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Thursday, September 20, 2012

Indian Summer

September 20, 2012

San Francisco is a beautiful city.  There’s no doubt about it.  It is so vibrant and alive.  The people are so easy-going.  I went out today and met my friend Nate for a drink and a stroll.  We took his dog out for a walk at the local dog park and playground.  There is this fantastic sense of community there.  Nate literally ran into three people he knew just at the dog park.  One of which was a guy driving a Mercedes Benz that he drove it right into the back of some Valet driven Acura.  We didn’t stay for the ending.  Further on we stopped at a café and yet another person rolls up.  It was very chill.  They are fellow Vespa riders, the old school kind.  His friend actually has a shop fixes them for a living.  Nate seems to be the cool cat around town.   He stayed and we had a drink for about a half hour before he gets up to finish his errands.  I had another beer and something else that I probably shouldn’t mention, all while sitting at that outdoor café. A pair of guys ran into each other and began to chat.  They were standing at the crosswalk waiting to cross.  The light must have changed at least three times, and they just stood there enjoying their conversation.  That is vastly different from the “run ins” that happen in LA.  Most of the time, people nod their head as they walk by, rarely even just saying “hi”.  Here, people actually stop and become part of each other’s day; just a fantastic place for human interaction.  We had a great day.  Nate and I went our separate ways and it was just the perfect time for traffic.
Sitting in traffic in another city was kind of enjoyable.  Of course, it was just one day and if I had to do it consistently, especially after a long day at work, I may feel different.  But there I was, in a new city doing an old thing.  I took my time, slowly cutting my way through the tense and determined drivers around me.  The only really aggressive drivers that cut me off also happen to drive BMWs.  I guess it doesn’t matter what city you’re driving, BMW drivers seem to be consistently dicks.  Present audience members excluded, of course… ahem hem hmm.
Suddenly, during my daydreaming and watching the beautiful blue sky, Lykke Lee’s “Dance Dance Dance” started playing.  It really hit me.  It made me think of the past and some of the things I’ve done.  It was like a thousand pillows falling on me one feather at a time; slowly crushing me through a sieve and leaving only the guilty pulp.  It made me think of the tears and smiles twisted into a bat and broken on the backs of the gods of love and fate.  It made me think of her.
But time moves on.  And so does the road.  The sun shines another day, and what a beautiful day it is.  The Indian summer they call it.  It seems appropriate.  I was always a late bloomer. 
I need all the heat I can get at this point; here have promises made of the cold north mountain air.  My course looks to route up the west coast to Vancouver.  I’ve never been to Canada and have never really been sure that a city just over the boarder is a good representation of the country.  Cabo San Lucas is more California than Mexico, as well as the whole northern part of Baja.  So, I wouldn’t expect Vancouver to be “full on” Canada.  That said, I’m sure that they all have healthcare over there, despite whatever the social customs.  Then, I fall south through Idaho, and east to Montana.  From there I’ll enter Yellowstone National Park, where I may stay for some time.  I have these romantic notions of wilderness and survival.  Maybe I’ll grow a beard and kill something. 

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