(Written from Bad Ass Coffee, Santa Cruz, CA)
Miles biked: 0 (1,291.5 overall)
DAY 1: WALKING THE CITY, SOLO STYLE
I didn't bike Monday, but don't think that I didn't exercise (as long as walking fits in that category).
I slept in and enjoyed a relaxing morning at Myra's dining room table. She lives in a great neighborhood. Haight Street is quite the scene, with just about every kind of store and restaurant you could want (from smoke shops to organic grocery stores).
I chose to visit the organic store, where I bought some granola, sourdough bread and bananas for my breakfasts. I planned on doing plenty of eating out, but three meals a day (or more) seemed a bit extreme. I didn't want to put the budget into a tailspin in just a couple days.
After a relaxed morning, I turned down Myra's gracious offer to attend a Memorial Day barbecue nearby (it was very tempting, believe me). I wanted to do some exploring in the city, see as much as I could in an afternoon.
I also needed a baseball fix. I was already planning to see a Giants game the next night with my man, Toad, who would get us tickets. But I figured I'd head over to the ballpark Monday afternoon and check out the scene.
So after taking the No. 71 bus downtown, I walked/ran several blocks on 2nd Street until I reached AT&T Park, which is right on the bay. And while I quickly realized that I wouldn't be getting a really cheap ticket despite arriving 20 minutes after first-pitch time, I enjoyed walking around the stadium.
One of its coolest features, besides the kayakers in the bay behind right field who wait for long home runs (yes, there were even a couple despite Barry Bond's absence), is a free, standing-room-only zone behind the right-field fence.
Yes, you can actually walk up -- with no catch -- and stand right behind the outfield fence for free. It's not perfect watching a game through the fence grates, but you can still follow the action from field level.
For free!
It was an amazing thing, considering how ridiculous most modern stadiums are when it comes to charging fans for everything and being strict about where fans can venture.
I felt good about the stadium, and I hadn't even been inside yet.
Then I began a long, long walk in the sun and along the water. I passed pier after pier and got numerous looks at the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, which doesn't get the attention of the Golden Gate but is huge -- a double decker -- and so long that an island serves as a midpoint.
Fortunately, I'd say, bicyclists are not allowed on the bridge. That would be a long, long -- and probably windy -- ride.
Something that I'd never envisioned seeing in San Fran is a palm tree, but, sure enough, such trees lined the main drive along the harbor. I guess I've always thought palm trees are a Florida and Southern California thing. Silly me.
I thought about taking the ferry tour to Alcatraz Island, but then quickly dismissed such an idea. Not only were the tours $26, but they were booked until Tuesday. Talk about your ultimate tourist trap. Plenty of fun can be had without such a tour.
Somehow, despite wearing a fleece in the sunny weather -- nice one, Jake -- and Tevas, I made it to Fisherman's Wharf and walked amidst thousands of tourists for a few minutes past dozens of restaurants and shops that could afford to spike their prices.
No, not much fun.
The most entertaining part of the wharf was seeing the dozens of sea lions, who were a popular sight for tourists. I stood atop a wooden bench and observed the large beasts. According to a sign, they came to the harbor in the hundreds after the huge 1989 earthquake (historical fact of the blogpost).
From the wharf, I wormed my way back through downtown, stopped at a deli for a sandwich and drink and then reached Chinatown. I'd never walked through a large Chinatown, so it was a fun experience traversing San Fran's substantial neighborhood.
I observed large groups of older Asian men playing a game in a little plaza. I had no idea what the game was -- it looked a bit like Checkers -- but it was extremely popular. Two men would be playing, with about 10 others peering over their shoulders at the board.
(Myra later told me the game's name, but my memory hasn't held up.)
Then I walked past hundreds of Asian restaurants and stores. I bought a bag of sweet-tasting sesame cookies and continued on. I was tempted to buy some San Fran T-shirts for $1.89, but such purchases will have to wait until San Diego. (Can't add anything bulk to my panniers for now.)
When I got back to Market Street, I was ready for my highlight of the day.
I was ready to play chess.
No, that's not a typo. San Fran's shops didn't interest me. Nor did the tourist-trap trolleys. Nor did much of anything else in the downtown area.
Except for the chess boards, which were set up at the intersection of Market and 5th. Similar to Central Park in New York, there were boards set up where homeless men, mostly, played all day.
Some played with a clock, which, after some observation, looked intense. Each player got just 5 minutes and 30 seconds -- to make all their moves. If a player's clock ran out, they lost.
I wanted to play a game, but not against the clock. I was thinking just this when the man in charge invited me to play. And, just like that, I found myself sitting across the board from a regular -- an older man with a fisherman's hat and cigarette dangling from his mouth.
The deal was this: I paid $1 to get an hour at the board, and bet my opponent $2 a game. It seemed fair enough, and worse case scenario -- the man, whom appeared homeless, would get my money.
It was game time.
I could tell right away that he played all the time. During my moves he stared at the ground, his eyes almost shut. It looked like he was barely breathing. But he knew whenever I moved, and he made mostly solid moves.
Still, I played a very strong first game and was in control until a couple dumb moves doomed me. After almost an hour, I lost.
Never before had I played a board game nervously, but that's how I was against this dude. I had butterflies. I learned that each move must be intensely studied, because as soon as my piece hit the board -- even if my finger was still on it -- the move was official (this happened on one of my worst moves of the game).
I paid another dollar for another hour and prepared for Game 2. And it was a blowout. He efficiently finished me in about 11 minutes.
OK, I thought, I'll give it one more crack, put forth a good effort and try to create a highlight of my trip.
And then I played the game of my life, not making a single careless mistake. The chess regular, on the other hand, made a rare error, allowing me to split his queen and king with a knight.
From there, I played smart enough to close him out. And when I made the final move, I could finally relax my muscles.
I had beaten a very, very solid chess player.
The money didn't matter. I only had a single $1 bill, so I gave him a $5 and felt good about it.
The win was what mattered. (I'd pass by the spot the next afternoon and, sure enough, my man was there again staring at the ground as an opponent thought about his move.)
I think it's a great setup. Living homeless can't be easy, but getting to play chess outside and making money from it is better than begging or, in my mind, playing music all day long and trying to get tips.
After my chess experience, I walked several blocks up Mission Street toward the restaurants that had been recommended by my camping friends. After 10 mostly empty blocks, I reached the very ethnic food stretch of Mission.
Both sides of the street were lined with ethnic restaurants -- tons of Mexican joints, some Asian spots and others. There were also handfuls of outdoor markets overflowing with fresh fruit.
It was a food lover's paradise.
I was able to contain myself until I reached the corner of 18th Street, where I stopped in a hole-in-the-wall Asian place called Yamos. It was tiny -- there was just a counter and, behind it, a row of stoves and counters where all the food preparation was done.
But the food was super cheap -- $5.50 for a meal -- and delicious, as I would find out.
Since it was getting late, I decided to walk with my dinner for a little while. My walk took me to Castro Street, where I went through San Fran's popular gay district.
I knew I was in it because of all the striped flags hanging from buildings. And it was quite crowded on this Memorial Day evening.
I stopped at a little area of tables to eat my mango chicken dinner and observed, entertained, as a Prop 8 puppet danced to music in the street. I'll go out on a limb and say that I'll never eat a dinner to such a musical act again.
After dinner, it was 20 more minutes of walking, over a few hills, back to Haight Street.
Pretty tired from my day of walking, I crashed fairly early.
DAY 2: WALKING THE CITY, DUO STYLE
Tuesday marked my long-awaited reunion with "Toad," Part 1. He lives in San Jose and, occasionally, at his parents' place in Carmel, where I'll meet up with him again this weekend.
After another relaxing morning -- Myra makes great tea and honey! -- I met up with Toad for the first time in nearly two years. He had driven in from San Jose, but after having quite the time traversing the busy streets by car, he decided to park the SUV for the day.
It was time for another walking tour.
We began by heading up Mission Street -- the second time I'd done that.
But I hadn't eaten at La Taqueria, which is known as arguably the best Mexican joint in the city.
It lived up to expectations. I had a couple delicious tacos -- one chicken, one pork -- smothered with the works, including, as Toad noted, real guacamole. It was the kind of delicious, ethnic meal you hope to get in a big, diverse city.
Then we headed across 25th Avenue to Mission Pies, which was one of the bakeries on my list of places to hit up. My strawberry-rhubarb pie was delicious, don't get me wrong, but it simply wasn't enough pie to warrant the $3.83 price.
Pie is hard to buy by the slice; the slices just aren't big enough most of the time.
We shook off the minor disappointment and took the train, BART, back downtown to the government buildings. That's where most of the city's energy was contained that afternoon.
I haven't followed national news at all this trip, except for sports, so I didn't even know about the Prop 8 decision. But, Toad informed me, a decision had come down Tuesday morning.
And as a result, there were thousands of protesters outside of the large city hall. It was cool observing the large, calm but energized crowd. Many people had original signs, such as "Hetros for Homos."
I've never seen so many expertly thought-out signs at a public parade or rally (not that I've attended many of them).
After a lot more walking, Toad and I finally reached AT&T Park -- ready to sit down and watch some baseball. We had upper-deck seats parallel to first base, compliments of Toad, that provided an excellent view of the bay behind all sections of the outfield.
As the sky grew darker, I could notice the lights from Oakland's stadium across the bay. It was quite the backdrop to the stadium -- who needs to watch the game?
Of course, it is a modern stadium, so we were pretty far back from the field. But it being my first game at the ballpark, it was quite enjoyable as I watched the Giants cruise to a 4-0 win in a little over 2 hours.
(Credit to the lower-deck usher, who helped us find two empty seats from which to watch the last inning. There aren't many ushers like her out there these days. She realized the situation -- there were plenty of empty seats -- and helped us enjoy the game from close-up for a few minutes.)
Toad had to get back home for a morning interview, so it was a short night for me. But that was fine -- I needed some rest before continuing my journey the next day.
As I hit the sack, I felt I had done a solid job of enjoying San Fran.
There's always more to do -- and hopefully I'll be back -- but it wasn't a bad experience for two and a half days.
Huge, huge thanks to Myra -- and her housemates -- for letting a stranger (at least initially) stay for three nights and for being so hospitable and outgoing and friendly and caring!
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