Golden Gate

     Gary sped across the Bay Bridge in light midmorning traffic, San Francisco's magnificent skyline, iconic Alcatraz Island, and stupendous Golden Gate Bridge all looming surreally in the distance. As I rolled down the passenger side window to take in the matchless view, a euphoric feeling of complete freedom and the unlimited possibility of youth hit me like a ton of wacky tobacky bricks. In that moment, high on that bridge on that perfect day, I felt on top of the world.

     We motored through the streets of San Francisco, taking in all the sights and sounds of the places and people in the famed city. Gary drove down Lombard Street and then through the mazy Golden Gate Park. I keenly took it all in, my head swiveling left to right, as the eye-catching and historic sites, structures, and architecture whizzed past us in all directions.

     Five years into the future and I'd be back in Bay Area working as a mobile DJ on Treasure Island and also as a male stripper for a stripagram company. Those part-time gigs along with temporary day jobs as a word processor would be enough to live on while taking television news classes at San Jose State University.

     I'd also catch up with Gary again, who would then be married to Stacey, a funny, smart, and pretty blond I'd knocked boots with once when we were students together at Mesa College in San Diego and who later met and fell in love with Gary, her favorite booty call when they were undergrads together at San Diego State. It was a small world. Stacey loved the man she called her Gare Bear and soon after tossing her own SDSU cap and gown headed north to marry him.

     Back in the city, we motored across the legendary Golden Gate gawking in all directions at the breathtaking view. It made me think of some photos our family had taken along the bridge's epic railed walkway in the mid 1960s, black and white images of our mother and father, Tom and Marsha, along with our older brother Byron and younger sister Annie. We looked so young and carefree and full of life, our jubilant faces and exuberant poses momentarily etched in perfect photochemical time.

     Gary knew how to get up to Battery Spencer and that's where we finally ended up. He parked the car somewhere near the main viewing area whereupon Mars packed the pipe.

     "Let's get irie before we check it out," Mars gleefully intoned, lighting up the dry greenish brown ganja.

     Stoned to the point of blissful giddiness, I gazed from the scenic viewpoint at the massive steel and concrete structure hulking between the massive bay and immense Pacific Ocean. Boats of all kinds dotted the water in all directions. Beyond, beneath a nearly cloudless blue sky, towered the spectacular skyline of the famous City by the Bay. The incredible vista view on that day remains one of the most breathtaking and awe-inspiring I've ever seen.

     Within the next few years the original rebar-enforced concrete deck of the massive suspension bridge would be replaced by a steel orthotropic deck panel, to go along with its galvanized carbon steel wire cables and 746-foot tall steel towers. The retrofit would turn the Golden Gate into one of the world's first modern marvels of earthquake-proof construction.

     We left the Battery Spencer, going down the steep hill to the highway and then back across the Golden Gate to the city. By this time we all had the munchies. As promised, Gary drove to Fisherman's Wharf and we stopped at the first Mexican restaurant we could find. Gary knew we were on a tight budget and offered to pay for lunch. During the meal, as we washed down plates of tasty chicken enchiladas with ice cold bottles of Pacifico beer, Gary invited us, on his dime, to hit a few bars in the city later that evening.

     "Sounds cool, Gary, thanks man," I offered between bites of my perfectly spiced and cheesy Mexican rice and beans. "We'll keep the ganja flowin' for ya."

     "Good, and we're also gonna need a little pick-me-up, if you know what I mean." Gary countered. "I still have half a gram I got from Ron before we left, just enough to get us fired us up before we head into the city."

     "Sounds like a plan, Stan!" Mars hollered, chomping on another corn chip dipped in fresh cantina salsa. His sudden outburst made a few of the other patrons in the place turn their heads to look, which made Mars guffaw. Then, all at once, with an expression of mock surprise plastered on his face, he dramatically pursed his lips, covered his mouth with his hands and shrugged.

     "Oopsy-doopsy!" he cackled, feigning remorse. Mars was a rebel without a cause, a bull in a china shop full of piss and vinegar who gave very little thought to social norms.

     After our satisfying nosh-up with three beers apiece we headed back to Piedmont. Satiated and daydreamy, I thought about the next day, when Mars and I would take a Greyhound bus from Oakland to Arcata. The final leg of our journey. I felt keyed up and on edge, an intoxicating blend of anything goes with last-ditch uprootedness that was keeping me on kicky tenterhooks. Mars and I had reached a crossroads of clean slates and bugouts leading to nowhere and somewhere at the same time. We were kissing our hometown goodbye, heading to a college town we'd never stepped foot in, with only the towering redwoods to greet us upon arrived.

     Later that evening, after an afternoon nap, we showered, dressed, and joined Gary and his parents for dinner in their dining room. I don't remember what we ate. Gary's mom and dad asked us about our day in the city and more about our move to Humboldt. They were easygoing and talkative folks and we had a relaxed and lively conversation with them.

     Towards the end of dinner Gary's mom looked directly at me and Mars and asked, "So, you guys are going out tonight?"

     "I already told you, mom," Gary grumbled.

     "I know, I'm just asking, honey," she replied, her voice full of patient sweetness. There was no awkwardness in the moment. She was just making polite conversation, showing sincere interest in the guests her one and only son had brought home with him. She again looked in our direction but Gary answered for us.

     "I'm gonna take the twins to Polk Street." He said amicably. "I haven't been there in a long time."

     Gary's mom patted the top of her son's left hand. "Well, have fun guys. And don't forget to take a cab back here if you need to. We'll be happy to pay for it."

     "Okay, mom." Gary promised.

     "We won't wait up for you," said Gary's dad, chuckling.

     Back in our guest bedroom, Gary used a credit card to chop up six fat lines on a small glass-framed picture he took down from the wall. He rolled up a twenty-dollar bill and we took turns packing our noses with what turned out to be decent blow. Coked up and warmly dressed we stepped out into the nippy evening air for another trip to downtown Frisco.