Sunday, 31 March 2013

cycling on the dock of the bay

A bright Saturday morning, just little more than 8 days ago: I wake up, get ready, get myself breakfast and then hit the road with Mo and Tobi.
First stop en-route is for coffee: two weeks in the States are not enough to make me so desperate to go for the coffee-flavoured beverage Cupertino Inn provides at breakfast.
However, they're plenty of time to make me desperate enouh for a Starbucks: double cappuccino with sugar to go please. Tobi goes for a frappuccino, that looks to have the same specific weight of a tons of concrete. That's before the waiter sinks it below a generous amount of caramel syrup.
Tobi is puzzled: in Germany you need to ask and pay for the syrup as extra, in the States it's the other way around apparently.

Traffic is not very heavy, we chat and laugh on the way to San Francisco.
Once in a while we sing along the radio: we havent chenged station since day one, when we picked the car at the airport. It's a rock station. It mixes rock songs through the ages: we jump from Nirvana to Kansas, we hum along Led Zeppelin and by the time we reach Twin Peaks, I'm wondering when was the last time I listen to BÖC's "(Don't fear) The Reaper" on the radio. I struggle recapturing the memory of it, so it's either an early case of senile dementia or, hopefully and more probably, the fact it never happened to me in Italy.

The plan, once we get downtown, is pretty simple: rent bicycles, cycle.
And so we do: we go, get ourselves some bicycles and start making our way to Sausalito. 

We cycle leisurely over the wharves then on the cycling path on the side of the bay.
Slowly buy surely we are at the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge and before we head up, we stand there for a while taking some picture, looking at the city, at the water, at the sky.


"Like it here?" asks me Mo.
"I love it", I hear myself answering.
"Me too. Why's that?", Mo wonders aloud, while taking off his glasses and passing an hand over his eyes.

The question remains unanswered as we keep on going and it's only when we're on top and on the west sidewalk of the bridge that it hits me.

on the bridge

I look at Tobi & Mo ahead of me, at the cars on my left and the ocean and hills on my right and I realized I'm just in the middle.
In the middle of about everything, of my small world and of the much much bigger universe.
There is so much space around me: I should feel incredibly tiny and insignificant, yet I don't.
It's exhilarating: I feel on top of the world, happy, aware of myself and everything around me.

That's what I like of being there, in San Francisco. Everything is so close, at reach of my hand and, no matter how huge they might be, they still perfectly fit my palms.

I say that to Mo at the end of the steep slope that leaves us at Horsheshoe Bay: I like that everything and its opposite are so close, I love that situations, people, facts that normally are poles apart sit perfectly in harmony one next to the other. Maybe it's because there's plenty of space so they don't crash against one another, but just sit together.

We look at the city.
I feel the skin on my face burning up a little, a hint of suntan about to appear. 
I look at the city, at the bay, at the sky and just smile.

Sitting here resting my bones

And this loneliness won't leave me alone
It's 2,000 miles I've roamed
Just to make this dock my home now

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