Bouncing 'Round the Bay—A Quick Trip in Greater SF

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Overview

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I finally succumbed to a little of California’s magic during this trip. If you’re traveling successfully anywhere, you’ll find the special qualities of any place that led folks to settle there, set it aside, or both. But I’d evaded that sense so far in the Golden State, despite a half-dozen trips to San Francisco, San Diego, and the greater L.A. area. Not that I’d had bad experiences: I just didn’t see why generations of people would consider it the land of their dreams (gold dust aside, of course). But while meandering over the hills, gentle canyons, and seascapes of the East Bay, it grabbed me several times: atop Mt. Diablo, gazing out at the last hazy rays of sunlight over the Bay… wandering...Read More

I finally succumbed to a little of California’s magic during this trip. If you’re traveling successfully anywhere, you’ll find the special qualities of any place that led folks to settle there, set it aside, or both. But I’d evaded that sense so far in the Golden State, despite a half-dozen trips to San Francisco, San Diego, and the greater L.A. area. Not that I’d had bad experiences: I just didn’t see why generations of people would consider it the land of their dreams (gold dust aside, of course). But while meandering over the hills, gentle canyons, and seascapes of the East Bay, it grabbed me several times: atop Mt. Diablo, gazing out at the last hazy rays of sunlight over the Bay… wandering up and down the hills, losing sight of the horizon only to find it again around the next curve… meeting John Muir at his orchard in Martinez... driving over hillsides alternating between the golden, water-hungry grasses and trees of deep browns and greens…. It was one thing to note how small changes in place created conditions just different enough to support a new array of plants. But as I came to the bottom of Canyon Road, it was the sudden appearance of the redwoods in Redwood Regional Park that really did it for me.

And then there’s San Francisco… I hadn’t planned to devote too much of my day to the city, but once I was there, I couldn’t get away. A quick stop at Ghirardelli Square for a bite of lunch turned into a few hours along the northern edge of the city, at the SF Maritime National Historic Site, Crissy Field and Fort Point in the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, and just enjoying the view through the ship masts across to Alcatraz and Marin County. Even the dog that slurped my milk shake while I took pictures couldn’t (completely) ruin my mood.

An entire visit could revolve around the Golden Gate NRA, part wilderness, part urban park, and an amazing study in reclaiming military land for other public purposes. It was a shock to me how much of this area was set aside for defense, whether in the D-Day-like turrets and gun installations in the Marin Headlands, the compounds at the Presidio and Fort Mason in San Francisco itself, or in Forts Cronkhite and Barry across the Golden Gate Bridge.

Quick Tips:

There are a zillion ways to have a wonderful trip in this area. All urban or all wilderness, all budget or all luxury, on the go all the time or blissfully resting in one place. In my short visit, I went for a little of everything, and the resulting kaleidoscope of experiences made for a terrific and memorable trip. I think it applies to all kinds of travel, but especially in a city like San Francisco, resist the temptation to do everything. As I crossed on the Bay Bridge, my goal was to grab a sourdough bowl of clam chowder for lunch at Fisherman’s Wharf, and then head across the Golden Gate to Muir Woods. A quick look at the traffic scotched that idea, and turned into a pleasant, relaxing, and new set of experiences near Ghirardelli Square. I left with a pretty good feeling for San Francisco without rushing myself all over the city (which, given the number of people here, is hard to do anyways).

But unless you’re totally devoted to things urban, plan to get outside the city and see the landscapes that make this a popular place to live. North to the Marin Headlands, or into the ridges of the East Bay, or west to the Beaches stretching from Seal Rock to Pacifica—they’re all different landscapes, but I saw arid mountainside, rolling orchards, rocky coasts, and endless beaches, all by practically stumbling my way across the area.

There’s tremendous variety in the cities & towns here—some appear to have changed little in the last 80 years, while other locations are part and parcel of Silicon Valley, full of gleaming glass and chrome. And in plenty of locations, heading just a few miles away from six lanes of freeway, you find winding roads that lead you back into hills that hardly feel like the same state.

Best Way To Get Around:

For any extended traveling in the Bay Area, you’ll need a car. My Pacifica (upgraded free of charge from a bare-bones Dodge Neon) was a great, comfortable touring vehicle, if a bit large for only one. I’m glad I had it for the climb up Mt. Diablo. If you’re centered in San Francisco, public transit and taxis will probably suffice. The BART, light rail, and buses can get you a surprising number of places, but if you hope to explore the out-of-the-way destinations, or want more flexibility, you’ll need an internal combustion engine of your own. However, I’ve taken a taxi from San Jose to Pac Bell Park before (don’t pay for this alone), and rail/bus/BART roundtrip from San Jose to Oakland Coliseum (a concierge was immensely helpful in planning that outing).

I pioneered a new mode of travel for myself this time: Google map-assisted navigation. I never came across a place to buy a good map (but didn’t search one out, either), and settled for plugging my laptop into the Pacifica’s power outlet, after bringing up the general Bay area at a suitable scale on the Internet before leaving the hotel. Of course, you’ve got to make sure you visit every part of the map you want before heading out (unless you’ve got some technology I don’t), because you can’t load new sections when you’re, say, lost west of Walnut Creek. And, of course, don’t read that computer screen in traffic.

I restricted my freeway travel as much as I could, and armed with my Google info, never ended up (too) confused. The drive from Walnut Creek to downtown Oakland took me through a variety of pleasant suburbs, to Saint Mary’s College, Redwood Regional Park, and along the mountain ridge looking down at San Francisco, all at 35 miles an hour on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. But a map of some sort is an absolute necessity, because there’s little rhyme or reason to many of the directions these roads take. Read Less

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Part the 1st—North to Mission San Jose

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Convento Wing at Mission San Jose. Photo -

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Touching down mid-morning in San Jose, it’s hardly past 11am and I’m on the road north, not due in Walnut Creek until 6:30pm. With a day to explore while meandering to my eventual destination, I’m searching my rudimentary rental-agency map, my memory, and the passing road signs for interesting places to stop.Ten miles of freeway is about all I can stand with the hillsides arcing up and away to my right, rising above the road. Finally opting for the local route somewhere in Milpitas, I make my way vaguely northeast, looking for what’s marked on the map as Mission Peak Regional Park. Winding through suburbia, the higher I move up the hillside, the more it looks like a photo shoot from Sunset...Read More

Touching down mid-morning in San Jose, it’s hardly past 11am and I’m on the road north, not due in Walnut Creek until 6:30pm. With a day to explore while meandering to my eventual destination, I’m searching my rudimentary rental-agency map, my memory, and the passing road signs for interesting places to stop.

Ten miles of freeway is about all I can stand with the hillsides arcing up and away to my right, rising above the road. Finally opting for the local route somewhere in Milpitas, I make my way vaguely northeast, looking for what’s marked on the map as Mission Peak Regional Park. Winding through suburbia, the higher I move up the hillside, the more it looks like a photo shoot from Sunset magazine. The road to this park access dead ends in a modest parking lot bounded by a brightly painted tubular metal fence, holding a detailed map of the park and its trail structure. While I’m looking it over, and deciding whether to spend part of my time hiking here, an interesting collection of people leave the trails for their cars: a young woman finishing a run, a college student draining the last drops from his hydration pack after a vigorous work out, and an elderly Asian woman, folding her parasol as she finishes her stroll among the hills.

I decide to forego the hike—it’s early in the day, and I don’t want to lose my chance for a few other stops as I head north. Working off my nearly detail-free map, I figure Mission Boulevard is a sure bet to reach the site of Mission San Jose, and sure enough, soon I’m in a town of the same name. Quickly, the mission is on the right side of the road, with a Catholic school just to the west, where I assert squatter’s rights in the parking lot. The sky is a bright, cloudless blue, and the white adobe walls of the compound stand out beautifully against the sky.

I quickly learn that the mission compound isn’t a rich, historical structure. The church was destroyed by fire and earthquake some time ago, and by the early 20th century neglect had taken its toll on the adjoining adobe building. Renovation work in the 1920s (?) restored the remaining western three-quarters of the adobe, with the eastern end that abutted the church left missing. Behind that open site sits a pleasant, formal garden with a fountain at the center, and burial plaques marking the resting places of Mission San Jose’s prominent families. A statue of Father Junipero Serra, founder of the 21 California missions, overlooks the whole courtyard.

A sign directs me to the small museum filling the adobe building. Entering through the gift shop, where a $3 donation to the church is suggested, I head into the other rooms, with exhibits on the culture and crafts of the Ohlone people (the native people reached by this mission) the history of San Jose and all the California missions, and the history of this East Bay region, the restoration of the mission, and the 1984 reconstruction of the church.

I learn a lot of history that had escaped me until now. The California missions aren’t as old as I’d thought: Serra was a Franciscan, who started the first mission in 1769 at San Juan Capistrano, filling the vacuum created by the suppression of the Jesuits. His zeal led directly and indirectly to the chain of churches planted along California’s coast, which continued until 1823, despite his death in 1784. San Jose was the 14th, begun in 1797. Like most missions, it served as a center for conversion to the faith, military expeditions (often to suppress native peoples less than enthusiastic about their new neighbors), and protection for settlers. The priests viewed the native peoples as children to be brought to civilization and cultural adulthood, principally through conversion to Christianity.

However this appears two centuries later, here and elsewhere the fathers were sometimes the only barrier between these ancient peoples and slavery. The Church theoretically held the land in trust for their charges; after secularization, speculators and politicians quickly acquired nearly all the territory, often despite the warnings, condemnation, and deep sadness of the fathers. This ushered in the age of the Ranchos, with these large estates covering California like a giant checkerboard. This brief and often romanticized era ended with the Gold Rush, which brought waves of Anglo settlers and fortune seekers from the east.

The tour finishes back in the giftshop, a combination of Catholic bookstore and souvenir shop. To enter the church, you exit the gift shop, cross the empty square, and enter though the side doors of the sanctuary. The building is a very authentic reproduction of the original 1797 church, complete with rough-hewn wooden pews and rafter, white adobe walls, and a large, beautiful altar. The community and congregation obviously took great pride in this project, and rightfully so. It’s a simple, rectangular building, whose only external adornment is a simple bell tower, but it gives a true impression of what it must have been like to gather here 200 years ago.

This is only the second of the missions I’ve visited, having walked around Mission San Diego two decades ago with my memory evidently untouched. Now hungry for more than knowledge, I continue north on the Boulevard, eventually spying a ‘Taqueria’ sign tucked in the rear of a mission-style strip mall. Fortified by a good helping of Chile Colorado at Papa Pancho’s Taqueria (39965 Mission Blvd., Fremont), I head back to I-680, looking for Eugene O’Neill. Read Less

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Part the 2nd—Poking Along Through the San Ramon Valley

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I remember from my search of the Park Service’s website that there’s a Eugene O’Neill site in Danville. My rough map shows me that I-680 passes right through this town, so I figure I’ll find this Historic Site with ease. As the freeway winds into Danville, it looks a little less populated than its outline on the map indicates. Despite the freeway’s helpful sign indicating three exits in town, I’m beginning to doubt my ability to find this place without asking directions.By the time I reach the last of the off-ramps, I’ve seen no marker indicating how to get there. I turn off anyways, hoping maybe something will be at the end of the exit. I guess, and head left, looking for a library, a gas...Read More

I remember from my search of the Park Service’s website that there’s a Eugene O’Neill site in Danville. My rough map shows me that I-680 passes right through this town, so I figure I’ll find this Historic Site with ease. As the freeway winds into Danville, it looks a little less populated than its outline on the map indicates. Despite the freeway’s helpful sign indicating three exits in town, I’m beginning to doubt my ability to find this place without asking directions.

By the time I reach the last of the off-ramps, I’ve seen no marker indicating how to get there. I turn off anyways, hoping maybe something will be at the end of the exit. I guess, and head left, looking for a library, a gas station, a small brown sign, anything. As I’m driving, I note that life here seems pleasant enough: a mix of suburbia and old town, with the new not yet overwhelming the old. I end up on Diablo Road, where brown, park-like directional signs turn out to disappointingly show the way to Mt. Diablo State Park, not the O’Neill home. I follow them for a few miles, figuring one park may lead to two, but it doesn’t happen. It’s also clear that the old center of town can’t be this way, and after reversing course and guessing right twice, I see the row of 20’s era buildings (and/or replicas) that constitute the commercial district.

Bingo! It’s the county museum—this is the help I’ve been looking for. Located in the old train station, the Museum of the San Ramon Valley is staffed by a dedicated and lively group of docents. When I ask about the O’Neill site, I get pointed up the hill: it’s seven miles up onto the western slopes, and reachable only by reserved seat on a free shuttle bus that leaves at 10am and 2:30pm. It’s now 2:45, so I’ve missed my chance to see the Tao House where O’Neill lived and wrote for seven years at the peak of his powers. It was here that Long Day’s Journey into Night, The Iceman Cometh and Moon for the Misbegotten were all created. Although the shuttle is free, it’s somewhat secretive: you don’t learn the pickup site until you make your reservations, and you’re encouraged to do so a week or two in advance.

I’m disappointed and ready to head to Martinez and John Muir’s home, but before I know it, the elderly woman who’s helping me proves to be far spryer than I thought. She’s quickly and smoothly shepherding me into one room dedicated to this weekend’s LPGA tournament on the edge of Danville, chronicling the history of golf in the area (it proves to be quite a tournament, too: Karie Webb hangs on to beat Annika Sorenstam, Morgan Pressel and Lorena Ochoa on Sunday). And I’m not done here in the Museum: my personal docent steers me up the stairs to the former lobby of the station, where a history of education in the Valley, including a recreation of a one room schoolhouse, tells me something about the pride this area took in their schools from the earliest days in the late 19th century, and how this Valley grew with time, resisted incorporation, and made its piece with development. At this point, I think I’ve exhausted the museum’s offerings, but rather than risk a return to the gift shop and Danville’s most gifted salesperson, I exit from the lobby and return directly to my car.

Thankfully, my memory serves me well as I attempt to negotiate in reverse the 10 turns that landed me in central Danville. I note again as I exit how pleasant this downtown area is, and how well it appears to have preserved the town that started here 100 years ago. Later that day (at Muir’s home), I learn that an O’Neill memorial was dedicated in central Danville, but I miss it as I head back to I-680 and the home of the man credited as the father of the environmental movement.

Directions
The Museum of the San Ramon Valley is in the former Southern Pacific Depot at the corner of Railroad and Prospect in Danville. In retrospect, the easiest way is to exit I-680 at Diablo Road and head west. Turn left on Hartz Road (Diablo ends here), and you’ll quickly see it on your right. Turn right on Prospect and head one block west.

The Eugene O’Neill NHS is at Tao House, outside of Danville. Call (925) 838-0249 reservations for the shuttle to the house; you’ll be given pickup instructions. Departures are at 10 and 2:30 for a two and a half hour visit. It’s recommended that you call a week or two in advance.

The O’Neill memorial sculpture was dedicated in Sept. 2005. From the Museum of the San Ramon Valley, head NE on Prospect across Hartz to Front St. Turn right; the sculpture will be on your right, across from the Danville Library at 400 Front St. Read Less

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Part the 3rd—Meeting John Muir

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Government protection should be thrown around every wild grove and forest on the mountains, as it is around every private orchard, and the trees in public parks. To say nothing of their value as fountains of timber, they are worth infinitely more than all the gardens and parks of towns.—John MuirAfter starting life as the oft-disciplined son of Scottish settlers who landed in Wisconsin, it wasn’t surprising that John Muir developed a passion for wandering. His first major excursion was the 1867 trip recalled in a A Thousand Mile Walk to the Gulf, a Reconstruction-era journey by foot from Indianapolis to Savannah and eventually across Florida to the Gulf Coast. Like a n...Read More

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Part the 4th—Climbing Mount Diablo

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Climbing Mt. Diablo Photo - Clayton, California

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Mt. Diablo is the highest peak in this area, rising almost 4,000 feet on the spur of land to the west of Oakland and the East Bay. It’s an old mountain, whose once-rocky slopes have long since had their surfaces ground into soil, supporting a mixture of grasses and trees. It’s preserved in a large state park that borders Walnut Creek, reached as the edge of subdivisions gradually gives way to some remnant ranches, with a few cattle grazing here and there. I surprised a few deer as well as I headed into the park, which was where the city streets became shoulderless two-lane road, and started gently climbing up the mountains’ foothills. ...Read More

Mt. Diablo is the highest peak in this area, rising almost 4,000 feet on the spur of land to the west of Oakland and the East Bay. It’s an old mountain, whose once-rocky slopes have long since had their surfaces ground into soil, supporting a mixture of grasses and trees. It’s preserved in a large state park that borders Walnut Creek, reached as the edge of subdivisions gradually gives way to some remnant ranches, with a few cattle grazing here and there. I surprised a few deer as well as I headed into the park, which was where the city streets became shoulderless two-lane road, and started gently climbing up the mountains’ foothills.

Once inside the park, the gentle climb immediately became a steeper ascent, with switchback after switchback taking the highway up the mountain. It’s about 10 miles to the top, which took about 40 minutes on the way up and 25 on the way down. The difference is attributable to one central reason: the rangers tell you to leave the summit exactly at sunset in order to avoid being locked in the park. So on the descent, there was no picture taking, no slow driving, and a little more cutting corners on the switchbacks.

Until the very end, the summit remains hidden along the drive. The road takes you along and up any number of canyons, some grass covered and some whose sides are darker with trees. It seems clear that some crevices must collect enough water to support the larger living things, but it isn’t clear whether these hillsides were stripped of their growth as this area was settled. There’s a pair of ranches along the road to the top, and an occasional residence, in addition to the campgrounds and myriad picnic areas.

In some ways the summit was disappointing, in others, it wasn’t. I noticed the next morning, looking out at Mt. Diablo from my Walnut Creek hotel room, that even at that distance I could pick out the two telephone towers at the top. They aren’t the only structures at that height: This park was established in 1921 at the urging of a State Senator from nearby Martinez, consisting of a square mile around the summit. It’s grown considerably since then, and benefited from a load of CCC work in the 1930’s. In addition to creating the trail system, they built the stone visitor center and observation deck that crowns the mountain. Even today, a group committed to enlarging the park’s nearly 30 square miles and preserving natural settings in the East Bay raises funds for property acquisition.

Mt. Diablo played a significant role in the settling of California. Two major grid systems for surveying the state used its summit as their central reference point. The marker for those grids is set in stone inside the visitor center at the top (which closes at 4:30 pm). The mountain’s name is somewhat of a mistake: in the early 1800’s, a Spanish expedition in search of native people on the run from a mission surrounded a small village here on in a willow thicket. In the night, all the villagers escaped, leading the Spaniards to name the site "Monte del Diablo", or thicket of the devil. Later English-speaking speakers thought ‘Monte’ referred to the mountain, and the peak got its name. Recently, the Board of Geographic Names rebuffed an attempt to rename the mountain by those unhappy with the current moniker.

On a clear day, the view must be amazing. The haze really limited the visibility—one of many signs of mankind’s wholesale settling of this beautiful land. I thought maybe the ocean would be in view to the east: it wasn’t, and neither was Oakland. The view west had those two telephone towers protruding into the skyline, and no matter how I moved around the visitor center’s deck, I couldn’t find an angle where they weren’t in play. In the opposite direction, however, the sun threw an impressive shadow of the mountain across the land below, clearly displaying the peak’s nearly triangular shape.

Just as the sun neared the horizon, I decided to race across the parking area, descending past the towers, looking for a bluff to watch the sun’s last moments. As the last sliver of the distorted orb disappeared from view, I started back down the mountain. As I reached the edges of Walnut Creek (after thankfully finding the gates open), twilight ended.

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Part the 5th—Searching for Redwoods

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View from Skyline Drive Photo - Oakland, California

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Sitting at dinner the first night of my meeting, the person on my left is describing how he and a colleague made their way to Walnut Creek from SFO. At the mention of ‘redwoods’, my ears perk up—after walking among giant Douglas Firs and ancient Bristlecone Pines the last few summers, I’ve become a devotee of trees.I know about the redwoods at Muir Woods, west of Sausalito, but my dining companion—who grew up in Oakland—mentions Redwood Regional Park, "right outside of Oakland." By Saturday morning, I’ve largely forgotten this. I leave Walnut Creek, winding my way through these towns, thinking that some kind of map is a necessity for this approach, and hoping I can keep the Google map aliv...Read More

Sitting at dinner the first night of my meeting, the person on my left is describing how he and a colleague made their way to Walnut Creek from SFO. At the mention of ‘redwoods’, my ears perk up—after walking among giant Douglas Firs and ancient Bristlecone Pines the last few summers, I’ve become a devotee of trees.

I know about the redwoods at Muir Woods, west of Sausalito, but my dining companion—who grew up in Oakland—mentions Redwood Regional Park, "right outside of Oakland." By Saturday morning, I’ve largely forgotten this. I leave Walnut Creek, winding my way through these towns, thinking that some kind of map is a necessity for this approach, and hoping I can keep the Google map alive on my laptop. Eventually, I land on Canyon Road, heading southwest, and as I clear the small rise and reach the road’s end, they pop in to view: a grove of redwoods, suddenly changing my surroundings from open skies over brown hills to finding the sky shut out by these magnificent trees overhead.

This must be the park. There’s a slight fence running along the roadside, indicating that this is a protected watershed that can only be entered with a permit. I head northwest up Pinehurst Road, despite the sign that says it’s closed to traffic in a few miles. My Google map (still alive!) shows that I’m circling Redwood Regional Park, a five-mile long finger set here along the ridges and valleys that parallel the bay. There are a few stands of redwoods along the roadside, and after stopping near them to make some notes, I eventually turn around and retrace my steps. The road circles around the south end of the park, steeply climbing the ridge on Redwood Road. Bicyclists are everywhere, testing themselves on the climbs, and exuberant in gravity’s pull on the down slope. Trail workers are out in force cleaning the paths and the roadway. In a few miles, I come to an entrance to the park, and decide to pull in and hike here for a bit. The entrance is $5, and the park guide shows that this is a center for hiking, horseback riding, and bicycling. It doesn’t seem like there are a lot of people here, but as soon as I park the car, it’s clear that I’m not alone.

A few equestrians are about to head into the woods, and I can hear people walking on the Stream Trail, although I can’t see them or the stream. I decide to hike the Canyon Trail, thinking that will bring me into contact with redwoods faster than anything. It proves to be an uninterrupted one-third mile ascent up a canyon to the ridge running through and along the boundary of the park. The ridge trail is popular with cyclists, who pass me in pairs every few minutes. The first two I encounter are resting at the junction of the Canyon and Ridge Trails, having just completed their two-wheeled ascent. It gives me new appreciation for what you can do on a bike (and how low a gear ratio can go).

I hike northeast along the ridge trail, gradually realizing that the redwoods I’d spotted earlier are at the bottom of the slope to my right, behind the chain-link fence I can make out through the woods. After another third of a mile, I come to a gate with signage similar to what I saw along Pinehurst Road, allowing only those with permits into the area.

It’s been a pleasant enough hike, although the dirt and gravel trail appears designed for bikes, and is awfully dusty. Having noted the warning signs announcing the presence of mountain lions in the area, I note a similar looking set of paw prints running along the trail. They haven’t been wiped out by all the recent biking, either... With the frequent activity up here, it doesn’t seem like much of a threat, but I’m reminded of one of the risks of hiking alone.

I head back down the Ridge Trail, ready for something new, and resolved to make it to Muir Woods, since I’ve missed the ancient trees here. I start jogging down the Canyon Trail, realizing after 100 yards that this is not a decision easily reversed. There are no ‘runaway hiker’ sand ramps along the trailside, so continuing carefully at higher speed somehow seems less risky than trying to stop. The descent takes about one-fifth the time of my climb, and soon I’m back in my car, continuing northwest along Redwood Road.

Before long, I emerge on to Skyline Drive, which runs along the last ridge before the bay. This one, however, is in the middle of town: the hillside to the left is covered with homes, each with a spectacular view out over Oakland and the bay across to San Francisco. It’s hard to find an open spot that’s not in someone’s yard from which to admire the view.

I head down the hillside, which is an odd combination of subdivisions and switchbacks. I end up on Broadway in Oakland, having moved from forest to the heart of one of the nation’s largest cities in about 8 miles. As a reminder of that, I soon find myself in the midst of a thousand cars at the toll booth to the Bay Bridge, heading for San Francisco. Read Less

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Part the 6th—Scraping the (Northern) Surface of SF

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The Bridge Photo - San Francisco, California

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Emerging from the hills of the East Bay, I make my way down Broadway through central Oakland, finally negotiating the maze of roads near the bay and heading across the Bay Bridge into San Francisco. Here, while waiting in the long lines at the tollbooth, an inadvertent touch of the keyboard and my Google Map is gone for good. Thankfully, the one decent part of my rental company map is a complete picture of San Francisco.Traffic’s moving again, and I’m on the bridge, passing over Treasure Island, seeing the skyline emerge against the clear, blue sky as I leave the Island’s western shore. It’s now after 2pm, and I’m more than hungry. Sourdough bread and clam chowder sounds like a good and he...Read More

Emerging from the hills of the East Bay, I make my way down Broadway through central Oakland, finally negotiating the maze of roads near the bay and heading across the Bay Bridge into San Francisco. Here, while waiting in the long lines at the tollbooth, an inadvertent touch of the keyboard and my Google Map is gone for good. Thankfully, the one decent part of my rental company map is a complete picture of San Francisco.

Traffic’s moving again, and I’m on the bridge, passing over Treasure Island, seeing the skyline emerge against the clear, blue sky as I leave the Island’s western shore. It’s now after 2pm, and I’m more than hungry. Sourdough bread and clam chowder sounds like a good and hearty meal for hiking later. Guessing that Fremont Street could be a good exit for Fisherman’s Wharf, I get my bearings at the first traffic light. As I reach the Embarcadero along the northern edge of the peninsula, the Bay pops in and out of view between the large Pier buildings. Pretty quickly, the street is packed with traffic—not surprisingly, nearly every other tourist and resident seems to be here, too. A sign indicates that there’s parking in other directions than straight ahead, so I veer off to the left. Pretty soon I’m moving down Point Street, when signs for Ghirardelli Square catch my eye. Hmm… chocolate... I pass all the Fisherman’s Wharf signs, turn north, and find an open parking space right on the street! Oh—75 cents for 20 minutes. My pocket change gives me 24.6 minutes of parking time, and I hustle into a Ghirardelli shop to pick up my gifts for the trip, along with a chocolate milk shake masquerading as my lunch.

Leaving the square for my car, anxious to avoid a ticket, I look north, down the hill past the ship’s masts in the Maritime park and out to Alcatraz and Marin. It’s a terrific sight, with the breeze stirring the top of the water and blue sky above it all. I put my shake on the curb to take a picture, and step into the edge of the street. As I reframe things for a second shot, a sound quite like that of a milk shape tipping over lightly registers in my consciousness. As I tuck my camera a way, a large dog looks up, concerned that I’m about to take away this unexpected treat.

At least I’d finished two-thirds of it before grudgingly turning it over to a fellow chocolate lover. But looking out at the Bay, I decide to spend a little more time in the city before heading across the world’s most famous Bridge. After moving to longer-term parking, the large, ship-shaped building along the waterfront catches my eye as I leave the garage. The museum for the San Francisco Maritime National Historic Park, it closed recently for a lengthy renovation, but directed me two blocks east to Hyde Pier, the heart of the park where 11 ships are moored across from the visitor center and bookstore kitty corner from each other and adjacent to the quay.

With a little nautical history under my belt, I stroll along Jefferson Street, through Aquatic Park, back up Jefferson to climb the hill into Fort Mason where the Blues Festival is filling the air, then returning to shop at the sidewalk vendors. I buy two complementary pictures of the Golden Gate: one from the beaches below the bridge, capturing the golden towers on a beautiful sunny day, no city (and no fog) in sight. The other is a shot from above, the bridge poking out of fog that nearly obscures the city at one end. Despite the clear skies all around, these photos will soon be an accurate representation of today.

I spend another hour or two moving back and forth along this edge of the city. Kites are flying, boats are entering and leaving the Marina, people are walking, running, biking, rollerblading and even sitting, celebrating birthdays or a successful Bridge Walk to raise funds for Zimbabwe’s children. It’s hard to believe anyone could be left in their homes.

Could San Francisco be the perfect city? I don’t get near the art and cultural resources, but they’re certainly here in abundance. There’s an amazing diversity of people here, too, and the setting is unmatched by any other city in the country. The hilly terrain gives San Francisco another dimension, providing you with unexpected vistas, whether it be of the ocean in one direction, the bay in another, or the business district and its famous pyramidal centerpiece. And just outside the city, as I’m about to discover again, is country so isolated you’d never know a few million people were just miles away. Is San Francisco the perfect city? I contemplate this question as I search for a way up to the bridge’s entrance ramp, thankful for the reminder of why I’ve always considered myself a city kid at heart. Read Less

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Part the 7th—Recreating in the Golden Gate

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Story/Tip

Gun emplacements Photo - Marin County, California

Quote:

When I agreed to this trip in late spring, I thought the weekend would give me a little time to reach and explore one of California’s National Parks. Perhaps I’d fit in a brief introduction to Yosemite or Sequoia: no, too much driving: three hours just to get there, and then an even longer trip back to San Jose. Well, then, maybe north to Point Reyes, spending the day hiking, beach walking, and watching the Sunset, racing to the airport after sunrise the next morning. Scratch that, lodging was difficult to find by the time I made plans. Perhaps south to Pinnacles National Monument: no, again too far. I grudgingly settled for a day in the bay area, aiming to wind my way to Muir Woods for a lengthy hike...Read More

When I agreed to this trip in late spring, I thought the weekend would give me a little time to reach and explore one of California’s National Parks. Perhaps I’d fit in a brief introduction to Yosemite or Sequoia: no, too much driving: three hours just to get there, and then an even longer trip back to San Jose. Well, then, maybe north to Point Reyes, spending the day hiking, beach walking, and watching the Sunset, racing to the airport after sunrise the next morning. Scratch that, lodging was difficult to find by the time I made plans. Perhaps south to Pinnacles National Monument: no, again too far. I grudgingly settled for a day in the bay area, aiming to wind my way to Muir Woods for a lengthy hike among the redwoods. In the end, I didn’t make it there, either, but the day I did have was what I’d originally had in mind.

Golden Gate NRA didn’t grab my attention as I read about it at the NPS site. It sounded like a bureaucrat’s idea of a park, cobbled together from leftover federal land and oversold as an ‘urban national park’. The NPS map showed it distributed over 60 miles and three counties, with little patchwork pieces here and there: the Marin Headlands and Muir Woods above the Golden Gate Bridge, former military bases dotting both the northern and southern peninsulas, and small areas tucked in among the city, along the shore, and on the ridges south of the city.

Given the fame of the bridge connecting the two peninsulas, it's easy to forget that "Golden Gate" originally referred to the passage between these two points of land. The National Recreation Area of the same name is the equivalent of a ‘rails to trails’ conversion, except it’s more ‘forts to trails’. But the quilt of former military property cum national park has produced some very special places, places that give you the experience of solitude and nature within minutes of one of the nation’s largest cities.

My first stop in the Recreation Area is at Crissy Field, one of the newest additions, opened in 2001. It’s 100 wonderfully located acres near the northwest corner of the peninsula, a small strip that includes beach, a tidal marsh, the historic Field itself (home to both the 1915 Pan-Pacific International Exposition and San Francisco’s first airfield) and the Crissy Field Center, dedicated to community and environmental activities. To the east is the marina; I head west past picnic areas and out Marine Drive to Fort Point, a Civil War era facility that’s now directly under the Golden Gate Bridge. The brick structure itself is surprisingly attractive, although you can only access the ground floor. I notice that somewhere between Jefferson Street and Fort Point the Sun has become a lot scarcer, making the Point even cooler than it might have been.

I’m finally ready to head across the bridge. By now, I’m thinking that Muir Woods will have to wait for another visit. I’ve been there before, two decades ago, and I decide to turn left once I’m across the Golden Gate, exploring and heading for the lighthouse at Point Bonita and perhaps Muir Beach.

Before doing that, I join the hundreds of people at Vista Point on the north side, looking back south straight down the Bridge’s roadway, and across the water east to Alcatraz and southeast into the city. The Sun is making its final appearance: the skies over the Bridge and the city are clear, but to the west it’s a different story. Looking away from the crowds, I see the ridges of the Marin Headlands fighting to keep back the fog, then giving way to the end of the blue skies as the gray matter spills over like water cascading over a dam.

For two hours, I wander and circle around the roads, hills, and forts of this area, stopping to marvel at how completely fog has obscured the rest of the world, or to walk through a massive WW II gun emplacement, or walk along the beach before heading to my hotel for the night. During the entire time, it’s hard to believe I’m within miles of millions of people—I encounter a car or two at most at the places I stop. I leave with an unexpected collection of memories:

Watching the Golden Gate Bridge emerge from the fog, then disappearing completely for minutes at a time, despite being only a mile away
Conzelman Road weaving along the ridge atop the north side of the Golden Gate, clinging to the bluffs above the shoreline, between abandoned batteries, looking down on rugged, rocky coasts
A foghorn booming somewhere along the hidden shore, as Point Bonita’s light flashes from the other direction
The massive, unfinished concrete structures of Project 129, designed to hold guns that could reach battleships 15 miles at sea
Watching the Pacific gently lapping the beach at Fort Cronkhite, the whole scene—from sky to shore—a study in shades of gray

This country is surprisingly rugged, and after a half-century of un-settlement, provides a wide variety of opportunities for solitude. I change my day’s ultimate destination for the third time, settling on the half-mile walk to the Point Bonita Lighthouse. When I discover that the walk can only be completed when the Lighthouse is open (Wed-Sat, 10-3:30), it’s neither too surprising nor disappointing. I turn around at the tunnel through the massive pinnacle of rock that lies between the headlands and the end of the Point, and head to San Jose as the day comes to a close. Read Less

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Embassy Suites Walnut Creek

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Hotel

Atrium, Embassy Suites Photo - Embassy Suites Walnut Creek, Walnut Creek, California

Quote:

This town sounded so pastoral… As I came into town on I-680, it was clear that Walnut Creek was a fairly substantial suburb. About 10 miles south of the water’s edge—the water being the chain of smaller bays connecting to San Francisco Bay—this town of nearly 70,000 is fairly centrally located in the peninsula, with Oakland to the southwest and Livermore to the southeast.The Embassy Suites is easily reached off the Treat Road exit. It’s conveniently located right across from the Pleasant Hill BART station, which would bode well for reaching others parts of the Bay area with ease. My seventh-floor room faced east towards Mt. Diablo, and provided some beautiful sunrises; the cost for this wa...Read More

This town sounded so pastoral… As I came into town on I-680, it was clear that Walnut Creek was a fairly substantial suburb. About 10 miles south of the water’s edge—the water being the chain of smaller bays connecting to San Francisco Bay—this town of nearly 70,000 is fairly centrally located in the peninsula, with Oakland to the southwest and Livermore to the southeast.

The Embassy Suites is easily reached off the Treat Road exit. It’s conveniently located right across from the Pleasant Hill BART station, which would bode well for reaching others parts of the Bay area with ease. My seventh-floor room faced east towards Mt. Diablo, and provided some beautiful sunrises; the cost for this was the noise of the BART station (the first morning, I groggily awoke thinking, "oh yeah, I’m staying near the airport…").

Sunrise over Mt. Diablo
The room was a pleasant, spacious Embassy Suites layout that seemed a little larger than the last two Embassy rooms I’d had. The front room had a couch/sofa bed and armchair in a comfortable corner, a dining table for four, and a separate desk where I parked my laptop (wired Internet access was free; wireless was a ridiculous $10/day). A small wet bar housed the coffeemaker and microwave on top, and a fridge underneath. The bedroom had a tremendously comfortable King bed with five pillows and a sink in the room, and enough space the leave the ironing board up without compromising the room (at least for one occupant).

As part of the meeting, I had four meals here; their catering service did a really nice job with each occasion. On my second night, I returned after sundown from my Mount Diablo expedition, and not looking forward to dining alone, ordered from room service. The Fisherman’s Chowder was delicious, and the best thing I ate this trip. A healthy order of Chicken Pesto Pasta was almost more than I could finish, and very good as well. I have hard time passing on Crème Brulee, but this offering was passable at best.

The rooms are laid out around a large, sun-lit atrium, which given the beautiful weather during my stay, was awfully pleasant. Even from the seventh floor landing, I could see the large carp swimming in the pool below.

This location appeared to be pretty central in Walnut Creek, in the midst of a few blocks of very recent, very commercial development. It offers easy access to the BART to Oakland and San Francisco. I spent two nights here, and would gladly stay again. Read Less

Member Rating 4 out of 5 on September 30, 2006

Embassy Suites Walnut Creek
1345 Treat Blvd.
Walnut Creek, California 94596
(925) 934-2500

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Holiday Inn Express San Jose International Airport Hotel

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Hotel | "Holiday Inn Express San Jose Airport"

Holiday Inn Express, San Jose Photo - San Jose, California

Quote:

Much to my surprise, I’ve developed brand loyalty. I figure that if corporations are going to give me their product for free, and there’s little discernible difference among the range of options available, I might as well make the choices that end up, for example, in free hotel rooms.So for the better part of a year I’ve been staying at Holiday Inn Express. They’re hardly the only ones offering free breakfasts, but that is a factor when traveling with five. For this trip, though, it was only me. And after agonizing about where to stay the last night, how much driving I could handle before a 10:30 flight, and whether sunrise along a coast or a mountain range would be worth the trouble, I en...Read More

Much to my surprise, I’ve developed brand loyalty. I figure that if corporations are going to give me their product for free, and there’s little discernible difference among the range of options available, I might as well make the choices that end up, for example, in free hotel rooms.

So for the better part of a year I’ve been staying at Holiday Inn Express. They’re hardly the only ones offering free breakfasts, but that is a factor when traveling with five. For this trip, though, it was only me. And after agonizing about where to stay the last night, how much driving I could handle before a 10:30 flight, and whether sunrise along a coast or a mountain range would be worth the trouble, I ended up making reservations near the airport.

I left Marin County as the sun set. Or at least I thought it was setting; the fog made it particularly tough to tell. That left a sizeable drive back to San Jose, including a dark and foggy trip back across the Golden Gate Bridge, then through city traffic on California 1 through San Francisco before reaching the Freeway. Having failed to print directions to this hotel, I was in the dark both figuratively and literally. I probably lost 20 minutes somewhere in San Jose before successfully guessing at Holiday Inn’s 800 number and getting directions via cell phone.

It was 8:30 when I arrived, and as I drove in I could that things had recently changed in this neighborhood. The Holiday Inn Express sits in a cluster of hotels on the adjoining blocks, a real contrast with the working-class neighborhood of auto parts stores, Wienerschnitzels, and small businesses that border it. I’m guessing that 10 years ago none of this was here. It has a very artificial feeling to it, only slightly more real than the typical airport hotel zone.

One consequence is that restaurants are rare. The desk clerk steered me across the street to the Island Grill at the Clarion, which if I hustled would "guarantee me a good meal." Still wearing hiking clothing, that didn’t seem like the best option given my apparel, but a quick search of the area turned up nothing else. A grilled piece of swordfish and a Sierra Nevada did hit the spot.

The hotel was a little better than standard. This one is built around small courtyards, almost like a compressed condominium layout. For $81--instead of $69--I got a suite-like room with a King that gave me plenty of space to repack my suitcase and not stress the room's limits. The breakfast area was a little small for a hotel this size, with only about 12 tables, but at 7:45am Sunday no one was testing its limits.

They do have a free airport shuttle if you need a hotel. I can’t imagine that you’d stay in this area without a flight right before or after, but it was clean, comfortable, and reasonably priced. Read Less

Member Rating 3 out of 5 on September 30, 2006

Holiday Inn Express San Jose International Airport Hotel
1350 North 4th Street
San Jose, California 95112
(408) 467-1789

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