Year of the Ox Part II

Bucket list: check one. Sandi said that watching the Chinese New Years Parade in San Francisco is on the top 100 things to do in a person’s life. Hmmm………it just so happened that she was going down to watch it with a friend of ours. I’m not exactly sure whose list that she’s referring to, but I went with it. She had taken four 7th grade girls down there two years ago and had a great time. I wonder if now that she’s seen it twice she gets to mark off two of the “Top 100 Must See Things.” Anyway, she asked me on Thursday if I wanted to go with them. As a tax paying American I wanted to do what I could to support the economy without waiting for the president’s Economic Stimulus Package. I had a great weekend planned of going up in the hills and cutting some wood, maybe even painting the living room, but being the person I am, I decided to forego the work and play instead. At this point in the school year a person cannot get in too much playing, and I’m not talking about the kids at school. Besides, we were going to be splitting the cost between three of us. Win, win, win. P.S. The Bucket List is one thing you do not want to mark off as being complete any too soon.

The parade WAS very impressive! Our hotel was about a ½ block off the parade route and lucky for us we got there JUST before they closed the street off. FYI: Do you know that you can’t turn left or right once you get on Geary Street? Even if you drive right by, and yell, “Turn! There it is!” you can’t do it. No turns, period. Lucky for us, after a few figure-eights through the streets of San Francisco that started around San Rafael and came close to San Jose we narrowed down our spiral and ended up in front of our hotel. Before this point I was just a trifle nervous. You see, the last time I stayed in San Francisco it wasn’t by choice. I didn’t have a motel booked like Sandi did this time, but it was an experience that I didn’t want to relive again, or wish on anyone, even my worst enemy.

When we went to Mexico about six years ago, we all left at the same time, but we came back at different times. The guys had to baby our van back to Crescent City from San Francisco with a battery that had already expired, pulling up to stop signs only to be met by the sounds of silence when they tried to start out again. And, this was when they were just leaving the driveway of the motel where we had stored the van. The experience got worse from there, especially since they were still 362 miles short of Crescent City!

When I came back from Puerta Vallarta I thought I had it timed correctly; from getting off the plane at SFO to allowing enough time to get to the SF bus terminal for the remainder of my trip to Crescent City on the Greyhound. I was planning to sleep all the way back home on the bus, and I was hoping that everyone else on the bus was going to share my sentiments. Long story short, I missed the last bus north. The next bus north? 10:00 a.m. the next morning. This presented a slight problem. I hadn’t anticipated spending the night in San Francisco. San Francisco is known for a lot of different things, most of which I didn’t want to participate in, or even be around. Being in San Francisco may be a very special experience for many people, but considering the variety of people and the number of people, it wasn’t something I was looking forward too, especially at night with no plans of where to go. Being the frugal (I like to think of it as fiscally efficient) person I started looking around the bus station for a place to sleep the night. The choices were limited. All the good places around the bus station were taken, and the not-so-good places were taken too. I thought about staying at a youth hostel as we had stayed at hostels on our trip to Alaska a few years ago. Keep in mind, I am basically pretty fiscally efficient. I knew that I was pushing the envelope of the youth part of youth hostel, but I was willing to suck my gut in and give it a try. I started to look on the local advertising boards for a hostel that was close. Lucky for me there was one just down the street. You’ve got to understand, city streets are MUCH longer than regular streets, especially at night if you happen to find yourself walking and not sure where you're going. First, I called the hostel to see if they had any space left. Unlucky for me, they did. Second, I called a cab. No sooner than I got into the cab at the bus station the cabbie said something unintelligible that must have been muffled by his turban to the effect of, “We’re here.” I swear, if I had taken the time to look around I would probably have seen that I was probably right across the street from the bus station, but, I didn’t, I was still trying to get my seat belt buckled. After giving the guy a $20 bill, of which I was expecting about $19.50 back, considering how far we had traveled, he again mumbled something unintelligible and drove off…quickly.

There I was, in front of an unsigned dented door with what looked like deep claw marks on it, lit only by a single 40 watt light bulb dangling from two wires. Remember, by now it’s 1:00…in the morning…and I don’t really know what direction the bus station is, as I was so intent on getting my seat belt buckled I couldn’t identify which direction we had left from the bus station. And, I didn’t have any more $20 bills, only about 9,237 pesos, of which I wasn’t sure the value of. But, I did know that, chances are, a hostel in San Francisco, or a taxi driver that is wearing a turban isn’t really up on their exchange rates either. From the phone conversation with the hostel I knew that it would cost $16 for a place to sleep. They were somewhat evasive on exactly what kind of place to sleep it was though. After rapping on the door for about 5 minutes I noticed a dark figure looming out of the shadows slowly getting bigger and closer. I upped the rapping to knocking on the door. As the shadow wobbled into the light and came closer I started pounding on the door, just short of yelling. Suddenly, with my unprecedented visionary skills I noticed there was a doorbell with the light burned out. As a last resort I frantically mashed it multiple times until a sleepy voice crackled from a hole underneath the light, “need something?” “YEH, IN,” I croaked back. “Open the door and come in,” the voice calmly answered back. I turned the open door knob and walked in…just before the mangiest cat that I’d ever seen walked by.

This sleepy looking hippy guy took my $16 and pointed to a closed door and said, “There are four bunks in there, take one where there’s not someone in.” Yeh, like I’m going to shove someone out of a bunk bed at 1:30 in the morning! Of course I didn’t want to wake anyone up so I left the door open enough to use the hall light to illuminate an empty top bunk. Bingo! I threw my bag on the top bunk and without getting out of my clothes I jumped up. Too quickly. "Damn," I said to myself, "I forgot to shut the door." I jumped back off the bunk just as the guy on the bottom bunk rolled over, his arm brushing down my leg and grunted something I didn't even want to try to understand. I'm not saying it was planned on his part and he was just feeling friendly, I'm just that I wasn't really prepared for his hospitality and it didn't really make me feel very comfortable. I didn't acknowledge him and quickly shut the door and did the Superman standing vertical broad jump straight up to the top bunk covering 5 vertical feet and 3 horizontal feet in a single bound. Only then did I realize how dark it was. I tried really hard to calm myself, trying to still my heart and quell my nerves. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it may wake up my all too-neighborly neighbor, him thinking that I was somehow ecouraging him with my beating heart. I tried to stretch out and make myself comfortable until I sensed that there wasn't a mattress on the top bunk, just a piece of plywood. My mind kept racing back to the bus station, replaying the not-so-good places looking suddenly looking much better and wondering how long it would take me to find my way back. I jockeyed my bag to the head of the bed wondering to myself, exactly which would be the worse place of the two evils, to put my head where people have put their feet, or put my head where other people have put their head. I propped my head on my bag and swore quietly to myself that when and if I ever got home I would take the hottest shower I could stand with the best flea soap money could buy.

I wish I could tell you I it was quiet and fell asleep and rested peacefully the rest of the night. It wasn't, and I didn't. Just as my heart rate dropped to about 120 bpm the door opened and in walked (stumbled) a guy talking to himself, stinking to high heaven. I pretended to be asleep, all the while keeping not one eye slightly open, but both eyes wide open. I was snoring with both eyes open, not sleeping, just snoring. I watched the guy take 3 quart bottles of Colt .45 Malt Liquor out of the paper bag he carried in and place them neatly beside the lower bunk against the far wall. He leaned on one elbow, unscrewed the cap, and chugged the entire bottle before burping and laying down on the jacket that he had put down as a pillow. Within about 5 minutes of heavy breathing he jumped up and ran across the hall to the bathroom leaving the door open so everyone could hear him relieving himself. Before laying back down he chugged the second bottle. The third bottle he put under his jacket and put his head on it. Within about 2 seconds he was joining the other snorers in the room in an impromptu chorus of loud and out-of-tune snoring. Myself, I was pretty sure even if I could go to sleep I didn't dare let myself go to sleep. I lay awake listening to the snoring, flatulating, and grunting until about 3:00. When I was pretty sure everyone was in their own world I quickly jumped down, quietly opened the door (as if that really mattered), and walked out of the hostel. I waved a cab down and asked him which way to the bus station. He pointed to the where a Greyhound was turning in and said, "Right there." I walked to a coffee shop, bought a cup of coffee, a donut, and a newspaper and pretended like I do this kind of thing every morning.

We also got to see, John Lee Hooker, Jr., the son of, you guessed it, John Lee Hooker, Sr., a great Blues singer.

The highlight of the trip was being able to have breakfast with Glenda. She is closing in on her Bachelors degree this coming May. You’ll be glad to know that she takes her studying very seriously. She even takes her books to breakfast. No wasted time with our sister!

On the way back from San Francisco we were going through Orick and we noticed that they (?) were holding tryouts for the Dallas Cowgirls. I’m sure all the hopeful future Cowgirls will be bringing their best stimulus package with them. Don’t ask me why they’ve chosen to hold tryouts there, but they do get some pretty big names there. In the past we’ve seen such names as ZZ Top, The Beatles, and even the Rolling Stones on the marquee board, so it really wasn’t much of a surprise to see the ad for the Dallas Cowgirls’ tryouts. The only problem is, where everyone stays. The only motel in town, ‘Myrtle’s pay-by-the-hour Motel and Trailer Park’ is hard to find.

Anyway, it was a great quick trip and it’s good to be back home.

Jim