OnBlueUnderCanvas

For our second day in San Diego, Kyle suggested we explore the Mission Beach boardwalk. Mission Beach itself is a community built on a sandbar between the Pacific Ocean and Mission Bay. The boardwalk runs the length of the sandbar, about three and a half miles. Kyle lent us his truck to get to Mission Beach and a pair of bikes to take on the boardwalk. It was like staying at a luxury hotel where all the activities are free.

It took only fifteen minutes to drive to Mission Beach, but it took twice that to find a parking spot big enough for Kyle’s giant truck. Kirk, who normally drives a Jetta, decided against attempting to parallel park the monster. I agreed. We found some generous length of curb on a corner and eased right in. We lifted the bikes out of the back, navigated down a few back streets and spilled out onto the boardwalk. The sun gleamed off the ocean. Lazily, we began peddling. Up and down the path we rode, admiring the beach residences and checking out the tourists. Early afternoon we left the crowds on the boardwalk and turned inland to explore the bay. We cycled out onto a peninsula fringed with boat slips. Settling on a small arc of quiet sand, we ate our packed lunch watching moored sailboats bob in the blue shimmer.

Later on, we headed back to the house for some dinner and a change of clothes. Dan, a friend of ours from the waterski team and his roommate, Dimitri, said we should meet them out for drinks. The bar turned out to be one of those hole-in-the-wall looking places that seems to open up into the Silverdome when you get inside. All of us – friends, and friends of friends – drank merrily the night’s special, three dollar bottles of Rolling Rock. Kirk, the misfit, joyously drank his Captain & cokes. Our conversation was an animated one, owing to the fact that somehow, nearly a third of our number worked for the US Navy on a nuclear reactor. (Too many smart people with engineering degrees in one bar.) Naturally this led to ridiculous questions like, “Aren’t you worried you’re going to blow to smithereens at any second?” and hypothetical silliness, “Your children could be born glowing green with eleven toes.”

The hour turned from late to early, and we said goodnight to Dan, Dimitri and the rest. Kyle, Dana, Kirk and I went on to find our fourth meal. And thankfully, it wasn’t Taco Bell. Not a single fast-food joint was open. We walked for what seemed miles (probably a few blocks) and found a small Mexican place specializing in take-out. I know, hardly seems a far cry from Taco Bell, but oh, it was. I had a couple battered fish tacos, even better than the day’s before, and to the chagrin of everyone else, I could not stop raving about them. My perception of their greatness might have suffered a bit of merry inflation, but never you mind.

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Our third day was all about the outdoors. Sure, we were at the beach the day before, but the beach is easy. The outdoors demand some effort, some stamina. Physicality. What did we do? Hike a mountain. Cowles Mountain.

It was more of a hill than a mountain, and more of a walk than a hike, but I was huffing. I should grant myself some credit. At nearly 1600 feet, Cowles is the tallest peak in the city of San Diego.

After the hike, we stopped home for a bit of lunch and then it was off again on another adventure. It was low tide, perfect timing to explore the Point Loma tide pools.

We jumped rocks, poked at anemones and searched for the elusive starfish. The sun was setting, casting a rich golden hue on the landscape. So what do you want to do tonight guys? Kyle asked. I said, Eat chocolate cake.

Too wiped out to go out, Kyle, Kirk and I stayed in. Before we holed up however, we decided we needed to procure some provisions. In doing so, I had to make good on my one desire for the evening. At the grocery store we picked up brownie mix (not cake, but close) and some El Jimador to make margaritas. Odd pairing, I know. At home, I mixed the batter, Kyle mixed the margaritas and Kirk popped Superbad in the DVD player. We settled in for a cozy Friday night. ☼

Nearly three weeks we’ve been Down Under and not a word about it yet, I know. We’re having a great time, promise! Just a bit more about marvelous California, then we’ll fly across big ocean.

With four whole days left to spend in California, Kirk and I jumped on the Amtrak Pacific Surfliner heading south to San Diego to visit our friend Kyle. Kirk and Kyle were really good friends at MSU, and at one point, all three of us were actually on the waterski team together. This train ride was meant to be a good one, with the train running along the ocean most of the way. Literally, it did. Probably ninety percent of the time the tracks ran in the sand with ocean spray spattering the windows. It was a beautifully scenic trip. Gazing at each town we passed, my face up against the glass, my love affair with the coast grew and grew. “Oh I want to visit here! …and here, and here!” And then it would turn into “My parents should really retire here.” “Oh actually this place is better, definitely here!” And so forth. The two and half hour trip flew by.

Planning a trip to California? Definitely hop a ride on the Surfliner.

Kyle picked us up from the train station in downtown San Diego. We drove to the house he’s renting with his girlfriend Dana and another couple from State. A pool table and dart board occupied the dining room and a huge flat-screen TV, pair of couches and recliner sat in the livingroom. Make no mistake, this was no party house (although we did get a little rowdy one night.) This was a very nice pad with an in-ground pool, and spa bathtub. And this is where we’d be crashing for the next three nights. Sweet!

After getting the full tour, the four of us drove to Ocean Beach to get lunch. We ate burgers and fish tacos at a hoppin’ local bar, one of Kyle and Dana’s favorites. The mahi mahi tacos I ordered were fantastic. Kyle had to eat and run back to work, so Dana took us sightseeing along the coast and into the city. She then dropped us off at the renowned Balboa Park, 1200 acres of gardens, museums, performing art venues, and Spanish-Renaissance style buildings. Naturally any attraction that wasn’t outdoors cost to get in, so we stuck to admiring the facades and wandering through the flowers.

The sun now hanging low, Kirk and I had finally exhausted the gardens. A twenty minute walk brought us back downtown where we meandered the sidewalks in search of happy hour specials.

San Diego streets are named very simply. North-south streets are numbered, and east-west streets are lettered. I’m at the corner of 8th and D street. Pretty easy. Boring though. Some pride should be taken in the mastery of your city’s geography. In Chicago, I can pretty much name every major east-west street from Madison St. in the loop up to Davis St. in Evanston. It’s cool to be able to help out a newcomer in the area and give directions. Plus, a real street name – Addison – has character. You mention Addison to anyone in Chicago and immediately visions of Wrigley Field and thousands of Cubs fans adds life to the moniker.

From D to C to B we walked, and happened upon the outgoing Bare Back Grill.  Besides $3 drafts and half off appetizers, they had $2 wheelspins. Pay two bucks to spin the Wheel of Drinks and get anything from three shots of tequila to a pitcher of beer. The fun didn’t stop there. You could play games too. Mini versions of Scrabble, checkers, chess, and Jenga sat on every tabletop.

After finishing work, Kyle and Dana joined us for a basket of onion rings and a handful of wheelspins, while Kirk and I finished up our epic battle of Jenga. Not realizing it when we picked the place, the Bare Back Grill was actually a New Zealand bar. Rugby jerseys and kiwi bird figures adorned the walls. My chest did that little nostalgic swell you feel when you’re reconnected with a place to which you’ve dedicated a piece of your heart to. Ah Kiwis.

Not wanting to break the bank at the bar, the four of us went home to eat a late dinner. We picked up a gloriously large pizza from just down the street. It was a whopping 36″ across, Kirk had to turn it sideways to fit it through the front door! After eating ourselves into a mild food coma, we decided to call it a night. We had three more fun-filled days to look forward to in San Diego. ☼

After seeing it, I forget what I had previously imagined San Francisco would be like. Everyone eating Rice-A-Roni while riding cable cars or something. Halfway true. Only tourists ride cable cars, and the Rice-A-Roni boxes were gathering dust in Julie’s kitchen cabinet. The up side is this: San Francisco is one of the coolest cities I’ve ever encountered. Ocean and bay on three sides, gorgeous parks and green space, hardly a scrap of trash to be found. Eclectic architecture and culture to boot. The diverse mix of restaurants available allow you to sample every worldly cuisine from Spanish paella to Japanese sushi in one block. And I’m not talking Taco Bell and Fazoli’s type joints either. These are independently owned eateries with individual style and appeal.

One morning on the prowl for wi-fi, we found Alamo Square Cafe. Tasty bagels with cream cheese, smoothies and lattes. The walls were hung with funky artwork and the whole place exuded a hip neighborhood feel. After finishing our drinks, we walked to the nearby Alamo Square where we found the Victorian houses of Postcard Row used in the opening montage of Full House. If you have a keen memory, you’ll remember these houses from the shot of the Tanner family having a picnic in the park.

And oh, the hills! In our Hyundai Accent rental, Kirk, Kelly and I drove up, up, up to what was pretty much the top of the city. Finally, we stopped at an intersection (leaning backwards, with the nose of the car pointed up at a 40 degree angle.) We saw sky. Looking over the dashboard straight across the intersection, there was nothing but blue ocean water far in the distance. Leaning back in our seats, it felt like we were on an amusement park ride. If you tripped while walking down the sidewalk, you’d fall and wouldn’t stop rolling until you fell right into the bay. “Good thing this isn’t a stick shift,” observed Kirk.

The light turned green. Kirk accelerated up the hill, and we leveled out through the intersection. Slowly we approached the other side. No pavement could be seen. Just the hood of the car, and treetops descending below. How steep was this hill? The car started pointing downward. Where was the pavement? Were we going to freefall?!

“AAHHHH!!” All six hands up, roller coaster-style. Yep, Kirk let go of the wheel for a second. Riding all the way to the bottom, we were all giggly with excitement.

San Francisco was full of other delights as well. On Fisherman’s Wharf, a kind of carnival strip in the downtown area, we ate a lunch of fresh cod and scallops. At the Ghirardelli Ice Cream & Chocolate Shop, we indulged in a nine dollar sundae with two types of ice cream, caramel and hot fudge.

Periodically the sun managed to send a few rays our way. More often though, the rain forced us to run for cover. One unsuspecting building included the Academy of Sciences. Go figure, they have free admission every third Wednesday of each month. Guess what day it was? You bet. Score! They had a fantastic aquarium and pretty sweet rainforest exhibit. One of their coolest pets was the albino alligator.

One last thing had to be done. I didn’t think it was quite necessary, I mean, walking a quarter of the way out would have suited me just fine. Kelly insisted we walk the entire length of the Golden Gate bridge. I protested. She commanded.

It was night. It was eerie. It was a long fall to the water.

So we set out. Kirk’s 7D was around my neck, and the tripod over my shoulder. It was just Kelly and I. Kirk didn’t have a jacket and said he rather not freeze to death. Fair enough. We had to walk down some stairs and underneath the cars rumbling above to get to the pedestrian walkway on the far side. The view was luminescent. The city across the water glowed a soft gold through the moisture that hung in the air.

The wind picked up as we moved farther and farther from solid ground. We reached the first giant pillar. Kelly got a laugh out of the “if you jump, consequences could be tragic” plaques. Yeah, no kidding. Thanks for the dose of reality. The dark clouds moved fast overhead. “You sure we really need to walk all the way across?” I yelled to my sister through the howl. “We can’t turn back now!” she delighted. Sure we can, it’s not like its a one way sidewalk.

We reached the middle. The bridge shook, and we had to hang onto our clothes. All of a sudden… splat! Right on my forehead. I looked up. Raindrops. “Kelly? I think we need to start moving.” We walked faster. Splat. Splat. The wind started to pick up even more. Splat Splat Splash. “Kelly, RUN!!!” I shoved the camera into my jacket and ran through the whipping rain. Hurricane gusts lashed across the bridge. The second pillar was near… behind it we could take cover if we could make it. “Ahh, run run RUN!”

We skirted round the backside of the pillar and flattened ourselves against it. Looked up. Sheets and sheets poured down from the sky. “That could have been worse.” Yeah. “We could have fallen off!” We laughed and were happy with our good fortune: We were still on the bridge.

Kirk, worrying and wondering what the heck happened to us, waited on the other side with the car. He had driven across and actually saw us walking somewhere near the middle when the rain started. Besides being a bit wet, we were no worse for the wear. Even the camera was just fine.

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I would like to send hearty thanks to Julie Ann Blumreiter. Contrary to what she thinks, she was a most courteous and thoughtful host! Thank you Julie, so very much for being our “gentle guide” and of course, for the box of Rice-a-Roni. ☼

I know diddly-squat about California, other than it’s chock full of Hollywood crazies. So much so that one was even elected to run the joint. Besides that, a six hour layover at LAX doesn’t count as seeing the Golden State. Remedy? A Route 1 road trip.

We have no Lonely Planet to guide the way, so in theory we’re destined for…loneliness? Really though, have you ever used one of those things before? It’s dangerous with its knowledge. It makes you believe that you’re “in the know.” If you’re not careful, you’ll be funneled into the same travel path already beaten down by millions and millions of tourists. Instead of creating your own experience, you will become just another consumer of the pre-packaged Lonely Planet soup de jour: all taste and no substance.

There is one thing that’s better than guidebooks. People. We have friends, relatives and friends of friends offering (or rather, conceding when we’ve begged) couches to sleep on, cars to tool around in, hot showers to get squeaky clean in, and a whole wealth of local knowledge steering us clear of the tourist trench. All sharing their slice of California with us to savor, local-style.

Brandon, a friend of Kirk’s from high school, picked us up from the airport. With suitcases pilled on our laps, we rode in his ’89 Cadillac Eldorado down to Huntington Beach, making a stop at In-N-Out Burger, a Cali institution. After dumping our bags in Brandon’s apartment, we grabbed longboards – Brandon loaned Kelly a bike – and headed to the beach.

The sun hung low over the Pacific, but still radiated warmth on the beachfront. It was late afternoon on the weekend and the boardwalk was still buzzing with people. Bikers zig-zagged, strollers rolled, and skateboards carved. We walked out onto the pier and looked over the edge. A cluster of surfers bobbed in the water, waiting for the next good wave. Clad in their black wet suits – a necessity in the chilly January ocean – they looked like seals having a grand old time in the surf.

After Kirk finished salivating over surfing (he was just itching to jump in the waves), we skated inland up a main drag lined with shops, restaurants and bars. Brandon and his roommate, Brendan – I know, confusing – took us to their regular locale: Kilarney’s irish pub. Five dollars bought us a giant pile of nachos with all the fixings. I drank a Black Velvet – a combination of Guinness and pear cider. Smooth, crisp, sweet and substantial. We toasted our welcome to California. ☼