Bar Hoping

San Francisco is about 7x7 so the act of bar hopping is easily done. I made a few new SF friends the week prior. I asked each of them to take me out on a typical night on the town. Each live in different parts of the city and go to very different places. Here is a synopsis of last week around San Francisco pictorially with unreliable narration.

Jason is a bar tender at The Hearth, he took me out. Jason is a photographer with some remarkable war-zone, photo journalism experience. We talked about his experiences as we took cabs around town. We ended up going to Hemlock, Annie's Social Club, and the 540 Club. Apparently he also made a habit of whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

"Aunt" Marianne and I made our way along the Coastal Trail to the Cliff House for some much deserved Martinis. Then Scott took me to a great Richmond District bar, The Bitter End. I challenged the two girls next to us to a game of pool. They proceeded to beat us the next 7 games, bought us drinks with a smirk and left us standing on the street.

Lunch at Swan Oyster House opened in 1912 (still, eat oysters on the east coast) with Amy then retired to her roof. This was followed by a pitcher at Zeitgeist. Wine tasting with Andrew and Olivia in the Pacific Heights/Russian Hill area, then bar hopping in the Tenderloin of all places.



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Last night in San Fran hung was in the Haight during gay pride.

Look for the giant pink triangle on the hill in the background. Went to some Russian girl's house party and ended the night at a great jazz club, Club Deluxe at Height and Ashbury. Walking home that night across Golden Gate Park I decided that had to get out of San Fran. This is exactly what I did.

Mission District Accomplished

-->I latched up with friends of my old roommate Phil. Met them at Dolores Park in the Mission District. We sat in the park for quite awhile. The entire hill side was covered by the usual social groups and their respective activity—hippies, hipsters, gays/drum circles, bikes and dogs, sun tanning.

When it got too cold we went to a great Mission District bar The 500 Club. In Atlanta the “industry shot” is Grand Marnier or Jagermeister; in San Francisco people shoot Fernet Branca. And so that is what we did, it is really bitter. I have heard this a few times now, “Have you had a shot of Fernet yet? It’s the worst thing you’ve ever tasted. I’ll buy you one.” 

Dick's International

I needed a hair cut desperately, it was suggested that I head over to Dick's International. Best hair cut ever. Playboys and Hemmings Motor News strewn about. $12. And, a straight razor shave.

Just as we reach the Sweeney Todd part I hear from a door, "Daddy, Daddy" and little kids rush in to greet their father. Kids scare me already (this is an established fact) but kids and razor blades to my throat bring this to a new level. I already couldn't swallow for fear my adam's apple would be spliced in two, then these little moppets flood in, buzzing around like gnats. I survived, but barely.

My friend Cat from Atlanta just moved to SF. We met up to window shop in the Downtown Union Square area. I have now been to 7 Ralph Lauren store across the country. I should inquire about sponsorship. We got hungry and said we would stop at the first place we saw. We were so lucky to find the The California Pizza Kitchen. My cheeseburger pizza was so fresh.

We actually went to the second place we saw Tadich Grill. It is California's oldest restaurant. Established in 1849. It's 160 years old. Sitting at the 80 foot bar I had a perfect Manhattan, crab, oysters, herring and so on. The motto of the place is "The Original Cold Day Restaurant" which was rather fitting considering it was about 55 degrees out and windy. At the end of the night I walked back past jazz clubs, people kissing, hipsters, tourists, the Cartier store, criss-crossing cable cars. If I get stuck here, I suppose that would be OK with me.

Scopes Monkey Travel

I split a cab from the Ferry Building to the Richmond District. My uncle has lived in San Fran (in the exact same rent controlled place) since 1981. Had the cab drop me off at The Hearth. I entered to a standing ovation from extra-middle aged regulars. I'll be staying with him for a week or two.


Typical scene outside The Hearth and my crash pad here in SF. As we stood outside the bar, catching up, Uncle stopped and uttered "Uh oh, not again" and found some treasure. We took a trip around the city in his 1991 Mercury Capri. It's a classic, sorta. And a ride over the Golden Gate to Marin County.



Here I am in Marin, that thing on my head was purchased the evening before at a 7/11 around 3 am.

California Choo-Choo and LOCO-motion.

At 3:45 in the morning the Super Shuttle came to bring me back to Denver International. I found Denver's Union Station in time to catch the 8:05 "all aboard" call for the California Zephyr.
I would be on this train for 38 hours. For those of you who have never rode Amtrak here are some general truths:














Cowboy Larry will, finally, get off at Winnemucca, UT and go back to his cattle ranch. (This is us in the "bar car")


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There are two general types of riders: octogenarians and schizophrenics (and often this overlaps). Possibly the best thing about a moving train are geriatrics trying to move about it. The elderly look like al dente noodles, wiggling about-- in how they walk and in their fingers and skin. A chorus of Andy Rooneys can be heard at all hours. Notable quotes: "That mountain used to a whole lot bigger " and "Children shouldn't be allowed on trains, it's too dangerous." At each stop the Octo's rush to the Observation Car; peering out, they safely gawk at those of us who step off for a smoke.

One must accept this fact, you are going to be on the train for a long, long time-- the train goes 35 mph most of the time. Make friends and take NyQuil. As people begin to realize the gravity of a 38 hour train ride everyone is interested in some companionship and colloquy. I remarked to myself how comfortable I became. I watched the Rockies rise green and lush then crumble in to the desert. At night the rolling of the train and the darkness of Utah outside the window put me to sleep. I woke up in Reno and had some lunch in the Dinner Car. I ate while over looking Lake Tahoe. Hours and many new friends later I arrived in San Francisco.

Friends Found

I stayed in Loveland, Co for 5 days. Every evening, in the garage, Don and I drank box-wine and smoked cigars and talked intensely. I have never so much enjoyed talking to one person at such length.











During the day I made a “sight-seeing” excursion to the Benson Sculpture Park

I call this one "Josh and Dock"

Love-land and beer

A couple from Milwaukee came to visit Mike. I was able to get a ride to Denver with them. We were all delirious making our way down the mountain at 9am. Paul, who was driving, and I laughed the entire three hour trip. The rental Chevy Impala kept applying the ABS on account of braking on such a grade. So, as Paul drove, his upper body was engulfed by the shaking of the wheel.

At Denver International I waited two hours for an hour long Super Shuttle ride to Loveland, CO; getting in 3 more This American Life episodes. My Dad’s oldest and best friend Don lives on a lake there. He welcomed me with a hug and a beer. (I immediately decided to stay an extra day or two)

Down the street, we had dinner at Fred and Debbie’s, who are Don and his wife’s best friends. It was just an average home.

I drank New Belgium Mighty Arrow from the kegerator, played the blues on a 1967 Gibson and with some rather fluffy dogs. Golf Monday at The Olde Course and maybe take out the boat. Tuesday we are heading to visit the New Belgium Brewery.

Boating the Boat

Hit a local bar last night. Mike immediately ran into some girl he was dating. She is about 4’ 11”. We watched the band for a minute and had a few beers. Having a few beers in this elevation is like drinking from the bottle. The tiny girl, mike and I made our way back in the cold to his place. I begged the girl to participate in A Christmas Carol reenactment, where I would be Cratchit and she would be Tiny Tim. This is the scene where Tim is carried on his father’s shoulder on home on Christmas Eve. She agreed and moments letter we both did a face plant into the street.


Today I rode down about 3000’ of elevation on some Frankenstein mountain bike. The trail switched back and forth along a mountain spring and let into the town below. After the ride about 7 of us hopped in a raft and rafted the Yampa river. Because I am fat (really fat compared to all these skinnies out here) I was up front. This enabled me to get the wettest and act as a self esteem booster for all on board. The float was great and the water was fast and cold from all the snow melt feeding it. We passed by the town on our right and mountain peaks to our left. Maybe do the exact same thing tomorrow.

Duplicity

My childhood neighbor Mike now lives in Steamboat Springs, CO. I put my bag in his WRX at noon. The four of us (two Labs in the back) had a 24 hour road trip from Atlanta ahead.

The going away party enabled me to sleep all the way to St. Louis. After smelling what was probably some delicious local hot dog joint, we stopped, had a bite, and I took the wheel. We didn’t speak more than a few words; This American Life played the entire way. I wonder what I could do to catch the attention of Ira Glass.

I remarked to Mike how clean the air must be in Missouri. I could smell the local hot dog stands in St. Louis even outside the city. I could taste the smell on the sides of my tongue. After night fall in Kansas we stopped for gas and looked for a hot dog in the station. All we could talk about was how much we loved hot dogs (and thus America). In waves the smell came as did memories of hot dogs -- baseball games, cook outs, turkey v. pork v. beef, historical names of hot dogs.

At Topeka, about 12 hours away from our destination one of the dogs in the back audibly passed gas. Remarkable to hear in-and-of itself, most remarkable was the rich, fresh hot dog smell which filled the cabin. The following 12 hours I attempted to reconcile the prior 12.

Flat Kansas, led to green vast tree-less acres, then foot hills and finally the Rockies. Snow fell as we drove; the rivers crested their banks from the melt. We arrived in the “Boat” around noon Eastern Time, inside and surrounded by the peaks.