Spending a few days visiting friends in the San Francisco Bay area has been both relaxing and rejuvenating. Paul and Marybeth’s house on the side of Mount Tamalpais in San Anselmo is my idea of heaven on earth. Set on a hillside replete with live oak, laurel and redwoods, they overlook a lovely valley facing the morning sun. The road up to their house is one of the most challenging of the whole trip – the hairpin turns and steep grades mean coming almost to a complete stop before negotiating the curves. Their driveway is the worst part – and once at the top, it requires the topographical skills of William Powell to find the surface with the lowest degree of slope on which to park the bike to keep it from tipping over.
Setting is only a small part of what makes visiting here so wonderful, though. The real benefit is the conversations with both of them – hours of talking, catching up, hearing about old acquaintances, and where we are in our lives. I’ve known both of them so long that it came as more than a shock to hear that Paul had retired from his adjunct position teaching creative writing at SF State, and was contemplating the end of his writing job with a Catholic health care organization as well. When they brought up some photographs on the computer to show me a party they had attended recently to celebrate Jim Kittson’s birthday, I was agog when I heard it was his 70th. All of these former hippies and flower kids had suddenly turned grizzled, and I realized that I was on the cusp of the same transformation. I still can’t look at Paul and Marybeth and not see them as they were 35 years ago – and I know my image of myself is not one that corresponds to what I would see in a mirror.
In the morning I rode over to Berkeley and visited the Geography Department, still on the 5th floor of what used to be called the Earth Sciences Building (I think it’s now Moran Hall). I visited for a bit with Natalie Vonnegut (who had to ask my name, although she remembered my face). I was touched to see a nice memorial to Allan Pred in the lobby of the building – his premature death is still a shock to me. I had lunch with Paul Groth, a grad school compatriot, who is 50% in Geography and 50% in Architecture. We had a fabulous time reminiscing, and he caught me up on multiple years of gossip and news. There’s nothing quite like two semi-old-farts playing catch-up to engender really choice character assassination.
Back across the Richmond Bridge to San Anselmo. After a quick stop at the BMW motorcycle shop in San Rafael (they had just relocated – and their clientele is a bit tonier than that in Minnesota, with one customer driving up in a bright red Ferrari race car), I headed back up the hill to Paul and Marybeth’s. Marybeth took me to the Fairfax farmer’s market, and as she promised it was like journeying back in time. Plenty of kids, tie-dye tee shirts, long hair, beards, and multiple forms of organic and home made food. It was nice to know that the 60s still live on somewhere, even if it’s not where I live. For dinner we went to a new sushi restaurant in San Anselmo – “69” – which they promised would be excellent. They were spot on – everything from the flight of cold sakes we ordered to the wild Japanese fish nigiri was tip-top It was a small restaurant, and quiet – perfect for conversation. We spent hours there.
The next day I hopped on the bike to ride down to Hollister, south of the San Francisco Bay and east of Gilroy (Garlic Capital of the World). Hollister holds a special place in the hearts of motorcyclists – it’s the site of the famous post-WWII “town take-over” by motorcycle gangs that was later sensationalized in the film, The Wild One, starring Marlon Brando and Lee Marvin. It remains an important agricultural center, and it’s also home to the Corbin Manufacturing Corp – purveyors of fine motorcycle accessories, especially saddles. I wanted to have my Corbin seat cut down in the front a bit so that I could get more of my feet on the ground at stops (I don’t have the requisite inseam to do this on a BMW – these are tall bikes, better suited to six footers than to those of us closer to the norm). Hunter, the man who took care of me, cautioned me not to take too much off the saddle – “You’ll start sliding forward, and it won’t be nearly as comfortable. Better to live with it and learn to compensate.” We compromised on a small amount of reduction, and he set to work. He invited me to tour the huge factory, which I did. It’s an impressive operation – over 150 employees, making seat pans, saddles, and storage boxes for literally hundreds of different bikes – everything from production models to one-off custom jobs. I asked Hunter why this facility was still located in the US, and he told me that they had thought of moving production to China, but that instead they had opted for a form of “just-in-time” manufacturing in which each order was produced as it came in. They don’t have any inventory, and instead have a one-week turnaround to produce the seats as the orders are received. The small numbers of any given mold that are used would make manufacturing in China economically unfeasible, as would the fact that each seat is essentially customized for the rider’s size, weight, and riding style. After spending an hour on my saddle, it was ready to go. Much to my surprise, there was no charge – they were interested in having the saddle fit me as well as it possibly could. This was some of the best customer service I’ve ever encountered! Incredibly nice people, and the saddle is still comfortable and I can get more of my feet on terra firma.
Back to San Francisco, where I would be staying with Jaime, whom I’ve known since we were graduate students together. After getting the bike unpacked, we went out to dinner at Ebisu, one of my favorite sushi restaurants in the world. They recently reopened after many months of renovations. We had gone early, which was a good strategy, as a huge line formed shortly after we were seated. We ate some amazing nigiri, ordered two different flights of sakes, and settled in for several hours of leisurely eating and talking. Among the incredible food we ate: thin slices of halibut grilled on a cedar plank and covered in a delicious ponzu sauce with scallions and ginger; tempura cherry tomatoes (fabulous – chilled to facilitate removing the skins and then lightly battered and flash fried!), and something called a “49er roll,” which included avocado and tabiko (crunchy flying fish eggs) and a shizo leave inside a rice roll, with delicious salmon on top covered with paper-thin slices of lemon. The combination of the spicy shizo leaf and the lemon was incredible.
Jaime and I finished up at her local Trader Joe’s. I know we have the chain in Minnesota, but there are such huge variations from store to store that it’s like being in a completely different emporium. (Jaime told me that hers is the number one producing store in the whole chain.) The variety of produce and goods was amazing. There’s something to regional variation, after all! We spent the rest of the evening talking – again, the best part of seeing friends. I came in for my share of grief about living in flyover land, of course – and it’s hard to counter those barbs when you’re basking in the atmosphere of San Francisco.
Setting is only a small part of what makes visiting here so wonderful, though. The real benefit is the conversations with both of them – hours of talking, catching up, hearing about old acquaintances, and where we are in our lives. I’ve known both of them so long that it came as more than a shock to hear that Paul had retired from his adjunct position teaching creative writing at SF State, and was contemplating the end of his writing job with a Catholic health care organization as well. When they brought up some photographs on the computer to show me a party they had attended recently to celebrate Jim Kittson’s birthday, I was agog when I heard it was his 70th. All of these former hippies and flower kids had suddenly turned grizzled, and I realized that I was on the cusp of the same transformation. I still can’t look at Paul and Marybeth and not see them as they were 35 years ago – and I know my image of myself is not one that corresponds to what I would see in a mirror.
In the morning I rode over to Berkeley and visited the Geography Department, still on the 5th floor of what used to be called the Earth Sciences Building (I think it’s now Moran Hall). I visited for a bit with Natalie Vonnegut (who had to ask my name, although she remembered my face). I was touched to see a nice memorial to Allan Pred in the lobby of the building – his premature death is still a shock to me. I had lunch with Paul Groth, a grad school compatriot, who is 50% in Geography and 50% in Architecture. We had a fabulous time reminiscing, and he caught me up on multiple years of gossip and news. There’s nothing quite like two semi-old-farts playing catch-up to engender really choice character assassination.
Back across the Richmond Bridge to San Anselmo. After a quick stop at the BMW motorcycle shop in San Rafael (they had just relocated – and their clientele is a bit tonier than that in Minnesota, with one customer driving up in a bright red Ferrari race car), I headed back up the hill to Paul and Marybeth’s. Marybeth took me to the Fairfax farmer’s market, and as she promised it was like journeying back in time. Plenty of kids, tie-dye tee shirts, long hair, beards, and multiple forms of organic and home made food. It was nice to know that the 60s still live on somewhere, even if it’s not where I live. For dinner we went to a new sushi restaurant in San Anselmo – “69” – which they promised would be excellent. They were spot on – everything from the flight of cold sakes we ordered to the wild Japanese fish nigiri was tip-top It was a small restaurant, and quiet – perfect for conversation. We spent hours there.
The next day I hopped on the bike to ride down to Hollister, south of the San Francisco Bay and east of Gilroy (Garlic Capital of the World). Hollister holds a special place in the hearts of motorcyclists – it’s the site of the famous post-WWII “town take-over” by motorcycle gangs that was later sensationalized in the film, The Wild One, starring Marlon Brando and Lee Marvin. It remains an important agricultural center, and it’s also home to the Corbin Manufacturing Corp – purveyors of fine motorcycle accessories, especially saddles. I wanted to have my Corbin seat cut down in the front a bit so that I could get more of my feet on the ground at stops (I don’t have the requisite inseam to do this on a BMW – these are tall bikes, better suited to six footers than to those of us closer to the norm). Hunter, the man who took care of me, cautioned me not to take too much off the saddle – “You’ll start sliding forward, and it won’t be nearly as comfortable. Better to live with it and learn to compensate.” We compromised on a small amount of reduction, and he set to work. He invited me to tour the huge factory, which I did. It’s an impressive operation – over 150 employees, making seat pans, saddles, and storage boxes for literally hundreds of different bikes – everything from production models to one-off custom jobs. I asked Hunter why this facility was still located in the US, and he told me that they had thought of moving production to China, but that instead they had opted for a form of “just-in-time” manufacturing in which each order was produced as it came in. They don’t have any inventory, and instead have a one-week turnaround to produce the seats as the orders are received. The small numbers of any given mold that are used would make manufacturing in China economically unfeasible, as would the fact that each seat is essentially customized for the rider’s size, weight, and riding style. After spending an hour on my saddle, it was ready to go. Much to my surprise, there was no charge – they were interested in having the saddle fit me as well as it possibly could. This was some of the best customer service I’ve ever encountered! Incredibly nice people, and the saddle is still comfortable and I can get more of my feet on terra firma.
Back to San Francisco, where I would be staying with Jaime, whom I’ve known since we were graduate students together. After getting the bike unpacked, we went out to dinner at Ebisu, one of my favorite sushi restaurants in the world. They recently reopened after many months of renovations. We had gone early, which was a good strategy, as a huge line formed shortly after we were seated. We ate some amazing nigiri, ordered two different flights of sakes, and settled in for several hours of leisurely eating and talking. Among the incredible food we ate: thin slices of halibut grilled on a cedar plank and covered in a delicious ponzu sauce with scallions and ginger; tempura cherry tomatoes (fabulous – chilled to facilitate removing the skins and then lightly battered and flash fried!), and something called a “49er roll,” which included avocado and tabiko (crunchy flying fish eggs) and a shizo leave inside a rice roll, with delicious salmon on top covered with paper-thin slices of lemon. The combination of the spicy shizo leaf and the lemon was incredible.
Jaime and I finished up at her local Trader Joe’s. I know we have the chain in Minnesota, but there are such huge variations from store to store that it’s like being in a completely different emporium. (Jaime told me that hers is the number one producing store in the whole chain.) The variety of produce and goods was amazing. There’s something to regional variation, after all! We spent the rest of the evening talking – again, the best part of seeing friends. I came in for my share of grief about living in flyover land, of course – and it’s hard to counter those barbs when you’re basking in the atmosphere of San Francisco.
Fantastic writeup. Just showed it to Dad. He was impressed. Fine writing.
ReplyDeleteLove, Mom