Free Fall
So there I am on the CalTrain, bike, bag, hopes, dreams, and that dash of fear that the reaper gave me. The CalTrain goes North form San Jo. to San Francisco. And all the little stops on the way surprise me, Palo Alto, Redwood City, Belmont, San Mateo, Burlingame, San Bruno, South San Francisco, Brisbane. Never before had I been to these places or even seen their names on a map or sign. So there I go on my way to a great unknown.In San Francisco I have precisely nothing. To be more specific, no friends, no job, no place to live and only one vague contact. As the train approaches 3rd and King, last stop on the line for SF, I am in a real fury of anticipation. I have been to this area before on a road trip and had stayed in a great hostel in the Marina District, the one that's in old Fort Mason. I know that International Hostels has another joint down town. I have a vague idea of where it is, in a city I know precisely zilch about. The Hostel is on Mason street rather than in Fort Mason. Now this is the first double word irony that we encounter in this tale. There will be more so pay attention.
The day is sunny and fair. It is one of those incredible Indian Summer October days that grace the bay area. I get off the train, try to orient myself with my inadequate tourist map, mount my bicycle and off I go falling freely towards what, I don't know. I'm South of Market and I have something like seventeen hundred dollars on my person. I am riding in the direction that I think I should go, just trying to look natural and right at home. I'm not a tourist because I have abandoned my home in Texas in favor of this more liberal climate. And although I don't actually have a place to stay yet I consider myself a resident of the bay area. I get to Market and go left but not far enough. I start heading North on Stockton and finally decide I have gone too far in the wrong direction when I get to Chinatown. So I go west a couple of blocks trying to find Mason. I'm tired and I'm lost but I don't want to get off my bike and start looking at the map for fear of being spotted as someone who is lost and looking at their map. And I'm not actually lost I'm just overwhemed by the city and I'm feeling like a fish out of water.
I ride around for at least an hour not wanting to ask direction and not wanting to really study the map. When I get really caught up in a bunch of Union Square shoppers and have to get off my bike for fear of collision I rally the courage to ask a nice lady if she knows where I can find Mason St. She points me in the right direction and I finally find the Hostel I am looking for.
I have never really spent any time in any old buildings like the one that houses the Hostel at Mason and Taylor. They smell funny, those old buildings. I get my room and I lock up my stuff and I feel a bit more free. I find a smoking room and I make the acquaintance of a nice fellow about my age named Owen from Ohio, or just Owen. We converse. He tells me he's been searching for a job for weeks and has been unsuccessful. This is discouraging but this is just one man's opinion. We go out to Union Square together and watch the all the people living their city lives and visiting this great Metropolis which I might often refer to as Babylon. The sun is quickly setting and my journey has just begun. One thing of note however is that the anticipation has subsided and has been replaced by solid glee and gripping fear of that which I know I can conquer.
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