The sun had long since set as we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and entered San Francisco. Steve's hometown friend, Meghan, had recently moved out from New Jersey and graciously invited us to stay with her and her boyfriend, Andrew, in her swanky apartment in the marina district. Hungry as we always are, Meghan and Andrew took us to a local taco bar for the often underrated combinations of tacos and margaritas. Once we had our fill of tacos we headed over to the Kozy Kar, a bar themed after an '80s-styled panel van. The fenders on the walls and the '80s music certainly fit with this motif. On the other hand, the pornographic photographs on the walls and the raunchy video snippets that kept popping up on the television were more open to interpretation. The ratio of people to available oxygen was a little overwhelming for us, so Meghan and Andrew took us to their local watering hole whose sign beckoned to passersby, "Hark, cocktails." After one last drink, we headed back to her place, and after coming to the conclusion that we were all adults, we agreed to a nightcap on the roof of her building, which had an amazing panoramic view of the city.
Appa was in the desperate need of an oil change, so we headed into Oakland the following morning to get her fixed up. While she was getting pampered, we grabbed some lunch and loitered around in a park on a 70 degree, sunny day, climbing trees and hitting around a volleyball. We were treated to a little afternoon disquietude as one of the largest groups of Occupy protestors we have yet seen marched right passed us. When Appa was ready, we headed over to the Golden Gate Bridge to see if in the daylight. The overlook, crowded as it was, offered a magnificent view of both the hilly, multi-layered city and the famous bridge. Afterwards, we took a drive through Sausalito, a neighboring town vaguely reminiscent of some Italian villages nestled in the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.
At least an hour had passed since we last ate, and Fisherman's Wharf's famous chowder was beckoning us, so we headed its seductive call. We ordered a couple of bread bowls teeming with chowder at the Blue Mermaid, a fixture on the Wharf. We basked in the glory of the soup and departed to spectate a Major League Soccer match between the tragically named San Jose Earthquakes and Dallas FC. The match took place at a college campus soccer field (a sad display of the state of professional American soccer, to be sure). San Jose blew out the Dallas squad, nearly scoring enough to outscore some NFL teams that week. The excitement in the air was palpable; I could hardly contain myself. After a particularly unmemorable play, I joined in with the rowdy crowd for a We Will Rock You inspired chant and promptly proceeded to allow Dan's phone to swan dive 20 feet until the gravel and dirt beneath the bleachers broke its fall. Amazingly, in the best play of the night, the phone survived, a true testament to the never say die mentality we trail blazers have taken on this trip.
After the game, we met up with Meghan and Andrew for some dinner and drinks. Andrew need not have reminded us of our mutual adulthood that night - we knew what we were in for. To the roof we went, and hellof good times were had by all.
The next morning we awoke and headed to a nearby bar for some morning time football. The west coast is a bit screwy lagging behind the east by three hours, so the games start at 10:30 am. That, however did not stop Danimal from getting an early start with a house whisky on the rocks, apparently with the mindset that it was drinking time somewhere. When we were sufficiently saturated with beverages and football, we took our leave and began wandering the city in another sunny, 75 degree day. We climbed to the top of the main hill in the city, with the intention of having me longboard back down it. So with Steve as my lookout and Dan manning the camera, I stared down my foe, cried on the inside and started riding. I made it about halfway down before bailing off, but I can say with a reasonable amount of pride that I at least partially stomped a San Francisco hill.
With that, we headed down to a waterfront park with a great view of the bridge and the rest of the San Francisco Bay. There happened to be a little festival with live music taking place as we arrived, adding to the area's naturally laid-back vibe. We spent the afternoon there playing grass volleyball and tossing around the frisbee.
As the sun began to fall and the last notes were played on the little makeshift stage, we headed back to Meghan's apartment. In much the same way I wanted to conquer a San Francisco hill on my longboard, Dan wanted to to do so on the jog, so despite a mounting hunger, I joined him in solidarity. Steve, under the influence of either superior intelligence or laziness, opted to hang back on the couch. Dan and I set off at a brisk pace along the flat, city streets, weaving through San Francisco's pedestrians and trolleys until we ran into the geological equivalent of a brick wall. The hill quickly slowed our run to an impassioned walk, and then it shrewdly crawled upward with an equivalent slowness. Nevertheless, with no major arterial ruptures, we successfully reached the top, breathlessly enjoying the view that would have otherwise taken our breath away. The descent back down below the clouds was less eventful, and we triumphantly returned to the apartment.
Our last night in San Francisco was quiet but fun. We grabbed some dinner and drinks, and yet again, we got live on the roof, enjoying one final nighttime view of the San Fran cityscape. However, all good things must come to an end. We went to sleep, woke up far too early and set off for a few days in our fair country's national parks system.
This post has been brought to you by rooftop views, Troy Dayak's cowboy hat, and hellof fools all over San Francisco.
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