San Francisco

We tried to sleep in this morning but we're so accustomed to getting up early that it didn't really work. A bit later than we usually hit the road. Got on the bicycles and returned to our favorite place, the Vallejo ferry terminal. Bought the tickets and hung out in the coffee shop waiting for the 10 AM boat. Minutes ticked by and soon it was time to head to San Francisco. Walked the boarding dock, tied up the bikes on the lower deck, and went and selected some pastries at the snack bar. We took seats up in the second level of the boat and the walrus cruised out of the bay slow. “Uh huh, this is really impressive...” We took the stairs back down to the first deck when the boat started to book. We hung over the railing as the wind swept our hair back and inflated our jackets and tore the sunglasses off a kid standing near by. That was fun.

The ride took about an hour and soon we stepped off onto the Embarcadero. It was unreal. To have finished it. To be in San Francisco. The bustle in the streets in front of us. The buildings towering above in indifference. I knew we had made it across the country but it was more of a cerebral understanding than a gut feeling. Straddled the bikes and started riding north around the waterfront to the Golden Gate Bridge. The shops were buzzing, the sidewalks choked with people – it was something else after being out in nothing for so long. We were passing one of the forts when we ran into a guy Jordan knew from SDSU and who I had met on a critical mass ride. Unreal. We traded a few words but were momentarily interrupted when a French tourist fell over on her rented bicycle. The slope was quite steep there and I guess she was in the wrong gear. I didn't see her go down but the crunch of the fall was awful. Metal on asphalt in a violent, grating smack. She was fine but some old curmudgeon yelled at her to get out of the way as he was ascending the hill. I yelled back to mellow out.

We pressed on and to the bridge. Stopped at Fort Point underneath the Southern gate and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the span stretching toward Marin County on our left. Two days shy of two months. Rain. Dust. Burning lungs. Aching legs. Mechanical breakdown disaster. There had been obstacles aplenty but we had done it all the same. Made some phone calls and packed it up, heading toward Golden Gate Park. We ended up picking Broderick Street and encountered the steepest hills of the entire tour. Ascent. Plateau. Ascent. Plateau. Insanely steep. Jordan went at it full bore but Jeremy and I would climb one stretch, circle on the flat for a few seconds to catch our breath, and then summit another. Our gearing was wildly inadequate for this hill. Pushing our feet desperately down, just hoping to finish the current revolution of the pedals before the next. And this was with fully loaded wooly mammoth, beluga whale, rhinoceros excuses for a bicycle. We made it to the top, tired. A moving truck was bottomed out over the crest of the hill and the driver was yelling obscenities at everyone and car drivers were beeping their horn as if that would solve the problem. I actually thought it was pretty damn humorous.

Tore down the other side of the hill and found the park and a number of bike shops all around the perimeter. I know, we're awfully predictable. We eat a lot and browse bike shops as tourist attractions. But we'll change for no man! Anyway, we asked for food suggestions and rode to Haight Street and the Bluefront cafe. Food was magnificent. We sat right next to the window so we could keep a sharp eye on the bikes when three girls walked by and asked us about them. “Hey, are you guys touring?” “Yep.” “We are too.” “Really, where to?” “Down the Pacific Coast.” “Yeah, that's where we're going too.” “What are you doing now?” “Going over to Golden Gate Park.” “Yeah, us too.” We all rode over to the Botanical Gardens and hung out with Helen, Minnie, and Tallulah. We traded stories for a couple of hours and had a really good time meeting another crew of tourists. Soon enough it was time to split, but we traded phone numbers and thought we'd probably meet again. Haney picked us up in his truck and we loaded the bikes in the back with no problem. Loading ourselves into the cab was another story. The truck is intended for two people but we pushed the boundaries of conventional existence and shoved the four of us all in. We now have an especially intimate understanding of each other. No cops stopped us and we drove over to Berkeley and spilled out of the clown car. Michael (Haney) lives in the Davis Co-Op and gave us the grand tour.

But wait, there's more. We went to a small party a few BART stations away later that evening. Haney's friend Bobby brews his own beer and was previewing a new batch for a close circle of friends. We met a girl named Heather who had ridden cross country the summer before. It was awesome to know all the places and get excited when we both remembered some small store or small town. Meeting a fellow tourist is a cool experience. You get to cut all the crap. You understand each other on an immediate level because of the shared adventure. You remember your suffering, and triumphs, and know they've been through exactly the same. You can skip the chit chat about the weather and just be on the level with a brother in arms. It was really, really cool. The party simmered to a close and we said goodbye to Heather, and then to Bobby, and took the train back to Haney's house.

Walrus.

Booking.

We made it.

Success.

Triumph.

Glee.

Plenty to see.