heathervescent

Lane splitting the Big Rigs

It's the Bay Area, 2003, I'm riding my second bike, a Honda Nighthawk, 750 ccs on 880, 280, across the Bay Bridge. I was trying to kill myself. My life meant nothing to me. I was at the edge. I had been pushed to the edge. 

A particularily rough commute. A very slow merge, car commuters, big rigs, and me, a suicidal lane splitter. I had years of lane splitting, but I always respected the big rigs, gave them room, dared not engage with them. Not that day. I zipped at reckless speeds between the hulking, slow moving transporters, one on each side, sometimes just one between the long line of cars.

The thrill I got, a tiny fly, weaving in the space between, could be smashed at any time. I still respected those big rigs, but I was a different animal. I was fast, nimble, efficient on a different scale. I used the space those big rigs couldn't. Audacious. Zoom, zoom.

This memory recently asserted itself. And while I haven't lane split on a motorycle in many years, I still identify with that past self. I'm still metaphorically lane splitting the big rigs.

Beatnik Dodge

I admired your black classic Dodge. It must have been from the 60's or early 70's as you pulled behind me in the gas station. I don't see guys like you in LA. I don't even know how to categorize you. Beatnik? Richard Brautigan style? That high whiny voice. But soft, gentle. Counter-culture, when there was just one culture.

You were pissed, and rightly so. The traffic was a clusterfuck. The gas pump was out of order. I had to back my turbo in wrong-way to reach pumpside. I heard you cursing. I'm just one of the young-ones. Ruining the memories of the past, I think, as I start speaking. Telling you I was almost finished, that I can back out, that you can have my pump in a moment.

At least this gas station has invested in the super fast pumps. A few more miles of my magical elixir are transferred into my exobody. I wave off the others trying to block me in. Lying. You and your black Dodge are a picture. I skim my eyes over it, lest to stare. But it's like water to a sponge. Those few moments, I can't forget.

And then I'm gone. A final glimpse of you pulling forward, as I back out and onto 19th Ave traffic. The shiny black and chrome. From another era. 

San Francisco Reflections

I knew it would be true. San Francisco_is_ a great city to come back to. But her streets, although burned in my neural pathways, are faint, forgotten except for muscle memory. My car, as extension of this muscle memory, surfs the pavement, my body leans in the curves, even as I strain to read the street signs. My objective, the ocean. Revisiting a place. A lookout. A memory. The divergence of life from ordinary to extraordinary.

I sit on these high stones. It's a gorgeous day. A cool breeze comes off the ocean. I watch the waves in their green and grey. White effervescence paints uneven horizontal lines on the sand and in the sea. I remember this same place, dark one night. I was cold after riding Lady Knight through the fog, chasing something ephemeral through the streets. A glimpse of something unknown. I caught it here. (Or perhaps, it lead me here to be caught.) In this space, I stood facing it. Facing my fear. Opening the crack, stepping through, and into a different world. A world of my own making.

Sometimes I reminisce of that world. The one I left behind. All around me, untouchable, unlivable. It was the choice I made. A choice to choose. Never undone, as much as I might forget or deny. I had forgotten. But the memory is fresh now, in my mind.

San Francisco, Carving a Groove

I'm north again. I came to have some meetings and attend wordcamp. I'm honestly not sure why I'm attending wordcamp. I think it was just an excuse to get me up here again, although it's been great seeing peeps and getting the wordcampy lowdown. The weather is gorgeous. It is windy and cool. I'm not used to this cool undertone. I've missed the wind.

The city seems so empty. Where are all the people. It seems so relaxed and laid back. Almost like a small town. Why do I see it like this? Was it like this before? Am I remembering differently? Or has it changed? Or have I changed? Am I uptight again? One-track focused speeding at the speed of light? (Oh yes, most definitely I am moving at the speed of light.)

I just returned from a midnight ride to the east bay (and back). The freeways are the way I remembered. Those grooves I carved so long ago, still there. I was able to slip back into them. And at the same time, the grooves were not the same.

I spent many hours on the bay bridge. Mostly when the toll was a mere buck (it's $4 now! yikes!). I realized as I was speeding back to SF tonight, that I'm carving a new groove. That that's the reason I'm back in SF. To carve this new groove. It's going to take some time - I will be back. But there's always a bushwhacker that paves the way for the trail, that eventually becomes a dirt road, a paved freeway, an information superhighway to infinity (and beyond).

San Francisco, I am soaking up your sweet wind, your little puffy clouds of fog, your live oak and hills of green. I am a sponge. The desert, we need these reminders, we need your shower of information rain.

Snapshots of the day

Twitter didn't give me enough characters to express what I've experienced today, so I'm blogging it. So far, it's been a really amazing day. I have lots to write about my San Francisco experience. The few days here have been packed with juicy Goblin Fruit.

I started out the morning remembering the Bjork quote:

I don't know my future, after this weekend. And I don't want to.

Which reminded me how much I love living my life this way. And how I hope to inspire others to live their lives this way too.

Then I drove down to Half Moon Bay via Devil's Slide listening to DJ John's Devil 666 mashup mix. The sky was gorgeous, the ocean sparkling and I was anticipating Raman's Chai and seeing an old friend the entire way. The comfort of old time conversations. A bookstore. The chai kicked ass. Top down, I drove downtown, scheduled to meet another good friend in South Park. I detoured through Potrero Hill to test my clutch/stick driving the twistiest road in SF (no, it's not Lombard St.) where I blew my front tire.

I called AAA, they arrived in 15 minutes, swapped out my tire to make it to my lunch meeting in South Park(after scheduling 4 new tires for Ingemar tomorrow morning). How much connection, affection, catching up can you cram into 51 minutes? In addition to eating lunch? It was a power lunch, that only Power can create.

Now, I'm at Moscone West, eyeing the carousel and sitting in the roundtable discussion. There is much more of the day to come, and I honestly can't wait. Everyone and everything I need to be at, to do, to meet - old and new friends will occur. I keep my zen mind, be present and be utterly myself.

That's the best I can do. That's exactly what I want to do. That's being present and fluid in the moment.

creating the dream

It's been a busy week. I'm back here in SF - looking at that view - hi there sutro tower, the outer mission sprawl, the church. The sky is clear blue.

The house went on the market yesterday. The painters finished Wednesday and I had one evening to stage the house, clean it and generally make it look like a fabulous place. A place out of a dream - and it is. The house looks the best it has ever looked. The backyard is planted and gorgeous. I stand on the deck from the bedroom and look at the redwood trees, watch the sunset and feel the breeze. It's somewhat sad that I won't be living in this house anymore. But then again, I haven't lived there for 8 or 9 months. But that house represented to me the achievement of many of my dreams. Of home ownership in the Bay Area, where housing prices are not cheap. It was a beautiful house. A unique house. It was a small house. But it was compact. The house represented to me, that I was finally successful. And that I did it all alone. Well - not totally alone, because Clint was there too. But I did most of it. And to me that house represents success.

So I was successful. It's time for a new dream. A dream that holds it's castle in the south. There are many things in the north that have my attention - but my dream is south. And I can't wait to get back down to Venice and the warm moist air. A city with sandy loamy soil where my roots are already settling in. It's full of holes.

a photo album

Carson took some photos of me on my last night in SF. We watched the sun set at Ocean Beach. Drank some ciders in the car. Watched the teenagers carry armloads of wood and potato chips for beach burns. Then we went home via Twin Peaks.

I really wanted to say goodbye to the city up there. It used to be that every morning I would check my email and raise my gaze to see Sutro Tower. That didn't happen today. ;) So I had to say goodbye to Sutro and Twin Peaks, since I would not be saying hello anymore.

The light was wonderful. We watched the twinkling of teslaescence down market street, illuminating the Castro Theater (so many good memories) treasure island, the bay bridge and across the bay to Berkeley and the east bay hills.

It was really a perfect evening. Thank you San Francisco Bay. I won't miss you, but I'll remember your dream.

um dia perfeito

*sigh*

I'm leaving san francisco. it seems these things always happen when you're about to take some big action or change.

I spent the day with one of my best friends. we hung out in various parts of the city. driving through the mission. a back patio in hayes valley. Open faced sandwiches and a trickling fountain. A few hours in Japantown. A stationary shop where I bought a notebook with these words "Be chic about a notebook. Tasty character is our basic criterion." I could say that about my friends. They must be tasty. A conversation sitting on stumps and bark. Tea.

This is a fine pace.

Thinking about how relationships change - because they are forced to change. And as I look in retrospect at relationships that have changed - it has been for the better. It all works out the way it is supposed to.

Buying too many CDs at Amoeba. The Bjork that plays over and over in my mind. Some gems in finding CCR and Chico Science.

Driving to the edge of the western world and then skirting the edge of it with John Fogarty crooling through Proud Mary and Heard it through the Grapevine.

The whole bay as our listening room as I am flashed back to Brazil with Mad Professor and David Byrne remixes of Chico Science e Nacao Zumbi from Twin Peaks.

The meloncoly drive back, signaling the end of a perfect day.

Um dia perfeito. Vamos fazer um filme.

He says, as I go to LA, that I'll be famous next. I'm looking out at the bay. At the helicopters hovering over the bay bridge. At the clouds swimming by above us. At the east bay, where all my dreams came true. But I look at him with a twinkle in my eye and tell him, that then my dreams changed. And that's why I am moving to LA.

I have no choice to but to go. But it's not easy.

Especially after a day like today.

But then again. If I wasn't leaving, a day like today might not have ever happened. And who knows what the future brings. A two seater convertible, a drive in the LA hills. The museum of jurassic tech, my mansion in malibu. (Well, if I am going to be famous, at least now my ego is in check.) I promise to send southwest tickets and meet up in other countries. Who knows what will happen.

I have my dreams. My flight over the ocean. My flight into infinity.