'SAN FRAN GOLD'



Layers rim the horizon of my world. Not far off to the west of the mountain I am perched upon lies the Golden Gate Bridge. Though my naked eye sees it not, I know it is there. Blazing orange, the late afternoon sun hangs low. The heat swallows me as I step from Mr. P, my now rather disorganized, collage-filled mobile living space. Mountain ranges, peaks and ridges lie between my solo mountaintop camping spot and that great double looped expanse of metal that defines San Francisco.
Mount Diablo State Park caught my eye while studying my map earlier this day. Needing a place to rest my head for the night, I shift into 'drive' after programing my trusty Garmin, and commence a short hour's trip to my destination. The soft-spoken lady at the north gate entrance completes my registration. The Juniper Campground, she informs me, is 7 miles 'ahead'. No problem, more treasures to see, right? Well now, isn't it great, and sometimes a bit scary, when the destination is not at all what you expected. Instead of a simple jaunt around a few corners in the park, I find myself climbing, climbing climbing, S-curves, hairpins, you name it.... the operative word is 'up'. When about 1/2 hour later I find myself overlooking the whole San Francisco Valley, it takes my breath away. I observe four other camping comrades who occupy this pinnacle east of the 'The Bay', though they are not visible from my nook on the mountain-side. Exploration o fmy domain reveals a warning about rattlesnakes (yikes, this causes a bit of dis-ease), and posted on the 'rest station' wall is all I need to know about the animal kingdom thriving in this neck of the woods. I decide I'd rather not meet up with a coyote, mountain lion or any of the other 4-legged creatures described, so I find comfort in close proximity to Mr. P. Relaxing is a bit of an issue for me on this night. A soft serenading CD comes to my aid, and a resurrected exercise in deep breathing. As the lights of the city below begin to flicker on, the scene below takes on a rather magestic aura. 


Settling into the comfort of my bed for the night, the window drape creates a 2 sq. ft opening on the glittering night lights below. With a smile on my face, warm memories of the previous week steal into my consciousness. It had been too long - the visits with my California family. The thief of family connectedness, it seems to me, is distance, work and obligations to people who fill our lives. I sent the thief on a short vacation! As I now recall our time together, my soul is warmed as I remember the reminsicing over meals, the laughter, the realtime stories of new hills to climb - all touching the familiar part of my life from long ago. Dreaming together, we talked of future desires - wishing each other well in our journeying. To bear one another's burdens gives each other strength for the next step - together, the challenges and dreams were layed bare. A poem, penned years ago by Rudyard Kipling was placed in my hands by one of my 'next of kin' this past week. Re-reading the poem at this moment, I find myself deeply moved. Such an inspiring thing, when the generation younger shares their lofty purposes in life. I contemplate all the poem says. My eyelids grow heavy - I curl into the deeper comfort of my bed. Safely nestled in, I lift my eyes one more time to the flickering lights of the urban sprawl far below me. Mesmerized by the view, I linger, then gently give way to my dream world. 








Descent on the morning after is far less anxiety-ridden than expected. No traffic and a ride in low gear makes my 15 mph trip downward rather enjoyable. The morning view of Diablo's golden rolling hillside delights every sense of my being. I spot a coyote a stone's throw away, minding his own business. A few photo-op stops interrupt my trip. Rolling through the entrance gate once more and through the very upper class neighborhood of Walnut Creek, I find my entrance to freeway mania. Pedro will carry me swiftly to the streets of San Francisco. Oh so quickly the city skyscrapers envelop me. Weaving my way through the throngs of people at Fisherman's Wharf, all the food vendors and pleasure seekers, I marvel at the diversity. A smartly dressed young man walks in front of my stopped vehicle, a grin on his face and a bundle of flowers in hand. Who, I wonder will be the lucky recipient? Rounding the next corner, there it stands - the Golden Gate Bridge, in all its glory. Maneuvering my way slowly, I embark on the drive across. The bridge is filled with pedestrians and bicyclists - cameras in hand, straddling each other, the masses traverse this world renown structure. I'm told, the thing to do is ride a bike over the bridge to Sausilito on the western side of the north bay, board the ferry and enjoy the return trip to San-Fran. Later in my week, on an excursion to Sausilito's bayfront, I understand. A sea of bicycles wait for the ferry's arrival - what a view!

Mill Valley lies a few minutes north of the Golden Gate's western entrance. I decide to pass some idle time in this idyllic place - a surprise 'find' for me. Serendipity never grows old, I say. My friend I am to meet is not available until early evening, so I park Pedro on a small side street outside a delightful art gallery. I've struck gold - art galleries, fine dining, boutique shops and little brick alleyways are thick in this 5 block area. Meandering through the galleries I discover that an 'art walk' is to start in 2 hours. Voila! So blessed am I! As I enter 'Moss and Moss', an "oh-so-small" home and gift boutique, I hear classical piano music -an elder gent plays the notes passionately - a nostalgic mood settling in. The shop is so artfully arranged. A book catches my attention - The Art of Losing. It is a book of poems. Why am I always attracted to "The Art of......" books? The Art of Pilgrimage; The Seekers Guide to Making Travel Sacred was the book I read 6 months ago that inspired my present journey. Hmmmmm. The book I am now holding costs too much. I buy it anyway. It seems pertinent to my life. The gracious lady, who has about a decade on me, takes my money, and asks where I'm from, when I tell her I'm a new visitor to this little village. I tell her a bit of my pilgrimage story. The piano continues to play. Transaction complete - she asks me to wait a minute. Retrieving something she wraps up, she tucks it in my bag saying, "A little something extra for you, my dear. I admire what you are doing." I'm touched, of course. 

My mood commands me to savor some fine dining on this evening. El Paseo hides in one of the darling brick-lined, plant-strewn alleyways of Mill Valley. A peek through the low, unshuttered windows that are open to the alley reveal the white clothed, carefully coiffed tables surrounding the old world fireplace. I must - I say. They are not open for dining for another hour - no problem. Plenty art to see until then. It was well worth the wait. The moustached senior gent who attentively served my dinner was a treasure. His eyes twinkled - he gently touches my shoulder, "Is there anything else I can get for you, ma'am?" Dessert seems in order tonight. Waiting for my last course, I peruse my new book. Even as I read, I think of all that I have gained, in the midst of the losses in the past 2 years of my life. Dessert arrives. The chocolate and red wine are a fitting end to my Mill Valley soiree. Does this day really have to end? Oh yes, my friend is now waiting for me. Garmin leads me to her door. Hugs ensue. All is right in my world today.







Into the Wind - Naturegirl