|
By Jen Dalton
The landscape of my backyard changed this week. For quite a time,
the backyard was a mass of paved hills lining Twin Peaks in San
Francisco. Hopping on my bike, Poppy Jr. and heading out for a spin
involved a trip down an elevator, over steep grades, down to Ocean
Beach and beyond. Now that I've moved, I can see the green and yellow
foothills lining the bottom of Mount Tamalpais in Marin County from
my kitchen window. The backyard has grown from a seven-mile island
to the possibilities of a morning ride up to Point Reyes National
Seashore or evenings spent mountain biking on the mountain across
the street. No more concrete stairways and electric bus rails, honking
horns and mean motorists. I can step out my front door and go left,
right, straight or back and ride until I can't ride any more.
I'm committed to adventure. Tonight I set out to explore my new
"hood", the nooks and crannies of San Anselmo. Poppy Jr. had been
neglected since her 100-mile race around Lake Tahoe just a few weeks
ago. She needed attention and I needed to explore. We took off just
before dusk after a long day of shuffling papers and making phone
calls in San Francisco. I live on a street called Butterfield Road.
It's somewhat heavily trafficked and connects a main drag to what
I discovered to be the quiet, tree-lined community called Sleepy
Hollow, with upper-middle class homes and beautifully manicured
lawns (flowers, sprinkler systems and hummingbird feeders). Each
street, has a name like "Crane Road" -- invoking the spirit of Icabod
himself -- dead-ends with private ranchlands or trailheads up to
the foothills. I rode along at an even pace, smiled at women walking
her children in strollers, nodded at other cyclists and yelled,
"Whoa! Hey, how's it going," to a twelve-year-old on one of those
motorized skateboards as we just missed colliding. The back roads
of Sleepy Hollow are the kind of places where kids play catch in
the middle of the street and yell, "Car!" at the top of their lungs
before scrambling out of the way.
I took as many side roads as I could, looking for a street that
might lead into another town like San Rafael or Marinwood. I didn't
find any so I turned back and relished in the tailwind, full-speed
on a mild downhill. I took bunny jumps over pot holes, impressing
myself with my agility and strength. Just happy to be out in the
sunshine clearing my head after a grueling two weeks of moving,
classes and making a living in the city. My speed got the best of
me and I found myself saying "Oh, look. That's my house," as I whizzed
by, heading towards the funky community called Fairfax. I have stopped
to get coffee at the corner cafe a few times, sampled the local
Thai food and browsed through the second hand bookstore, so I have
a feel for Fairfax. I didn't want to go there. I wanted to check
out San Anselmo. So, I took a left at the stoplight and followed
the bike path signs, hoping to access a safe commuting route around
a busy main street.
I found a safe route. I rode through mellow, yet alive, streets
lined with small wooden homes displaying a myriad of personal interests
in the windows and yards: ceramic frogs, outdoor grills, rainbow
kites, bicycle harnesses and jungly flower boxes. Everybody was
out on their bikes. Dads and Moms with kids. A woman washing her
car in the street. A somewhat cluttered and shabby storefront advertising
shoe repair. People smiled and said "hi" as I rode by. I reciprocated
in kind. A band played funky jazz in a little café as a 30-ish
woman relaxed on a bench outside and nodded her head with the beat.
People gathered at an outdoor burrito joint called Taco Jane's and
sat underneath Christmas lights.
The town was a mystery to me. I'd never been there before, and I
know no one who lives there. And, yet, it was so familiar, so inviting,
so peaceful, so loving, so community. I found home. The kind of
home we know in our hearts. I rounded a corner and said to myself,
I'm just gonna cry, I love it here so much. And, I did.
|
