent speed was consistent and as long as nothing significant broke I would be OK.  By the time I approached the bottom of the stairs I was no longer distracted by the sound of the chain or the blur of my surroundings.  I had confidence in the strength and technology of the steel frame, steel rims, steel bars and modified brake lever of my second-hand English Racer.  Bob and I now shared the technique for safely conquering the Government Stairs. 

With a few steps remaining I released the brake and gained enough momentum to bounce onto the sidewalk, execute a smart 90 degree skid and come to a stop next to Bob.  We just had a second to smile at each other before my basketball, having parted company near the top and taking the stairs at its own pace, caromed off the front edge of a step and smacked me full in the side of the face.  I felt pain, saw a white flash and fell over sideways, knocking Bob to the ground in the process.  We lay in a tangled heap at the base of the stairs and laughed. 

Kasie was unimpressed.  She stepped onto her bike and, showing no concern for gravity, balanced easily while rolling each peddle over with her sole and snapping smartly into the cleats.  Next, she bunny-hopped to the edge of the stairs and without a word started down.  There was absolutely no drama in her descent.  No rattling, no parts flying off, no gnashing of teeth, no concern with speed control.  Very little sound.  The full-suspension frame and fat tires sucked up the stairs and the disc brakes provided precise descent speed.  Her skill coupled with today's technology made it look as uneventful as a ride down Louisa Street.  At the bottom of the stairs she provided a brief thrill by rocking up on the front wheel and spinning around so that when the rear tire hit the ground she was facing back at the stairs.  She casually balanced there and snapped out while glancing up at me with that look of disinterest and disdain that children reserve for their parents.  The challenge was in her posture and her eyes.  

I stood nervously over my bike and considered the features and benefits that I had going for me.  Lots of frame travel through the suspension to smooth the bumps and maintain contact with the earth.  Fat tires mounted on aluminum rims to provide traction and control.  Disc brakes for incredible stopping power and precise speed control.  I had everything I needed to conquer the Government Stairs again.  Just before I started over the edge, though, I thought about another feature that I loved about my bike.  It weighed only 24 pounds.  

It was this feature that I decided to employ that day on the Government Stairs.  I picked it up, slung it over my shoulder and walked down to meet Kasie at the bottom.