Hike SF

On Bonnie Brae in the Outer Sunset, two birds fervently guard their nest. Passing within ten feet once was a transgression. Passing twice was unforgivable.

Taking turns, they swooped at my head, screeching and scratching. Ducking, I turned onto Country Club Drive. They followed. In fact, they continued to follow for at least half a block until I received some advice from a neighbor.

Giving a knowing glance, he put down his trash bag and gestured with flailing arms. I followed suit, and the parents quit diving at least. But they followed for blocks, flitting from house to house, aggressively cawing and beating their wings.

If birds could learn lessons, I would have gone back to take the eggs.

In the Tenderloin it’s not unusual for big groups of homeless folks and crack addicts to block the entire sidewalk. Shuffling, howling, hollering, sometimes even singing, they pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Bold passersby push through, timid ones go back the way they came, and Goldilocksen circumvent via the gutter.

After a few near misses with cars, I decided that stepping into the street was not a good way to approach the problem. For a while I tried writing in my book as I walked towards. Sometimes, thinking I was four four, they’d step aside, sometimes they wouldn’t. After that I tried holding my book vertically with hands folded, like a Jehovah’s Witness. That sometimes worked too, but drew angry barks just as often.

On Wednesday morning, Leavenworth taught me a cleverer trick. Crowds tend to congregate on the shady side of the street. So those willing to walk in the sun will never be bothered.

A few weeks back, Laurence and I turned off Gough onto Colton to explore a hook shaped alley. The hook surrounds a parking lot, and is small enough not to have a street name sign (although it’s thickly lined with no parking signs). Even streets without sign posts usually have their names stamped in the sidewalk at intersections, but hook truly had no identifying marks. After we bumped into the end–a sloping driveway with entrenched truck–Laurence wondered aloud if the hook even had a name.

I explained my experience: all street-like objects in San Francisco have names, regardless of how small or inconsequential. Sure enough, this one was Colusa Place.