When the Lights Go Down in the City.

I'm finding that the best time of day to explore a city is not, in fact, in the day, but when the lights go down and darkness settles in.

There's far less traffic, far less people, and I find that you really get a feel for a place when you're immersed in the cloaks of the city's shadows.

Last night, my friend Marissa and I went on a little night trip to San Francisco. Despite the surprised responses that we were driving allllll the way to the city for dinner (guys, it's a mere 23 miles from Walnut Creek), we went anyway, staying patient in the Bay Bridge traffic and rolling the windows down as we wound our way through the steep streets to Fisherman's Wharf. 

There's this favorite spot of mine there that I take nearly every visitor to whenever they're in the city. 

Nestled on the corner of Beach Street, The Buena Vista (Spanish for "good view") is the warmest, coziest, most iconic San Franciscan café that epitomizes my favorite parts of San Francisco history. 

"A beacon of warmth and conviviality on the San Francisco waterfront, The Buena Vista continues to serve belly-warming libations and hearty meals that were originally catered to fishermen, dock workers, lumber brokers, sailors, cannery workers, and other City folk."

It remains so. The Bay view is still spectacular, the atmosphere is forever inviting and warm, and their iconic Irish Coffees still stand out amongst all others.

The day was foggy (how expectant), we found a parking spot right on the corner and when we walked through the old doors, there was a corner section at the bar meant for two just begging for our weary bums to sit at. 

Meant to be?

We enjoyed our hearty and belly warming meals (clam chowder in a San Francisco sourdough bread bowl and one delightful Irish Coffee for me), spent some time walking along the waterfront, and noticing the emptiness of the city at night, drove over to Coit Tower to explore some more.

We had Joni Mitchell's California playing loud on the stereo, wind ripping through our hair, and we got to see some pretty sweet sights way up there at the Tower. 

Sometimes I forget how crazy beautiful San Francisco is, and I'm glad to have found a friend who's as willing and eager to drive 23 miles for dinner and explore parts of the city past dark. 

(just so long as we're being safe)

Like Journey sings it best, the best time of day in San Francisco is "when the lights go down in the city, and the sun shines on the Bay..."

Chemis-Tree.

So my new friend Marissa, this super cool artistic gal from New Jersey, invited me yesterday to hike Mount Tam.

Mount what?

Mount Tamalpais, located in the lovely and luscious Marin County, standz 2,571 feet tall above the coastal range and is a peak in Marin Hills that not many East Bay residents know about.

Well, they may know about it, but apparently, they've never been. 

Which is something I should be surprised about, but I'm finding that with any local in their native land, there's places and things that they haven't yet experienced.

I'm guilty of that! I lived in Alaska and I've probably explored only 90% of the state at best. I guess when you live someplace, you take it for granted and put aside places and things you imagine you'll "eventually" get to.

Well, I wasn't about to wait around to hike Mount Tam like the rest of these lazy locals, for each day is an opportunity for adventure. Plus, both of us were desperate for some fresh mountain air.

So we hopped in the Sub and wound our way up the mountain to Pantoll Campground, where we parked the car and started our journey on the Dipsea Trail. 

Something to mention about Mount Tam: it's massive. Not technically in size, but the peak itself is over 6300 acres and has over 60 miles of various trails.

The Dipsea Trail, home to the oldest running race in the United States (1905) is a 7.4 mile trail that winds out of Muir Woods, and through multiple microclimates.

Which is another factor into why it also makes the mountain feel massive. Walking a mere 7 miles takes you through multiple temperatures, due to factors like height, directional faces, and closeness to the Bay.

So when we started, it was 85 degrees, hot and dry, with foggy views over the ocean, then shade once we got thick into the forest, and finally, we ended at the summit where it was hella breezy and cool.

Best part of the trip?

Getting lost.

Marissa apparently thought the Dipsea Trail was a 4 mile loop, which we eventually found not to be true. We ended up at the Muir Woods Visitor Center and after getting the wrong directions from the so called "help" (same guy who eyed me up and down like meat and called me "crazy tight"), we found we were miles away from the Pantoll Campground, at the summit without cell service and desperately turning the map upside down trying to find our way back.

It. Was. Awesome. Granted, at the time we were starving, tired, and in dire need of rescue, but it was all part of the grand adventure. 

Annnnnnnnd we got ourselves out. By the blessing of one bar of cell service, we called an uber, took shelter on the grass overlooking the foggy Bay below and were eventually returned to our car, safe and sound. 

(plus there was the best dinner at Joe's Taco's, where we replenished all our lost weight with burritos and quesadillas and then some)

It felt good to get back together with nature. Not that there isn't nature here in Walnut Creek, but there aren't the abundance of trees that I'm used to, and it's hard to go anywhere here and not run into people. 

Me and Mother Nature are connected (thank you Alaska).

One could say we have chemis-tree...