Friday Oct 3, 2008
Hitched out of town (it took well over half an hour of standing at the bus stop in Fairfax ).
I was on “Lazarus”, the once-destroyed Breezer with pannier packed for rainy weather. Owing to a nose injury, I sported the bizarre “Cyranose” schnozz cover that Charlie designed ten years ago to protect the proboscis from pernicious solar insult….a woman walking past mumbled, “you’re a little early for Halloween.”
A tiny car pulled up w/bumper sticker “War leaves all children behind”. A woman my age re-arranged the back seat to accomodate my un-small bike. My outfit didn’t deter her, but she admitted that the sign that said “S.F. or bust” helped sway her. “It showed initiative”.
As we drove into town I learned she was performing in Jay Cimo’s latest Freebie Fairfax production, “Chain Of Fools” (a play about the apple moth spraying scandal)…and as we cruised across the GGBridge I learned her husband’s a doc at the women’s clinic…
“He was…..my first “GUYnecologist! I usually see ‘gal-nycologists” I told her.
What a flipping small world….
Rolled into the park, where droves of people were walking…and stashed the bike, strolled to the front of the first public area I could squeeze into.
It was two oclock, hours to kill until the main act .
Robert Plant and Alison Kraus made an album that really made me sit up and take notice this time last year.
Scanning the crowd a very familiar face popped out: George Viramontes, a friend of Charlie’s and mine from 1988, when we all rode bikes in Baja together. Cunningham bike owner, artist, teacher, and regrettably out-of-touch friend (NO MORE! I promise) who has er, been through the wringer the last couple years.
He and wife Julie were stylishly perched in low chairs, sipping red wine and enjoying the acts I’d never heard of…Jerry Douglas, Sharon Little.
See my wombatbiker flickr page for more pics, they tell the whole visual story. And here’s a music critic doing better justice to the music than I ever could (Andrew Goodwin, professor of pop).
It was a people-watcher’s dream day.
Pedaled home in pitch black, and as soon as I crossed the bridge, rain began pelting me. It was a slog, but I know the route so well…and wine isn’t terrible bike fuel…at home, the bath was full of still-hot water (JOY), a nice favor from CC to leave it in there in case I came home (I frequently stay in the city…but WoMBats ride tomorrow morning…duty…even in the rain…).
Lay back, savored the steamy tiny room, and the hammering rain on the skylight. How can life possibly improve on this?