SF Trippin' -- Phase One
Saturday -- a week ago -- Beth and I get up at 4 o'clock to drive-crawl through the dark to catch my 6 a.m. flight. I wear my boots unlaced to slip them off quickly and waddle through security. I am on time. She waves. I am set in the right direction.
My flight from Memphis is delayed 2 hours because of bad weather in Atlanta. When I get to Atlanta, the storm has passed and I have missed my connector flight. I am told I am lucky: My cheap airline has just added a second flight to SF on Saturdays as of a month ago. I just have to wait til 5:30 the same evening. That flight is delayed. I spend nearly 10 hours in the Atlanta airport, wishing I had a soul to have lunch and/or dinner with. I overhear an elderly, chop-haired woman talking about going back to SF. She eventually engages me in conversation. I think elderly lesbian; she proves to be Greek Baptist fundamentalist. She latches to me the rest of the day, chides me for not buying a house and not going to church. She wants to leave me a Bible to read while she goes to smoke. I tell her (1)I am just plumb tired of reading and (2)that I have already read it. I am relieved I am not seated next to her on the eventual plane.
When I arrive in SF, I have been up 22 out of the last 24 hours and I am a little over 12 hours later than planned.
I sludge my way through the shiny SF airport, making my way to the gates. As I come through the last gate (re-birth portal?), I see the fellas: f8n_begorra and whiskerfish are wide-smiling and dang-good-lookin', full of hugs. I am instantly slap-happy and delirious, not nervous at all, just pleased to be so readily in good company.
We circle our way back out the confusing location of my gate (Atlanta an international flight?) and get out to the car. Fish opens the trunk so I can deposit my bags and settles a cap on my head. A gray and black one with that now famed nekkid bear in profile on it. (It has now become one of my favorite new possessions and will likely grace my head daily.)
We drive back to SF and the Lone Star, and I'm jabbering excitedly the whole way. We get beers and I am shuffled back to the smoking patio where I meet Terje (the leathered Norwegian) and his friend Greg. I drink two beers rather quickly and begin to slide a bit. Terje comments kindly that I must be understandably bushed. My accent is thickened and noticeable. I am all stupid smiles.
We head out for Napa and stop on the far side of the Golden Gate bridge in darkness. I smoke a cigarette and Robbie indicates and names some of the lights, some of the shadows. We take off again, wending eventually through dark wine country, stopping once to let me piss on the side of the road. (I hope, dear wine-drinkers, you soon taste a little from me in your bouquet.) We arrive and settle into the wonderful Napa cottage. Robbie and I have some brandy (I think), and we all three jabber comfortably and tiredly until sleep takes the reins.
I wake up the next morning and stumble into the kitchen to Fish's otherworldly ventriloquism and Robbie's sparkling smiles. Robbie makes some hot tea and we amble into town for pastries, then settle on the porch for breakfast and my morning smoke.
Then I meet Antonia. She comes out of the house across the street. Young, dark-featured, hot-as-hell, and confident. She crosses the street -- sunglasses, slinky smile, sexy and slow hip-walk, lollipop stuck in her mouth. She climbs onto the porch and settles in, greets me, and eases into this amazing talk: All breezy sex talk, a fast-popping wit, alternated with serious and forthcoming asides. I am amazed; I like this woman.
The sleeplessness catches up with me and I go in to grab a nap.
When I wake up, we are set to pile into the car and head into the country: blankets andf pillows and a cooler of beer. I then meet the next amazing woman of the trip: Marla. Short, spectacled, Jewish, she lives most of the year in the Missouri Ozarks -- on a farm with her husband -- but returns to California for stretches of work. Her humor is absolutely amazing and I jibe with her immediately, all four of us zingin' and banterin' at high speed.
We stop to get sandwiches for lunch and act like four unruly kids in the market. Back on the road, I get my first look at the California countryside in daylight. (Yes, Fish, I really was looking, taking it all in, even when my mouth was running 100 mph!) Sudden hills, richly tannish earth, sharply shaped green. The windows are down and the smell is incredible.
We get to the site of the May day celebration and Fish and Marla let Robbie and me out of the car to find us a sittin' spot. We spread our blankets under a set of trees, overlooking a gravel road and wide lake. The cooler is behind us.
*I ain't picture-savvy but you can see Fish's snap of it here:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/whiskerfish/79466.html#cutid1
Oddly enough, the event -- costumed people walking up and down the road, a mock-competitive canoe race, a small passing parade -- is much like a Faerie Beltaine gathering. It felt so good to get tipsy, take off my shirt, lie on the blanket, eat, laugh and gab. And the company -- if I haven't said it enough -- was perfect. I think we ran a nearby older couple off with our crass talk, but I was stinkin' happy and couldn't care. We walked the road to a house around the lake, where there was wine and a patio and an annual changing of an animal-themed painting. We circled the lake. Fish showed me where the old tree house used to be, and then we found a hammock for him to recline in, a bench at the lake's edge for me and Robbie to squat on.
We found our way back to the blanket for more drinks and found there was a stray parrot (yes, parrot!) perched in the tree above us. Marla announced she was very good with birds, held out her finger and spoke to it. The pipers next to us, though, eventually borrowed a cage and captured the bright feller -- to Fish's chagrin.
About five-ish, we packed up and headed out, winding our way back down the curvy backroad. I spit out the window approvingly and got chided for an accidental and very small littering tic (Gulp!) and leaned back contentedly in my seat, astounded that my trip -- already full -- had only just begun.
It was Sunday evening.
Next: Dinner and my first wide-eyed trip into the city proper ... .