Day one: 8/15/07 - Eugene OR
Wednesday, day one of Portland to San Fran road trip. 96 degrees or at least that’s what it feels like in the encased car midday. Just witnessed a Eugene bum, distinguished only from a normal Eugene resident by his trash bag tote drop suddenly to the ground on a perfectly manicured suburban lawn and commence to do push-ups. Only to spring to his feet and continue his steps as if provoked by an imaginary boot camp sergeant.
Went for an impromptu hike; wore a skirt and sports bra for lack of better attire. Proof that you can never pack too much.
Day two: 8/16/07 - Arrival in CA
Entering California, in Redding, and make the required stop at In & Out, the only place where I say “animal style please.” We file through a line worthy of a Disneyland attraction, interacting with employees who are 5 times as cheerful as any Dumbo attendant.
-Arrival in San Francisco
Checked into the Metro Hotel. From the outside had all the promises of being a hip, swanky hotel. It had a sleek, posh red-walled restaurant and outdoor gardens with string patio lights. Conversely, our room was a small, white-walled enclosure no bigger than the Alcatraz cells across the bay; also featured cigarette stained countertops. But nonetheless a place to rest our bodies and minds.
Went exploring on Haight Street, my partner whispering stories of the summer of love some 40 years ago, when Janis Joplin & the Grateful Dead were neighbors and preached from their doorsteps of peace, love, alternate perspectives and altered states of mind. Their modern decedents still haunt the neighborhood, evidenced by the barrage of tie-dye, atheist bookstores, and indie music shops. Their message is sold in shop windows now and spoke freely by homeless street youth.
Day three - 8/17/07 - Redwood city
Help celebrate an 89 year old man’s birthday. Hear stories the the San Francisco of yore. See photos of young men and women in the 1900s wearing loose fitting clothing and camping on the beach. Of men dressed in suits and hats, smoking cigars and swigging beers. Hear stories of the depression and tb epidemic. Hear stories of love found and lost and San Francisco’s coming of age.
Day four- 8/18/07 - San Francisco
We start our last day at the the Legion of Honor Art Museum gazing at the multitude of Monets, Renoirs, Cezanne and a smattering of deKooning. Scouring every brushstroke, we produce our own works of art later over dinner on a paper tablecloth. We journey through little italy, stopping for a drink at a swanky jazz bar with a 3:00 Saturday afternoon show. We smile cheese in front of Coit Tower and find ourselves headed down Columbus into City Lights Bookstore. While it’s no Powells, and there were no “I got lost” stickers, City Lights exuded history and charm. Its walls were papered with stories told through yellowed newpaper articles and photos with attached captions of Bob Dylan, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and the Beat Generation. A documentary of protests, riots and movements from the past.
We stop for a drink, “Widmer Hefeweizen, please” at Vesuvio a quaint little bar with an upstairs balcony. Embellished in paint, a quote above the door of the bar states, “I am itching to get away from Portland, Oregon.” Being mildly offended and altogether curious, I inquire to the assiduous and severely annoyed bartender as to the meaning. He grumbles about some Portland flea epidemic years back. I start to muster up some sort of defense for my fair city, but having just gone through a flea bout with my own cat, find myself at a loss. Talk about bad PR and an odd expression to paint on your bar entryway.
Later that evening we attend an art opening. Ben Frost, a visiting artist from Australia and his vibrant painted collages of American brand icons. Ben stood with me for a while, drink in hand, wearing a camouflage jacket full of patches, dark jeans and an earring. Spoke of his girlfriend back home, an anticipated studio exchange and surviving as an artist without selling out to big brands. I tell him Im a designer and suddenly I feel like a sell out and the conversation soon dies. Soon after this I am bitten by the studio dog who was later described as being “grumpy.”
Day five- 8/19/07 - Hwy 101
On the drive home I put my feet up and read from Ken Kesey’s “Sometimes a Great Notion.” Get out of the car to hug a giant tree, silent guardian of the redwood forest for hundreds of years.
