My first San Francisco weekender was in 1989 as a Freshman at USC. As a naive, idealistic teenager eager to "fit in" with the social life of the campus, I recruited three classmates, piled into my Mustang, and headed up I-5 to enjoy my first Trojan Bay-area road game (vs Cal that year).
It was a complete disaster.
I reserved a room at a random, cheap hotel. But I neglected to research its location or how to find it within the city. After driving like a bat out of Hell up I-5 (remember, I was driving a Mustang- it pretty much comes with the territory), we pulled into San Francisco and literally drove up and down the streets looking for the hotel's address. No, I didn't have a map (this was before the smartphone era). And no, I didn't stop to ask for directions (I'm a guy- we don't do that).
My companions, 2 women and 1 man, were all from out of state (New Jersey and Nevada). The women soon realized how unbelievably stupid I was acting and got directions themselves. We found the hotel, a seedy flophouse in the Castro district. For those of you scoring at home, that's two strikes against me. More coming.
We traveled to the game in Berkley by chartered bus and became separated as I sought out some high school friends on campus. After the game, I found the bus back to the city, but my companions were nowhere to be seen. I simply assumed they had boarded a different bus or found alternative transportation and sat down quietly. As the driver fired up the engine and started to pull away from the curb, there suddenly came a furious pounding on the bus door. The driver stopped, opened the door, and my traveling companions clambered up the stairs into the bus. They saw me and were understandably angry that I had not held the bus for them. I couldn't even try to explain. Three strikes.
Leaving San Francisco, we drove over the Oakland Bay Bridge on Sunday afternoon, October 16th,1989. 24 hours later, a 76 foot section of that bridge collapsed amidst the Loma Prieta earthquake.
Since that inauspicious beginning, I have attended well over a dozen USC San Francisco weekenders, and they have all been considerably more enjoyable than the first. I did learn some valuable lessons from that first fiasco. Foremost, I plan my travel considerably more carefully. Before I go anywhere, I locate the airport, hotel, and significant destinations (stadium, restaurants, rum bar, etc) on the map. Thank you to Google for making this step rapid and painless (I need to also thank the late Steve Jobs; I used to print out these Google maps, but now I just pull them up on my smartphone or tablet. But I still review the locations prior to the trip). My wife is well aware of the level of precision to my travel planning. Usually, it just annoys her, but I think she has come to appreciate having an in-house travel agent. My daughter is rapidly acquiring daddy's travel bug. She is a veteran of visiting 20 states and 4 foreign countries, has a burgeoning frequent flyer account (much bigger than mom's), and considers every jet she boards to be "Sophie's plane". She is a very good traveler; and she would be the first to tell you so!
Over the years, I have visited San Francisco many times; it remains my most favorite city in all the world. I have detailed some of my recent visits in this column, and not all are tied to football. My current excursion is supposed to be for attending the American College of Emergency Physicians (ACEP) annual meeting. It was very kind of the Pac-12 to arrange the USC- Cal game to be held on the first night of the conference. Since I would be stuck in meetings all day right up to kickoff, Cal generously offered to move the game from Berkeley to AT&T park in downtown San Francisco, only a few blocks from my hotel (they also said something about construction in Berkeley and a new stadium, but I'm sure that was just a excuse to move the game).
The evening was unseasonably warm, having reached a high of 82 a few hours before kickoff. The park looks out over the San Francisco bay; as the game progressed, the lights of the Bay Bridge came on and the Oakland Hills reflected the setting sun behind us. Later, passing ships were illuminated by a full moon rising over the scoreboard. I was joined by Mouse, khouse, and DocNuge, with vjohnson elsewhere in the satdium. The game was not particularly well-played; my Trojans benefited from 4 Cal turnovers to make up for unusually sloppily play from QB Matt Barkley. In the end, I'll take the win, 31-9, to make it 8 straight over the Bears.
After the game, we joined the hordes walking the streets of SoMa back toward our hotels in Union Square. On the way, we passed the flagship Apple store preparing for the first day of the iPhone 4s, with about a dozen in line 12 hours before opening. At least they faced an usually warm night for October. Hungry for a quick meal, I dragged my dad (Mouse) to a classic SF Weekender haunt: Lefty O' Doul's. Lefty's, named for a San Francisco Seals player and manager named Francis “Lefty” O’Doul , Lefty's has been serving beer and hand-carved meat sandwiches since 1958. The statue of Lefty had been missing its arm, kidnapped by a rowdy bunch of. . . wait for it . . . Iowans! The arm traveled throughout the Midwest for three years, including riding all of RAGBRAI, before being returned anonymously back to the bar. As usual, the place was packed with Trojan alums (it is not cool enough for USC students, they go elsewhere. In my day, it was the Bermuda Triangle in the Mission district, I'm not sure where the kids hang out these days). We got our pastrami sandwiches and local handcrafted beer and toasted the win. Another successful SF Weekender.
The next evening I introduced my residents to Smuggler's Cove, world famous for its Tiki drinks and rum tasting flights (http://smugglerscovesf.com). I have no recollection of the details, but I remember this: The Parisian Blonde was unanimously declared the best drink on the menu.*
So, here's to San Francisco, well-planned travel, warm October evenings, and Parisian Blondes.
Fight On,
Hans
*Parisian Blonde recipe:
Shake and strain into a champagne flute. Garnish with a slice of orange.
