Travel log iv: check point

12 August 2009

My faith in our Nation's security is secure.

Today I won the airport security lottery, and they invited me to step into the great x-ray cylinder. When the officer dully asked if I had anything in my pockets, I foolishly assumed he was referring to anything dangerous so I said "Nothing."

The plexiglas doors turned closed with a sucking sound and the words "Beam me up Soctty!" had barely crossed my mind before the x-ray arm had spun around, the doors had opened, and the guard was inviting me out to explain how my x-ray was being reviewed in the other room.

A woman's voice crackled on his radio, "What's in her right pocket?"

I fished out an empty sandwich bag and a paperclip.

Oops.

I pulled my most remorseful hand-in-the-cookie-jar face and the officer sneered-- or was that a chuckle?

"She saw that in your pocket."

Obviously a triumph for the BWI Airport Security.

Which makes me wonder how the woman now waiting across from me made it through with her quilting and sewing bag- pins and needles and all.

Travel log iii: sneakers at the ritz

26 July 2008

Yesterday we drove to The City because it was Saturday and beautiful and because Cam promised to show us around his city if ever we came for a visit. Getting out the door, there was some small todo about wardrobe; Auntie Lynne couldn't find her new hat, Becky wouldn't wear her pink dress, but we finally piled into the Merc: Mariah, Becky, Aunt Lynne and me- off for a little touristing, a quick bite to eat and Kate's concert that evening.

I should have payed more attention when Auntie Lynne handed me a black blouse to bring "in case Cam dresses up too. Though I guess you two can go cazh together." But I couldn't imagine Kate's concert was a formal sort of thing and I felt plenty dressed up for that in loose khakis, a cute knit top and my favorite slip on sneakers. I had intended to iron my pants, but I opted to wash my hair instead—what more can you ask for on a lazy July morning?

Cam lives in a neat mid-century modern house overlooking the Pacific. The hills in San Francisco are such that every three block offers some amazing view, but as Cam led us out to his back porch, I gasped at the picture-postcard he wakes up to every morning: The fog had cleared for an unusually clear day and the checkerboard of colorful rooftops spread across the mid-summer green of hills rippling down to the ocean. Church spires marked some cathedral in the distance and wooded hills to the south cradled the scene.

I think I could have snapped a couple pictures there and called it a day, but you can't visit SanFran without a drive through the Presidio, pictures in front of The Bridge, a walk down Pier 39, and a stopandgo drive around China Town. The Golden Gate bridge was breathtakingly beautiful with the flakes of sailboats scattered below and the hazy hills of the continent rising out of the dark bay on the other side. But even that picture seemed ordinary after Cam's backyard view. We did visit a stunning church in the Italian district; just in time to wish some newlyweds goodbye, admire the intricate architecture and slip out before the next bride and groom arrived. But by then it was 4 o'clock and time for tea.

And I finally understood the hat, pink dress and the black blouse. Four o'clock is teatime at the Ritz Carlton, which is, of course, the only place to go if you're out and about in SanFran on a hot Saturday afternoon.

Valet parking, brocade couches and me in my favorite sneakers, sipping peppermint tea—onesugarandcream. Of course I declined the salmon caviar sandwiches for the vegetarian tea of eggplant pesto on rye, and bell-pepper-cream on crackers. And scones with clotted cream, little biscuits and dainty pastries with jam from tiny jars. Naturally, a woman with long wavy hair played the harp in the background—a selection of Disney classics for the table of little girls wearing pretty dresses and swinging their legs. The five of us sat primly and gossiped (about ourselves, who else?) and tried to act posh. Just a few friends up for a day in The City.

And me in my favorite sneakers.

Travel log ii: anomalies

16 June 2008

1.
“Walk like a dog across Alma.”

I could have sworn that was the mechanical command from the pedestrian traffic light. In Salt Lake, the walk signs just chirp for crossing. But not so in California.

The voice repeated: “Walk like a dog across Alma.”

I didn’t. But pedaling down Lytton I considered: I sort of look like a dog; hunched over my handlebars, panting in the beating sun.

Incidentally, it doesn’t say that. But a month of crossing at Alma and Lytton, and it still sounds to me like a game of Simon Says:

“Walk like a dog across Alma.”

2.
I call the cyclist Algernon because he has long curly hair that looks like an Algernon’s hair, and because of his penny-farthing bike, which looks like the bicycle of an Algernon.

I first saw him a few weeks ago, riding at the far end of Bryant. He waved and smiled and I realized I had been staring at him balanced on that ridiculous thing. The penny-farthing is really a graceful looking bicycle: the seat is perched on the enormous front wheel with a thin frame bending to hold on the back wheel, which is tiny and looks like an afterthought; the whole contraption reminds me of a picture I once saw diagraming the butterfly's proboscis.

And I rather expect the thing to capsize at every moment, but today I saw him trundling away full speed down University Av. Apparently Algernon has everything under control.

Travel log

10 May 2008

The bit of riding you never forget is the concept of the thing. Pedal, pedal, pedal. That's about it.

Unfortunately, after a eight-year hiatus, it is the 656 muscles of this human body that forgot how to ride a bike.

They remember now, and I rather think they shan’t forget in a hurry.

This week I rode about 46 miles all told. Not a bad warm up for an amateur. Of course, if you know much about biking, you realize this is about the equivalent of running 6.5 miles.

But don't worry, I'm just getting started.

{a little background music, courtesy Yves Montand}