Processing...
California is on fire, again. The indoors are usually my haven, but haven's aren't a place of confinement. Everything has become a waiting game. Travel. Unemployment. Dating. Clean Air. The days are getting longer, and I'm writhing in anticipation. Why die of suspense when you can walk into traffic? That's the running joke with friends during the double-lockdown. It's otherwise hard to keep focus when the nights are long, too. Energy levels over capacity can short out any circadian rhythm. Wakeup time has gone from 5am to 10am. I still get my coffee and croissant in the morning though. The barista's joked about my civilian clothes. It took a few mornings for them to recognize me. They've been fond of my cycling outfits. They're original and lack billboard material which added to the appeal. To describe a few: pixelated roses, starry eyed polka dots, lightning bolts, etc. Just consistent yet tasteful patterns. It's even caught the attention of my neighbor. She seems to always be watering her stoop garden after my rides. She loves talking about bicycles, and my routine inspired her to take a 30 yr old Bianchi down highway 1. I caught her after her ride and we talked bikes for about a half-an-hour. She's an older woman. San Francisco native and lives with her husband in a small home next to my duplex. I haven't rode since. The other day, I roughed it on a hike, despite the bad air. I wore a Rapha embroidered T. Dark blue with bright pink letters. When I reached the bottom of the reverse hike to Kirby Cove, which under-looks the Golden Gate bridge, a couple had just rose out of their tents. The cove is a hotspot for diligent campers. The sites popularity require reservations 6 months in advance. I've never secured a spot myself, but still travel there frequently. I sat across the campsite with a notebook in hand to write as the sun rose. I'd normally ride down with a group equipped with JetBoils to brew coffee and enjoy the sunrise before riding back across the bridge for work. Covid has since made that obsolete, but I still go. The man approached me after his girlfriend walked to the beach. What do you know, he started talking bikes. The Rapha T. was a new purchase and I hadn't the slightest idea it was imbued with camaraderie. His name was Nick, and he was new to the bay. We talked routes and eventually exchanged contact info for future group rides. That's the biggest source of dread right now. The inability to escape and ride. That's been my source of balance for so long. It's been so long that i forgot that cycling has been my anti-cigarette drug for more than a decade. Surprise. The urge is still there. Writing isn't helping much either. All of my favorite writers, chess players, and directors smoked. David Lynch is probably my worst influence. "For me, it's part of the art life. Coffee and Cigarettes" he says. After mentioning that he quit for 21 years in an interview with Susie Pearl, and all through that time he had a deep love for tobacco. That resonates all too well. I am staying true to the process of learning something new. Story telling is my focus at the moment. The goal is to write 3 short stories, but despite the environmental factors, the prep is coming along, and little by little I'm building on the idea. It's a good one, and is serving me better than the last stint of bad San Franciscan air. From now until tomorrow morning, I have to make a decision wether to leave or stay. There's a timeshare in Arizona that needs to be booked, and I may just drop everything to escape for a week. What a dilemma? Well, without a job, and limited income, it makes the well needed decision harder as it comes with risks. So we'll see what the next 18hrs holds as everything is still processing...