San Fran-tastic..

Not a huge fan of the tour bus option, but since Lady Magella, our GPS, had to repeat the 6th grade for failing geography, I really felt this was our best option for big city travel. When all 13 of us were boarded, Teri commented to me, "Do you think we are the youngest aboard?". Heh, from our crowd, it appears life's hair palette does not end in gray, apparently blue is the final follicle.

The hillside architecture was absolutely splendid.  But in an earthquake prone city--humm.

In all her majesty (the bridge). I can reasonably surmise based upon information shared having a San Francisco day in early May with unlimited visibility, minimal wind and zero fog is an anomaly. I love anomalies. I love my wife.

From someone who spent 22 years in the 911 world, I can appreciate the sign. Essentially-- "Hey, don't blame the City of San Francisco for Bubba's suicide, we had a number he could have called prior to taking the 692 belly flop off the bridge".

Unfortunately, Teri had to call the help line. She was whispering "I find my husband's blog pretty revolting at times and am not sure if I can take it anymore". Based upon the smile in the photo, it looks 911 worked their magic.

Tai-Chi in the park-- English translation: the exercise for couch 'taters where you move in slow motion and burn 6 calories an hour.

Pictures do not do the steep terrain of SF justice. Let's put it this way, it is not a city where I would want to own a manual transmission vehicle when driving up and waiting at a red light.

The intersection where peace, love and drugs began--the hippie movement of the '60s. Shortly thereafter, their revolution catapulted the hygiene industry into a multi-billion dollar business. (This blog really is a notch above Wikipedia).

Of the 33 trolly lines that once the roamed the City, only 4 remain. We took the California line which runs to the top of SNob Hill and then straight down.

 If the cable comes detached, we are headed into the bay.

Teri and I are "food trailer" junkies. While all the tourists are scouring the seaside cafes, we hunt out the dives--I guess it's the "Austin, Tx" in our blood. Some fish-chips and Baja tacos from Codmothers, a little joint owned by a British lady. And yes, next to ketchup, vinegar, which was delightful on the fish.

A returning fishing vessel at Fisherman's Wharf being greeted by a Harbor Seal who awaits the remains of the day's catch. Not sure what came first in the begging world, the seal or the dog.

Welcome to America's new landlords--Chinatown!

Chinese manufacturing began here--the fortune cookie factory! Well, not sure if 3 people in a sweat shop qualifies as a factory. Yup, she is inserting the paper messages into the cookies before sealing the batter. (Once again kids a reminder--finish your education.) My words of wisdom inside my cookie read "Diesel will get cheaper in Oregon". How fortunate!

Poor Rin-Tin-Tin, looking a bit distressed pondering outside the back seat car window. I would be too if I was a canine being paraded through Chinatown during lunch time.

Alcatraz in the bay and San Quentin prison to the north about ten miles--they take their punishment here seriously.

San Francisco in the rear view mirror on a Chamber of Commerce kind of day. Hate to part company as you were a wonderful host to these vagabonds, but time to hitch up and move this adventure northward toward the California/Oregon border tomorrow morning and see if my fortune cookie holds true.

Journey continues, day 32.