Today is Friday. We arrived in San Francisco late on Tuesday, and it's been pretty active ever since.
First, let me comment on parking, or rather, the complete lack of it. None! It took forever to find a place to park the car so we could meet our condo lady. Right then and there I vowed I would never live in this city. Sure, our condo had a garage, but so what? You could never drive it anywhere. You'd be circling city blocks waiting for a place to open, where you could pay top dollar to leave it for a maximum of two hours, or you could park it in a garage (IF there was space available) and pay a minimum of $15 a day. No. Thanks.
Our condo is nice. Not big, not small, and it's within easy reach of the harbor. Chinatown is just south of us, as is Little Italy. We have two bedrooms, but only one TV, and it's in the living room. Not surprisingly one of our girls has opted to take the couch every evening.
We walked down to Firsherman's Wharf the first afternoon, walked around a bit, looked in some shops, then ate at Bubba Gump's. The weather was very cool, and though we all had jackets, things were on the verge of uncomfortable the whole time.
The next day I set out for the bridge. I wasn't sure how far away it was, or even specifically how to get to it. I just knew that as long as I could see it, I would get to it. My path wound through Fisherman's Wharf and Pier 39, past Ghiradelli, past Fort Mason, and down to Crissy Park. Once there, I found a foot trail up some steps (Spring Mill Inn!), and the next thing I knew I was on the bridge!
The walkway is split in half: the right side is dedicated to foot traffic, the left to bicycles. Generally the locals adhere to this policy, but the tourists generally don't, especially the old folks and the Chinese. The old folks, I get. The Chinese? Nope.
It wasn't a tough run. In fact, of all the bridges I've run, this one has the gentlelest of all slopes. I was carrying my phone, and occasionally I stopped to take photos. Midway across the bridge I stopped and looked down. I could see baby dolphins below me.
I knew when I took off this would be a longer run. I finally hit the other side right about 6.5 miles from the start. This was turning into the longest run of the summer thus far, but hey, it was cool and I wasn't sweating much at all. The only question was the hips and calves.
There wasn't much of a problem until the end when I could tell it was time to stop running. It wasn't like I couldn't run further - that would have been okay - but I also had a day full of walking ahead of me. That could be a problem. No matter - I finished in around 13 miles and cleaned up for the day as if nothing was amiss.
We ran around the rest of the day. My right calf, high and tight, kept whispering to me. "You better not run tomorrow, you better not run tomorrow..." I heard it. It didn't matter, as I already had 23 miles for the week and plenty of days to go.
Leisa had been after me to rent a bike, so as we walked around I started to talk with the proprietors of the many bike shops. "$70 a day! $40 for every day after!" was the common refrain. I didn't really want to spend that kind of money, especially since I didn't have any riding shorts with me. It wasn't as if I was afraid of buying a pair of shorts since I could use those forever (and really I need some anyway). There was also the helmet issue - head lice anyone? The whole idea icked me out considerably. I asked one fellow if California law forced me to wear one. "No." Okay.
I finally settled on a Cannondale in this faraway grocery-converted-to-the-largest-outdoor-store-I've-ever-seen. Their rates were $40 a day with every succeeding day $20. That was palatable. They even talked me into a helmet! It was a CAD 10 with Shimano 105, street pedals, and adjustable seat post. Entry level stuff, but it would do.
The next day I set out again for the bridge, this time with the plan of not only crossing, but heading up into the hills beyond. I could see the road twisting upwards into the mist while on the run; now I wondered where the road went. I made it to the bridge, crossed, and came to some construction. There was a young man and a young woman on bikes waiting for clearance to head to Salsolito. That was to the right; I wanted to go left. They just about had me talked out of it when an older lady rolled up on a hybrid. "I want to go to the highlands!" she said to the construction worker. "So do I!", said I, and she told me to follow her. She got me to the turn and told me to go on, because I would overtake her anyway. So I did.
The climb was long and steep. Who cares? We have plenty of hills just as steep, just not as long. Patience! I cranked on up, up, up, until I came to a roundabout. I decided to keep climbing, so I took the left path. Up, up, up some more, and soon I was at the top.
The view might have been breathtaking if not for the fog. It was constant. I could see the bottom of the bridge far below me, but that was about it. I was probably up 1500 feet or so above, maybe more, and about 10 miles into the ride. I now had a choice. There was a road extending down, one-way, 18% grade, and I had no idea where it went. If I went down there I wouldn't be allowed to double back. With no clear way to get home I had no real choice but to reverse direction then. I suppose there was one additional reason - though I had a tire kit, I had no way to put air in a repaired tire. A flat would be death, because I would have no way to tell Leisa where to go to get me. The wise move was to go back.
On the way back down I stopped to take pictures. Along the way I met the old lady again. We talked for a while. She told me where that road led, and I now know I can take it and get home. We talked further about life in San Francisco, swimming in the bay, and other such stuff. I bid her adieu, and off I went.
There was till one thing left on my docket - a swim in the bay. I packed my bag with only the most necessary stuff - a towel and goggles - and headed down to the cove. Homeless people were all over, and the fact was I wasn't sure that bag would be there when I exited the water. It was about a 2-mile walk back to the condo, and the thought of having to do that dripping wet, barefoot and clad only in running shorts didn't appeal, but that was a risk I was willing to take.
I saw two young women with bikes sitting near some steps. I asked them how likely it was my stuff would be there when I got out, and they offered to watch it. I stripped, waded out, and started swimming. That is, I tried. I couldn't breathe. Literally, for the first time in my swimming career, I couldn't breathe with my face in the water. My diaphragm constricted every time I put my face down, and I couldn't force myself to breathe. I tried over and again, and I couldn't make it work for any distance. And, since I couldn't generate any heat, my arms and hands were quickly numbing. There was no guard on duty, and drowning was actually becoming a real possibility. It was time to get out.
The whole event lasted less than 10 minutes. It didn't matter. I had been in the bay. 55 degrees without a wetsuit I now know isn't possible for me, not for distance. If I really cared I suppose I could rent one, but there's the catch - I don't care.
I'm getting ready to go out for a second ride now. It should be warm enough for a successful venture. I think I'm going up to the hills again, to explore that road not traveled...
First, let me comment on parking, or rather, the complete lack of it. None! It took forever to find a place to park the car so we could meet our condo lady. Right then and there I vowed I would never live in this city. Sure, our condo had a garage, but so what? You could never drive it anywhere. You'd be circling city blocks waiting for a place to open, where you could pay top dollar to leave it for a maximum of two hours, or you could park it in a garage (IF there was space available) and pay a minimum of $15 a day. No. Thanks.
Our condo is nice. Not big, not small, and it's within easy reach of the harbor. Chinatown is just south of us, as is Little Italy. We have two bedrooms, but only one TV, and it's in the living room. Not surprisingly one of our girls has opted to take the couch every evening.
We walked down to Firsherman's Wharf the first afternoon, walked around a bit, looked in some shops, then ate at Bubba Gump's. The weather was very cool, and though we all had jackets, things were on the verge of uncomfortable the whole time.
The next day I set out for the bridge. I wasn't sure how far away it was, or even specifically how to get to it. I just knew that as long as I could see it, I would get to it. My path wound through Fisherman's Wharf and Pier 39, past Ghiradelli, past Fort Mason, and down to Crissy Park. Once there, I found a foot trail up some steps (Spring Mill Inn!), and the next thing I knew I was on the bridge!
The walkway is split in half: the right side is dedicated to foot traffic, the left to bicycles. Generally the locals adhere to this policy, but the tourists generally don't, especially the old folks and the Chinese. The old folks, I get. The Chinese? Nope.
It wasn't a tough run. In fact, of all the bridges I've run, this one has the gentlelest of all slopes. I was carrying my phone, and occasionally I stopped to take photos. Midway across the bridge I stopped and looked down. I could see baby dolphins below me.
I knew when I took off this would be a longer run. I finally hit the other side right about 6.5 miles from the start. This was turning into the longest run of the summer thus far, but hey, it was cool and I wasn't sweating much at all. The only question was the hips and calves.
There wasn't much of a problem until the end when I could tell it was time to stop running. It wasn't like I couldn't run further - that would have been okay - but I also had a day full of walking ahead of me. That could be a problem. No matter - I finished in around 13 miles and cleaned up for the day as if nothing was amiss.
We ran around the rest of the day. My right calf, high and tight, kept whispering to me. "You better not run tomorrow, you better not run tomorrow..." I heard it. It didn't matter, as I already had 23 miles for the week and plenty of days to go.
Leisa had been after me to rent a bike, so as we walked around I started to talk with the proprietors of the many bike shops. "$70 a day! $40 for every day after!" was the common refrain. I didn't really want to spend that kind of money, especially since I didn't have any riding shorts with me. It wasn't as if I was afraid of buying a pair of shorts since I could use those forever (and really I need some anyway). There was also the helmet issue - head lice anyone? The whole idea icked me out considerably. I asked one fellow if California law forced me to wear one. "No." Okay.
I finally settled on a Cannondale in this faraway grocery-converted-to-the-largest-outdoor-store-I've-ever-seen. Their rates were $40 a day with every succeeding day $20. That was palatable. They even talked me into a helmet! It was a CAD 10 with Shimano 105, street pedals, and adjustable seat post. Entry level stuff, but it would do.
The next day I set out again for the bridge, this time with the plan of not only crossing, but heading up into the hills beyond. I could see the road twisting upwards into the mist while on the run; now I wondered where the road went. I made it to the bridge, crossed, and came to some construction. There was a young man and a young woman on bikes waiting for clearance to head to Salsolito. That was to the right; I wanted to go left. They just about had me talked out of it when an older lady rolled up on a hybrid. "I want to go to the highlands!" she said to the construction worker. "So do I!", said I, and she told me to follow her. She got me to the turn and told me to go on, because I would overtake her anyway. So I did.
The climb was long and steep. Who cares? We have plenty of hills just as steep, just not as long. Patience! I cranked on up, up, up, until I came to a roundabout. I decided to keep climbing, so I took the left path. Up, up, up some more, and soon I was at the top.
The view might have been breathtaking if not for the fog. It was constant. I could see the bottom of the bridge far below me, but that was about it. I was probably up 1500 feet or so above, maybe more, and about 10 miles into the ride. I now had a choice. There was a road extending down, one-way, 18% grade, and I had no idea where it went. If I went down there I wouldn't be allowed to double back. With no clear way to get home I had no real choice but to reverse direction then. I suppose there was one additional reason - though I had a tire kit, I had no way to put air in a repaired tire. A flat would be death, because I would have no way to tell Leisa where to go to get me. The wise move was to go back.
On the way back down I stopped to take pictures. Along the way I met the old lady again. We talked for a while. She told me where that road led, and I now know I can take it and get home. We talked further about life in San Francisco, swimming in the bay, and other such stuff. I bid her adieu, and off I went.
There was till one thing left on my docket - a swim in the bay. I packed my bag with only the most necessary stuff - a towel and goggles - and headed down to the cove. Homeless people were all over, and the fact was I wasn't sure that bag would be there when I exited the water. It was about a 2-mile walk back to the condo, and the thought of having to do that dripping wet, barefoot and clad only in running shorts didn't appeal, but that was a risk I was willing to take.
I saw two young women with bikes sitting near some steps. I asked them how likely it was my stuff would be there when I got out, and they offered to watch it. I stripped, waded out, and started swimming. That is, I tried. I couldn't breathe. Literally, for the first time in my swimming career, I couldn't breathe with my face in the water. My diaphragm constricted every time I put my face down, and I couldn't force myself to breathe. I tried over and again, and I couldn't make it work for any distance. And, since I couldn't generate any heat, my arms and hands were quickly numbing. There was no guard on duty, and drowning was actually becoming a real possibility. It was time to get out.
The whole event lasted less than 10 minutes. It didn't matter. I had been in the bay. 55 degrees without a wetsuit I now know isn't possible for me, not for distance. If I really cared I suppose I could rent one, but there's the catch - I don't care.
I'm getting ready to go out for a second ride now. It should be warm enough for a successful venture. I think I'm going up to the hills again, to explore that road not traveled...
No comments:
Post a Comment