I’m writing this from a hotel in the heart of Chinatown in San Francisco. The bike box and I arrived here last night after an uneventful flight from DC. My brother is currently in transit and due to arrive within a couple of hours. So far, so good. With some free time to explore San Francisco, I’ve been wandering around this hilly city on foot, gravitating towards the waterfront and that bridge, you know the one.

I’ve been dreaming of coming here for many, many years. SF has been on my shortlist of places (you know, we all have one) for such a long time so it’s a great feeling to finally make it here. The steep streets are unlike anything I’ve seen before. Lombard Street (“world’s crookedest”) was an interesting sight but thronged with tourists so I didn’t stay for long. It’s lovely to be near the ocean again, to smell that salt air, hear the breaking waves and squawking gulls, see vast the expanses of water and beyond, to distant hills. Today the bay was brimming with sailing boats, bent over in the stiff breeze.

The bridge stole the show of course. Even up close, I felt as if I was still looking at a picture. It’s vast, much bigger than I was expecting. Much taller. I took various photos from different vantage points as I got nearer. I suspect it will only feel “real” once I can lay a hand on the orange metal itself, when Pete and I cycle across it on Tuesday. Some further photos from today:

Also had some good (albeit distant) views of Alcatraz today: