Lisa and Maria's PMS Alleycat race on January 24 was the perfect opportunity for America and I to make total fools of ourselves once again. Who's afraid of a little rain when you're armed with tacky nail polish and Midol?
On our way to Beaver Bros. we decided to break as many laws as possible so riding on the sidewalk against traffic was in order. Spitting, which is very unladylike was just for a change of pace! While bellowing show tunes, we greeted a happy couple sharing an umbrella. I could not stop telling them how cute they were for they talked simultaneously.
Before stopping at the Valencia vibrator store we cruised into Cancun for a burrito and painted our nails. The local working ladies were very bike to stop and let us take a photo. This route was loaded with Walgreen's, so before going any further we had to stop and pay homage to the supplier of many a feminine hygiene product!
Had to stop at the liquor store for cheap wine and tampons before arr4ivin at the finish party at Casa Maria. There were three guys standing in the way of one our much-needed items. "COMINGTHROUGH! MUSTHAVE TAMPONS!" was the call of the cramped. The liquor store guys must have thought we were freaks!
Dead last and still proud of it!
Love, Stephanie
I have to hand it to the messengers in Toronto. Even though that city is pancake flat, they have to deal with tracks on practically every other street. And on top of that, quite literally, the streets are covered in ice and snow.
These were the conditions in Toronto when I arrived to witness the St. Valentine's Day Massacre Race. The race itself took place on a frozen section of Lake Ontario. Huge blocks of ice were cut out of the lake and placed in a figure eight. At about 8:30 at night 35 people were ready to race for $100. Some had studded tires, some wee on fixed gears, some on cargo bikes and then there was Kevin, "Squid", from New York on his fixed gear with no studs. Rubber on ice. Crazy.
Watching everybody race around that figure eight was amazing! There were a few close calls, one T-bone accident where the track crossed itself, and plenty of wipeouts. But nobody got hurt or fell through the ice. This despite the huge wrought iron double headed dragon they had in the center of the track that they were setting on fire at the start of each heat. Two San Francisco messengers now riding in Toronto, Chris "Tractor Tavenner and Alex Vaughn, both came in third in their heats, and the overall winner was Albert DeCiccio. I had fun, even though I couldn't feel my feet, and I'd like to go back next year and actually race...or maybe I'll just watch again. Good Luck to Richie and Lee who are going to Toronto for the Human Powered Roller Coaster. Hopefully there won't be any, or at least as much, snow as when I was there. Keep warm and ride safe. That goes for all of you.
Wendy
Groundhog Day: A Religious Experience
Walking up with a 49-mie hangover was no way to start the 49-mile ride but after following Dr. Broiler's expert post-Puerto Allegre advice, we were happily on our way. The rest of Team Glue was not in any better shape, so I did not feel so bad.
Each stop was an adventure all its own but a few were extraordinary. Crushing Joel on swings a top Potrero Hill was most fun indeed! Flying to Pier 7 after that, I'll never walk anywhere again!
Coit Tower was best of all... after serenading Maria with "Ave Maria," three priests moseyed on by. Instantly, I was hurled back to my Catholic school trauma from which I'm sure to never again recover.
I have decided to put a letter in to the Vatican proposing Groundhog Day a religious holiday. I must go to confession before Critical Mass, whatever shall I give up for Lent...?
Before leaving Coit Tower, we managed to piss of the old coot in the DPT uniform. Grumpy Grandpa had a problem with bike, eh? The Church of the Rotating Mass, complete with bells a-tolling would have made the Pope proud!
Sister Mary Stephanie
I got to ride out with two folks not recently seen biking in SF: Laurie and Rick! Three Okies yay! Once again our numbers will swell, from near-extinction to the mighty herds that thundered across extinction to the mighty herds that thundered across the plains. Whoops, wrong species. Oh well, what a great way to get back on the road. Joining the crew late, we climbed Pot Hill to hang out in the park and share some breakfast beers. At Pier 7 Pat Rat proved you can bike and still be a couch potato, but his TV didn't make it to the next stop. The good people of Golden Anchor might think seeing us on the weekend was a little too much of a good thing. But with our various colds we needed Jägermeister. After a bout of musical bikes, we flew up Telegraph Hill at 35 mph without breaking a sweat because we are all actually Olympic athletes traveling incognito. Yeah, really.
Down the Hill to the Pipe Organ. Tide was low so I didn't hear anything, instead sampled many the Chinese pastries that were circulating through our gathering. Next Fort Funston for exciting pee and photo breaks (sadly, these two events were not combined). Then onward and upward to the fountain that provided us with a velodrome during 49-Miles Rides of Yore. This time 'round it provided us with a footbath small consolation. Next stop: Pronto Pup. Well Pronto Pup was none too pronto and I hope there weren't serving us pups. After a brief feast, we relocated a few yards down to Stairwell 13, with the sunshine and beers taking full effect. My Okie posse was slowing down, fading, going through Thai food withdrawal, so we bade fond farewell to the brave souls that continued on in search of fun and ice cream. See y'all next year!
America
The 5th Annual Ground Hog Day 49 mile ride-the best one yet in my opinion thanks to good turnout and good sunny weather. The Sunday paper had a lot about Herb Caen...but only in the Examiner part... an irony I think he would've appreciated.
I called Ground Hog Day Ride Founder and Semi-Dictator Joe Corio to say I'd be late. Big deal. We didn't leave till 10:00 a.m. (I was there at 9:15-15 minutes "late"). Stephanie S., Laurie L., Lynn M., Maria S., Holland J., Erik Z., Mikae Z., John Seagrave, Pat Craven, Rick Buckelew, Ritchie, James, Mary Brown, Joel Metz, Dave, Lance Mitchell, Charley, Elizabeth Lee, Mike Crane, Omi, Bok Choy, and a few others were there-over 25 of us.
Some projnosticated before leaving. Our first stop was the Potrero Hill community gardens at the top of the real "Crookedest Street in the World." Since this was off the official Scenic Route, we took our own routes with about five of us zigzagging along a "Famous Messenger Homes of the Mission" tour, passing the Proj Lodge, the Wanker Palace, Nosmo's, Bogart's old place as well as SF General (another Famous Messenger Home) and the Mission itself.
From there we ascended the wrong way up the real crookedest street in the world and somewhere there Omi lost her glove! This depressed me and I thought the whole day was ruined. At the garden, we drank beers and projnosticated. One person had to go to work-but not before intentionally knocking down Charley's bike. Chris Carlsson showed up to join us as did Michael with his daughter on a tandem. Erik and Mikae were also on a tandem. From there we rode along the 20th Street saddle of Potrero Hill and then dropped down to Minnesota Street at a blazing rate of speed. Then we started to congregate at 20th and Minnesota-for what I don't know, so Omi and I split and headed for the waterfront route.
Just past Mission Rock Resort, I saw a pair of gloves on the ground which I retrieved for what's her name who'd lost hers earlier! Along Herb Caen Way, we passed both Red's Java Huts and the Ferry Building before our 2nd Semi-Official Stop at Pier 7 where we drank beers and projnosticated. A seal surfaced just off the pier, and we also saw a ray caught by a fisherman. One of us took a TV set to a garbage can.
I looked at Treasure Island with some melancholy. I've never been on that island but from there in 1947, my Dad was discharged from the USMC and proceeded to hitchhike to Michigan (no small feat at that time). Team Glue did a group wrestle without mud. From Pier 7, we had an optional route to Coit Tower as the Japantown Loop was eliminated (Boo!). So a few of us (mostly messengers) rode over to Golden Anchor to stock up on beer. From there Omi, Dave, and I went down Montgomery, then up Bush through the Lion Gates of Chinatown. At the north end of Chinatown, we walked our bikes through a street fair. By City Lights, we got back on our bikes for the steep climb to Coit Tower. At the Tower, we drank beers and projnosticated. Some of us viewed the WPA art project's frescoes of California's agricultural, industrial--and criminal-- activities of 1933... the year the Tower was built in the midst of the Depression and the year before the General Strike. The view was magnificent. We could clearly see both bridges--and from the heights of Telegraph Hill, it looked to us as if we could reach out with the right hand to the Bay Bridge and the left to the Golden Gate. Far off in the distance, what's her name could see the Richmond-San Rafael.
"I'll miss Herb Caen," Omi mentioned.
We rode around the parking lot to the consternation of the curmudgeonly Coit Tower attendant-which is the case each year. As we rode down Telegraph Hill into North Beach and Fisherman's Wharf, I got lost from everybody, including Omi. As I passed the Maritime Museum, I saw some riders, including my beloved what's her name. I snuck up-taking my telltale ringing and clanking Krypto lock off my rack and holding it to keep it quiet so I could surprise her.
I was glad not only to catch up with everybody, but also because on previous Ground Hog rides, I'd always missed our stop at the Wave Organ. This time I stayed close to Ground Hog vets and reached the Wave Organ at the end of a tiny strip of a (man-made?) peninsula. Omi scored some yellow "Caution" strips. At the Wave Organ, we drank beers and projnosticated. I poured some beer out for all those who weren't there. A few crabs crawled among the rocks. Foreign tourists showed up but they didn't bother us. The tide was too low to sound the Organ so Omi and I relaxed among the rocks. When we got up around 2:00 p.m., we discovered that our friends had abandoned us! Left our bikes at the mercy of hordes of barbarian tourists! Well we got on our bikes and rode past Crissy Field and reached Fort Point, the next stop, where we drank beers and projnosticated. We also watched the surfers. When we left, some crazy lady flashed me her boobs.
The ride from Ft. Point through the Presidio was great. As we came from Ft. Point, four of us at the front turned onto the 49-mile route and climbed uphill toward the underpass below US #101. As we did, a pair of non-messengers (who weren't even on the ride) casually passed us. I was silently shocked by this unnatural phenomenon and to return the laws of nature back to their proper place, did my share (along with the other three) to pass the interlopers and restore the status of Messenger as Superior Cyclist. Having done that, I got off and walked my bike because I like to do that once in awhile, don't you? The fact that it was uphill might've had something to do with it. And I wanted Omi to catch up.
She reached me just along the views of the ocean and beaches. We looked at the ocean and then rode down the hill--riding no hands and standing on our pedals and wowing the car drivers as we sped toward Seacliff. We began to catch up with everybody in Seacliff and eventually reached the Palace of the Legion of Honor where we drank beers and projnosticated. There at the terminal point of the Lincoln Highway the USA's 1st transcontinental paved highway--Maria started a small fad of dipping bare feet in the fountain. From the Palace, we rode to the Cliff House where--as far as I know we did not drink beers or projnosticate. Some of us rode down to picnic on the beach while others looked at Seal Rock and Sutro Baths. We didn't see any seals but Omi could see the Farallones.
The crisp, clear air sharpened the contrast between the barren, brown cliffs and the white surf and green waters of the Pacific. It was almost surreal to me--like looking at a desert besieged by an endless flood. Looking landward, native San Franciscan Omi said she couldn't get used to seeing condos where Playland once stood. Neither could I although Playland was only a dim memory to me. She and I rode along the Great Highway and turned into Golden Gate Park by the north Windmill. From there we did my usual Ground Hog Day Ride Detour. While everybody else goes all the way to Lake Merced and back to rendezvous at Polly Ann's Ice Cream Shop, I always go my brother's place at 43rd & Irving where we drink beers and projnosticate. We also played with my brother's mutt Como. Como is a black and white mix of some kind of terrier and perhaps border collie who has one ear that points up and another that flops forward, making her so cute that YOU JUST CAN'T STAND IT !! After about an hour, we then zigzagged over to 37th & Noriega to join everybody at Polly Ann's for ice cream and chocolate covered frozen bananas. I don't think we drank beers or projnosticated. At this time (5ish) the sun was low over the ocean. There were still about 20 of us so we began to ride over to the Park to the Stow Lake Pagoda. It was almost dark when we reached the waterfall by Stow Lake. At the pagoda we were treated to a boring--I mean peaceful--synthesizer solo. Actually I kinda liked it. The rest of us drank beers and projnosticated. Before we left, the synthesizer soloist announced where he'd be playing future dates. I didn't see anybody taking notes.
We left the park at 9th & Lincoln and charged up to the Stand-Bi Market(that's really the name) on 8th & Judah. By now darkness was thinning our ranks. At the Stand-Bi I asked if anybody wanted to try my steep short cut up to Twin Peaks on the west slope. To my surprise about eight people did. So we turned off Laguna Honda by the lagoon and began scaling the torturous heights of the western slope's streets. Four of us found the dirt trail that connects to Twin Peaks Blvd. but the others got lost and had to find a slower route to the Blvd. Others found different ways. Holland, who'd started the ride then gone to work, had returned to reach the top in quick time. In all, about 12 of us stood at the top where we enjoyed the glittering view, drank beers and projnosticated. Love that Victory Proj!
But our fun was far from over!!
]Derby suggested we go to Sutro Forest to find Ishi's Cave. So five of us cut across some streets and dirt trails to the dewy trees sheltering Ishi's refuge from the modern world. Some of us went into the cave which requires each guest to enter first by crawling, then walking(because crawling becomes impossible) then again by crawling all by a series of twisting body contortions. I got claustrophobic and chickened out but my flashlight did illuminate for me the vault of the San Francisco refuge of California's last "wild Indian." Mikae, Joe and one other person did go all the way into the cave's vault. Once in awhile I would yell into the darkness to the others in the woods but they would say "Shh!" because we were near the Chancellor's house.
Finally it was time to close the books on the 5th Annual Ground Hog Day 49 Mile Senic* Bicycle Ride & Spelunking/Ice Cream Festival. With regretful farewells, we took our respective paths to our places of rest although two people did go up to Mt. Sutro first. As we descended into our neighborhoods, I thought about San Francisco's recently departed scribe.
Ever since our family reached California in 1962, Herb Caen had been a constant presence. His familiar arrangement of words and dot triplets set in a column of newsprint had come to seem as enduring and symbolic as Coit Tower and the bridges. I remember my Mom and Dad talking about him at the breakfast table almost as soon as we moved here. Dad had been stationed here during World War II and probably been reading Herb back then. I tried reading his column when we first got here but his stuff was way over my 9-year-old head and Willie Mays was the only name I recognized.
Herb Caen was a true friend of messengers who defended us back when local politicians sicced the cops on us, yet he occasionally gave us constructive criticism... like a real friend should. But I think messengers appreciated his words on other topics because his virtues reminded us of our better values. And when he said that we carried on the Old San Francisco spirit, we knew all the politicians in the world couldn't beat us.
I thought about Ishi too, another native
Californian who'd come to San Francisco. The hills and woods of
a great city offered a natural retreat to man whose life was close
to nature.
I pray that Herb and Ishi are somewhere happy swapping stories
about Old San Francisco.
Howard
*Yes that's the way, it's spelled on the stickers.
