//location:
Brian's
Portrero Hill, San Francisco
//time: 1:19 pm
//mi: 1,027
//from where I write:
Oh, articulation articulation how do I do this.
Okay. Hang with me for this one.
You know when you're in love + you find yourself walking around with a dumb ol smile wiped across your face, like you have a big fat secret? And your stomach gets all tight + bubbly and you just want to stop and close your eyes real tight and squeal? And stop passersby, grab 'em by the shoulders, look 'em straight in the face + tell them how in love you are?
That's how I've felt since the moment I rode under that first towers of the Golden Gate Bridge yesterday.
I had to pull over like three times over the bridge's 1.7 miles just to soak everything up and embrace how real this all was. And the past two days being here I just can't placate my smile walking around. I feel like such a dang goof.
And I need need to scribble down all this euphoria before it fizzles out into just a "Yeah, it was great!" but it's so hard to just sit still and pen it out cause I'm too freaking excited about everything and I, well, yeah, I love everything and things right now are so great + cool + perfect and I wish I had a better vocabulary to communicate my satisfaction, but oh well deal with this 'cause this is love unprocessed and it feels incredible.
Salvador knows what's up.
I woke up around 6 this morning -- first one awake at the site. I rolled up my inflatable sleeping pad real tight; it'll be staying like this for a while, unfortunately. Dusted my tent off extra well as it was also fated to life in my Brooklyn closet for some time. I think I'll be taking 'em to Maine next, but I'll leave reveal of these plans for another post.
It was only 27 miles from Samuel P. Taylor to here. Real relaxed. And it was Sunday, so lots and lots of cyclists zipping around with me as I rode closer and closer to SF. Like the fancy carbon-fiber-ultralightweight-i-spend-a-considerable-portion-of-my-disposable-income-on-cycling-swag-and-i-want-you-to-know cyclists. (I'm just being bitter; that'd be a fun thing to be able to afford to be.)
[But also okay tiny side note: I feel like those kinds of cyclists -- the racer/day rider sorts -- and touring cyclists are entirely different breeds. Generally speaking, that is. I feel like touring cyclists are more laid back, not so competitive, more into where they're riding vs. how fast they can get there.]
Going through Sausalito, I knew I was getting closer and closer to the bridge. And, I mean, you know the Golden Gate Bridge: it's iconic, outstandingly recognizable, significant (to me, almost on a personal level). Around each turn and over each hill (hot damn there were so many once I got into Sausalito and obviously downtown SF), I got a little more excited.
Sausalito, Calif.
Like, you know when you were a kid and flew places and your mom/dad/aunt/uncle would come into the airport and wait for you right at the other end of the airport tram? And you knew to expect them there. And you emerge feeling a little giddy, and you smile as you scan all the faces looking for the right one. And then you run up and jump into their arms.
That's how I felt approaching the bridge. I saw the tip of the towers peaking up as I was wrestling my way up the final hill before the bike pathway and immediately felt confirmation of everything. Like, oh hey, yeah there you are, you. I knew you'd be there, but seeing you here like that makes me comfortable. I knew you'd be here. Thank you.
"Did this really just -- am I really here now, today, already?" And it stood there in its red, "Yes."
Was struggling with a selfie and a stranger walked up with her rent-a-bike and offered to take the photo. I said thank you, thank you, And then I told her I was really excited about everything right now. And she was nodding, "Yeah!" And I continued, "I just got in from Seattle and ugh it's been so incredible and today is so beautiful, isn't it??" She switches her purse to her other shoulder, "Yeah, I just in from Miami. It's great!"
-_-
Brunchward bound, I struggled with some of the nutso hills of San Francisco before surrendering and just throwing my bike on a bus.
Got off a few streets away from Bisou and began to bike there. I'd been looking forward to these mimosas every since I made the reservation five days ago. And suddenly I hear "Lily!"
I whip around to see Spencer + Shay (Brian's roommate + girlfriend respectively) walking on the sidewalk I'd just zipped by. I met Spencer once or twice back in Gainesville and a third time when I was in SF last fall; I didn't know him too well. Shay I'd never met before. (Brian was on a flight back to SF at the time, but quick intro: good friend since the beginning of college, met on a caving trip in Tennessee, traveled parts of China with him -- he's the coolest.) I gave them hugs followed by a disclaimer that I'll probably end up drunk by the end of brunch. It's cool, they knew I was tryna celebrate. Mike + Raphael met us at Bisou not long after we'd arrived there; we were already a couple mimosas deep waiting.
Though I'd read Bisou had great brunch, I was not charmed by the atmosphere and service at all. Food was decent and mimosas were pretty solid, but I could barely even hear myself think in the booming lounge-like space. Horrendous acoustics. I felt like I was in Miami or something. I wish we could've had a more downtempo meal where we could've all exchanged stories and lingered in the sun a bit. Kind of disappointed with my choice, but anyway onward and upward. Or downward; read on, and please keep in mind that I'm still rocking my cycling outfit and cleats, which are pretty dang slippery on anything not-bike-pedals.
So, in my graceful exit, I slid down an entire flight of stairs and silenced the whole restaurant. Like, dead silent. The servers + bartenders quickly filled the silence with ARE YOU OKAYs.
I sprung back up, threw the restaurant a peace sign and was like, "I'm fine -- just biked from SEATTLE" and sauntered out of there.
Bottomless does have a bottom, and it is nine.
[to my potential employers and family members: I apologize you have stumbled upon this, but, you know, I did just biked from Seattle, soooo]
A proud moment and ironic end to the tour: my biggest injury was not on my bike, not on the road, not in the wilderness. But, hey, now I have a nebula on my ass and I'm okay with that.
(left) the damage (right) the art
Mike + Raph + I spent the rest of the day exploring Twin Peaks and the Sunset neighborhood, satiated a vicious affogato craving, eventually wandered into a tasty Senegalese restaurant for dinner, then parted ways. See y'all in New York.
From Twin Peaks.
It was a gorgeous day: sunny, breezy, crisp, done. The day was done. My first solo bike tour, 1000+ miles of camping, an entire bottle of mustard, the month of August -- done.
Post-production has always been slow for me. Emotional processing unfolds over several days, weeks following an end. And it's never quite finished, but is ever evolving. Goodbyes don't sink in until it's too late and we are too far.
For this trip though, there's not a "too late" or "too far." And a goodbye is more of just a see-you-later anyway. While this may be the end of this trip, it's only started many more. And each has already begun, from exactly where this one had: in my mind as a mere what-if. From there it will become a promise -- to no one but myself at first. Next, words. A plan, a map, a day of tools, grease and sweat, the first mile.
It feels good to be in love, and this is what this trip has felt like. Cheers to every mile. Cheers not to goodbyes, but see-you-laters.
