Vallejo 7:35 a.m.
Very late. I’m super sore from my gym exertions and have overstretched something in my back. No gym today, and oh how I wish no work, but tomorrow (Good Friday) begins 3 days off, so there’s that.
Happily, today’s ride is just what the doc ordered. A really luxurious Mercedes sedan with the driver a lovely young woman beautifully coifed and red-nailed manicured (although jean clad for her Friday), smiling and as gracious as a flight attendant. The tape she’s playing says “SPA” on the dash screen and it is soothing and mellow. I let my tortured back muscles sink into the perfect leather seats and gaze out the window at a landscape that makes me think of fjords or Iceland or far away steppes.
The land is gray and shadowed and the water of the bay is shades of icy blue and gray. Cruising past Berkeley there’s that knock-out view of San Francisco, today looking like a distant land of Oz – all misty turrets and towers.
Up onto the bridge at 8:10 a.m. over the calm slate gray Pacific water. The murmuring sounds of the tape and this still, cool view lend a sense of time stopped – of something waiting to happen.
The egg to hatch, the bud to bloom, the sun to warm. Happy spring holidays to us all.
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Getting There 