There are memories that strike deep though they are not memories in the traditional sense. They are not memories in the context of a story: an image that has been embossed without apparent reason. There is always a story behind the image but the story seems to be only for the person who is in it. There is no punch line, no real interesting details: an orange flower, fog on top of a lighted structure, a golf ball bouncing down the road. San Francisco was grandiose and busily breathing.
Dan lent me his bike and Ceara and I rode to the CalTrain to go into the city. Ceara had to work and so I set off to find a map at Pier 1 and explore my new surroundings. At Dan and Ceara’s suggestion, I followed a pretty bike path around the outskirts by riding along The Embarcadero. I chuckled to myself when I saw the name because embarcadero is Spanish and it seemed strange that the name was both Spanish and English instead of just being one or the other.
SF was much colder than I had presumed. I’m glad Mohs’ mom told me to bring a jacket. Riding along The Embarcadero, my path skirted the bay. Alcatraz looked quite peaceful from afar. Boatloads of boats threaded the piers. I cycled on. Fisherman’s Warf, up a hill and in the faint distance The Golden Gate Bridge, down the hill, around the bend, Chrissy’s Beach and now I’m under the bridge. The bay welcomed me with its open waters and gentle breeze. Up a couple hills and I biked across the bridge. The winds can be pretty strong there – up to 60 mps. Thankfully they weren’t that strong when I went. However, big trucks would zoom by, and I’d feel a huge force pull and twist at me. I felt like an armadillo because I had to always be balled up to counteract that force. Biking back across, there were more people than before and a biker going the opposite direction clipped my handlebar but thankfully neither of us was fazed and kept going. There was a second of panic when I thought I might be falling into the coming traffic haha.
I wanted to see more views and continued my adventure by following the signs that said “49 mile scenic drive” also known as the Ultimate Stair Stepping machine. Dan has modified his road bike so that it only has one gear and so I was literally standing up to bike up hill after hill after hill. My legs felt like rocks afterward but the views were phenomenal so it was definitely worth it.
It was around 1:00 pm and I was hungry. And even though the views were grand, I didn’t care to see 49 miles of them. Ceara knew of a Mediterranean restaurant and so an hour later I met her there. I have had some of the best food in SF! I really wish I lived here and could just eat and bike around.
I loved Chinatown. It was busy and dirty and bright. The colors in the stores contrasted beautifully with the blue-grey overcast sky. Fresh markets were on every corner. English was a second language and it seemed like every other shop was a tourist shop. Normally I don’t like touristy things but they actually did some of things and I respect that. I went into one store and saw a woman hand weaving different colored bamboo onto ceramic. She was happy to show me how she did it too and then she gave me her business card. In another store, after seeing my last name on my credit card, the owner asked if I was Chinese. I said that I was 25% and he was really excited and gave me his business card as well. Haha, I don’t know what I’ll do with them, but how cool is that?!
When Ceara got off work, we biked up to Twin Peaks – the highest point in altitude in SF. SF is very bike friendly but it is nothing like Lund, Sweden because there are so many cars. When we left from her work, it was during rush hour and I had so much fun biking because I was going faster than the cars that were pretty much at a standstill. We would bike between cars to get to the light and it almost always a tight squeeze. The game in my head was to see how fast I could go and still have control of the bike through each pass. If you are reading this Mom and Dad, don’t worry, I was safe :-P.
We went through the Castro district, which is where most of the gay community lives. I found it pretty funny that most of the store names included a stereotypical play-on-words. There was a dry cleaner store named Gay Cleaner. The posters and advertisements were quite different as well.
When we were about halfway up the road to the Twin Peaks, I felt my ears pop. You could see everything in the city there. I had to take a dramatic picture and so I held Dan’s bike in the air with the furry of a Viking.
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