Night Run...quick watch that clip, then come back.
That's Beaverdale, my neighborhood, running grounds and the Flying Mango bistro over on the corner.
This is where I will ask Curls to be my wife.
Was going to do it this summer on the California trip. But the ring tripped me up and I wasn't sure if better to surprise her or let her help pick it out.
Pigtails told me to get it done by the end of the year. She said "suck it up, grandma!" when I told her I wanted to wait and get it right.
New Year's Eve, time is up. We began with a husky platter of 24-hr smoked brisket, side of bacon Brussels and an Iowa chocolate stout. She ordered roast chicken in creamy mushroom wine, slotted with garlic smashed potes. She likes the Coke.
Everything going nicely.
She asked why I was paparazzi with the camera.
I smiled and said let it go, Frozen.
So we finish up eating, I head to the water closet and get my camera ready.
Must have been nervous, somehow did an 11-shot burst of the toilet.
Please tell me the flash didn't fire, restaurant patrons outside would think a perv' in the b-room.
I talked with her Dad on Christmas about this day.
He said she makes smart choices and would decide.
I handed the camera to a waitress with her hands full of a giant pork platter. She asked "well, I'm busy, are you going to do it now?!" Rush mode and she focus no care.
The room went quiet.
She said I was tearing up.
We shared a few quiet words.
Two minutes later, Pigtails called asking how it went. She'd spent the weekend with her mom's family...went crazy and yelled to them when I told her.
Best night ever, we headed over for a warm flask of sake at Haiku across from Drake. Much blue in there.
Then to The Varsity old school theater for Wild. Crazy childhood Cheryl Stayed had.
Both subtle and intense.
Curls, thanks for being patient with me. I love you!
After the Tea Garden, we boarded the bus towards the bridge.
Why did it smell like urine and chocolate in the diesel pusher?
Tried not to ponder too much, just hold your breath for 10
minutes. Hover over the seat and go to your happy place.
Laid down some moves to make both Curls and daughter facepalm, then commenced the 2-mile out and back on the bridge.
Golden Gate was hot riveted in the early 1930s, smack in the heat of The
Depression and cheap labor. A cross-section of cable was sliced on
display. Those fat piped cables burdened down by the roadway are 3 feet in
diameter, pregnant with 27,000 strands of steel wires.
Pretty girls. I am a lucky man.
12 feet into the bridge crossing, Pigtails was waving her hand around and bawling.
I assumed a pterodactyl swooped down and bit off her arm based on the commotion.
Apparently, a tiny rude Californian sweat bee stung her thumb meat.
I kissed it and gently told her to kindly SUCK IT UP AND ENJOY THE EXPERIENCE.
Kissing of boo boos to make it all better stopped working 8 years ago.
The pedestrian walkway across the bridge is narrow, a mix of walkers and lightly drunk older people on Huffys. Windy, chilly and my nipple headlights were on through the tee shirt.
one of those National Geo Antarctica scenes with the thousands of penguins. Now picture a few hundred of those penguins have gray hair, riding rented bicycles swerving around all crazy like, trying to smash your achilles with their front wheel. Not
sure if they were uncoordinated, wasted on booze or had never ridden a bicycle without training wheels.
At the other end of the bridge was a parking lot chock full of people sleeping in the birthing position.
The view back was even better, because you could see a downtown pano.
Me hungry, do they even do fatty Angus burgers in San Fran?
Next up is Chinatown and mystery steamed pots of dim sum.
Back story on the San Francisco Japanese Tea Garden:
This five acre Asian oasis was originally built for the 1895 World's Fair. Crouching within the 1,000 acre Golden Gate Park, it is because Japanese immigrant and gardener Makoto Hagiwara made it so.
After the World Fair ended, Makoto (Japanese for Kevin) convinced upper management to solidify it into a permanent park. He switched on beast mode, air lifting in 1,000 cherry trees, koi carp and flying fowl from Japan. His family lived in and pruned the tea garden until 1942, training the garden to beauty and making sure the fish didn't misbehave.
Then things got jacked, he was imprisoned in 1942 with WWII.
The garden went to pot.
It probably looked a lot like my crabgrass infested lawn.
Time passed, the war ended. By '52, the garden was restored, fortune cookies were introduced to the U.S. for the first time via the Tea Garden, and life was good.
We topped up hot cups of lattes to offset the smokey sky and 50 degree bite in the air. Why did I wear shorts and T, and free entry on weekdays before 10 am.
In the early hours, we had the park alone. No traffic sounds or humans to mess the tranquility.
Jūpaces outside the tea was the Rose Garden. Sucked in pedal scents as we pushed towards the bus stop for the Golden Gate Bridge.
Bridge crossing and boozed up older adults on bikes next post.