last night was one of those rare summer evenings warm enough to walk around in a tshirt and actually feel like you live in california, not some foggy, wind-swept archipelago in patagonia. but then, it is the hottest the earth has been in 2,000 years, so perhaps perchance this portends better weather for sf. but lets hope not, because it's the bad weather that's kept people away and housing prices in the affordable 3/4 of a million dollars range [insert bitter sarcasm].
to stretch the evening out a bit, i took the boy out for a walk in the hood, down harrison to MISSION CLIFFS. away from 24th and folsom, where one of the neighborhood kids was shot to death last week waiting at the bus stop. it's like that here in THE MISSION. 1/2 million dollar condos on 21st, 1/2 block away from Alabama Street and the notorious Norteno gang. they have no idea. the yuppies i mean. they wake up at night and think the shots are firecrackers.
MISSION CLIFFS was packed as usual. chatted with my amigo alex and watched him jealously as he tied his shoes and tightened his harness. looked on enviously at the people who could find the time to climb. seems like i left those days far behind. vowed to myself to get back into it this summer. told alex i was gonna see if i could get a pro deal at the gym and get in some climbing over the summer. yosemite. maybe cathedral. we'll see.
rolled out of the gym, the boy barreling down the street on his tryke, me barely keeping up as i read a copy of the MOUNTAIN GAZETTE. headed down to 18th and Alabama where i stumbled on the THE BIKE KITCHEN, a free bike shop staffed by volunteers. spent some time talking to josh. good man. partner in a bicycle tour company the runs trips up to the wine country. BACCHUS BICYCLE TOURS. check them out if you come out our way.
after fixing the boy's tryke, we headed out to the back of the shop to investigate the booming rhythmic sounds of drums. DANZA TEOKALLI, i think they are called, practicing. one of the many dance groups in the mission. Aztec ceremonial dancers if i remember correctly. the boy watched transfixed. always does with them. it's the primal beat of the drums that does it i think. probably reminds him of his mother's heart in the womb. even i stood and watched as the circle of twenty danced rhythmically to the beat of the drums, ankle bells ringing out in cadence to songs a millennia old. reminded my of the
BEDOUIN singing in the Sinai. we sat there, the boy and i, listening as the sun went down over the city and the fog rolled in over twin peaks like white cream. our concrete wilderness.
Note: ebomb didn't get this post, but then he's not the most literate among us. consider this piece my salute to edward abbey.
