What a Short, Relatively Predictable Trip It's Been

I was picking up the scattered carcasses of the Sunday papers Monday morning when the travel section of the Star caught my eye. It was the obligatory early-Fall "where to drive to look at pretty colors without having to leave your vehicle" issue, and I always check to make sure they aren't sending companies of family Panzers into the blissfully underpopulated areas I frequent.

Seriously. Four years ago they touted a State Park that is frequented only by the locals and, well, me, and I wound up following three Winebagos down fifteen miles of twisting two lane blacktop at twelve miles an hour.

I got off light this year, but just before it hit the recycling pile I found this on the back page:

The Haight Has a Hipper Look Today
By LESLEY TELLEZ
San Antonio Express-News

SAN FRANCISCO -- We're cruising down Haight Street in my friend's Toyota 4Runner, a blinding sun shining through the windshield. The windows are down and a cool breeze blows in. Bob Marley sings from the car stereo: "One love ... one life ... let's get together and feel all right."

Just then I spy Marley's face painted on an upcoming corner. Then, farther down, I see a pair of gigantic, fishnet-clad inflatable legs. Sticking out of a second-story storefront window. Cool. I'm finally in the Haight!

Ever since I was in the eighth grade, I've been fascinated by the hippie movement, and this five-block area in central San Francisco, east of Golden Gate Park, was its headquarters.

I suppose you're waiting for me to say something snarky, and I had every intention of doing so, but then I remembered the summer after my sophomore year when I travelled to Avignon hoping for an audience with the Antipope. So I'm cutting her some slack.