First Steps

I haven’t figured out how to start this blog. As though starting it means something other than just writing. I keep thinking the first post should be one of great import, perhaps relating one of those epic treks through the city, replete with encounters with strangers, unexpected discoveries and spontaneous left turns. The kind that ends with a few well-chosen and well-earned groceries and a lovely, simple meal, feet up, good book open. But those come with less frequency than the daily sort of walk: the walk just to get somewhere instead of hopping a bus; the walk to get out into the air, catch a view, stretch the legs. Anything might happen but it so often doesn’t and that’s as it should be because something happening is not quite the point. Just to Be, rather than to Think, is more to the point, if indeed there is or must be a point. Thoughts come when walking, of course, but somehow they leave just as readily, and there is less attachment to them. It’s as if the subtlest breeze is always in motion, whispering in through one ear, rounding up the thoughts on its way and pushing them gently out the other.

Another thing I’ve noticed is that I sit down to begin and then I think, no, wait, I can’t write about that – it’s too personal. Which begs the question: why write a blog?

So, to take my own words to heart – walking the walk, as it were – here goes: step by step.

I am housesitting in Cow Hollow. For those unfamiliar with San Francisco neighborhoods, Cow Hollow is nestled between the Marina to the north and Pacific Heights to the south. It also butts up against the Presidio to the west, so this was my first intentional walking destination. Since I like to have something of a destination in mind – although on any number of whims this destination might change half a dozen times en route – I decided to head for Andy Goldsworthy’s Spire near the Arguello Gate.

http://www.presidio.gov/experiences/spire.htm

Since it’s been here for many months and on my do-list for most of them, this was a destination I intended to reach. I started by walking up the Lyon Street steps and did not count them, which is unusual for me and maybe a good sign that I was out of my head.* Some years ago when I was in Luang Prabang, Laos, I was compelled to count the some hundreds of steps one took to reach a certain temple on a hill, only to discover a sign at the top proclaiming the exact number. I thought, you couldn’t post this at the bottom?

So. At the top of the steps there is a place to veer into the Presidio, which I did, although I stayed on the path at the edge along W. Pacific Avenue as I made my way toward the Gate. It’s pretty sweet just there, as you can imagine, quiet, with large houses facing the trees, and a nice playground that I’d love to take my six year old niece to. When I reached Arguello I could see the top of the Spire so there was no confusion, I just crossed the street and went up the short path, passing a few departing visitors on my way. I was now the only person there and as I was in a Mood that made it perfect. I won’t describe the Spire itself (or the Mood) as you can use the link if you’re interested. I walked around it a few times and then sat at its base and felt what I felt and looked at the view over the Presidio and the Bay, and at a hummingbird who shot straight up into the sky over and over and over, dropping each time so fast that at first I couldn’t even see it, not even the blur, it just disappeared. I imagined these exuberant antics were meant to attract a mate, but none appeared to be attracted while I was in the neighborhood.

After a good while of hugging my knees at the base of the Spire, the sun passed behind the trees and I needed to get moving again. Never one to go the same way twice, I ventured down a different path, received some complicated but ultimately very accurate directions from a kind resident and ended up exiting the Presidio at the Lombard Gate, a few blocks from my temporary home. Excuse me for passing over this part of the walk but, shoot, this isn't a tourist guide.

I can’t remember what I ate when I arrived home, which is slightly unusual for me, being the one who, when somebody says, Hey, remember that time we passed through Walla Walla on that trip in 1979?, says, Oh yeah, that was where we went to that Italian restaurant and had mediocre ravioli. What I remembered most about the Grand Canyon for years – it might have been that same roadtrip – was breakfast in the restaurant there because my sister and I were each allowed to get one of those single-serving boxes of Kellogg’s cereal in the flavor of our choice. This might not seem much of a thrill to the average kid, but we were cursed/blessed with very healthy eating habits at home and sugary cereals were not part of the regular mix. I got Fruit Loops and was sorely disappointed, by the way. And I always hated milk, which made eating cereal a pretty peculiar exercise in the first place.

Also by the way – and being more relevant – the Grand Canyon was where my Dad taught me how best to walk downhill. Being more interested in the super-cute chipmunks dashing hither and thither than in exerting any kind of effort on a July day in Arizona, and being 11, I was complaining about it. You have to add a bounce to your stride! said Dad. You have to sink your knees a little as you come down! I did so and by gum it helped, although I still grumbled, cutting short what, if left to him, would surely have been an epic walk. Funnily enough, Dad had that bounce in his walk anyway. Still does.

The Walk: 2.9 miles

*I just rethought that sentence “a good sign that I was out of my head.” It’s not exactly what I meant but worth leaving as is.