The promise of a trip downtown to the wharf never fails to excite, even if one well knows what lies in store and that little has changed. We bundled up because the wind factor bay side is atrocious. We did the obligatory cable car ride for Bidi's sake who has a fascination that borders on obsession with planes, trains, and automobiles--anything mechanized that moves people from one point to another.
He had been lucky this trip; he was invited up to the cockpit by the pilot during the Los Angeles-San Francisco leg. He was allowed to push buttons on the control panel to shake the yoke and the rudder, to flash and dim cabin lights, to activate voice commands, and to contact the tower.
Anyway, so off to the wharf we went to do the same old things. We inspected the Dungeness crabs; watched the master baker at Boudin bread factory, birthplace of the sourdough; visited the homing seals; shopped at the fruit stand, Ghirardelli chocolate shop, and sundry souvenir stalls.
We glimpsed the Coit Tower and the Transamerica Building, stared at the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz, soaked up the sun, the San Francisco air, and the city's spirit that casts a glow in one's heart long after he has left the place.
And so with flushed cheeks, tousled hair, and cold hands, we made a final stop at Ben and Jerry's for an ice cream fix before hopping back onto the cable car for the trip back uptown.
It was a good day.
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