Montana, Wyoming, and the other western states are like a large border before we could get to the real reason people go to the west coast. There would be so much variety in California!
I didn’t expect it to be as empty as it was at all. In my imagination, it was the place to be on the west coast. The emptiness of the other western states would be put to rights once we arrived in the Golden State. Once we got there, I realized just how wrong I was.
When we left Oregon, the roads were treacherous. I wasn’t completely thrown off; California could have mountains. It wouldn’t be called the “Hollywood Hills” unless there was some variation in altitude. We crossed the border, where we were questioned over the potential possession of illegals: fruits and/or vegetables, weapons, and (I’m assuming) immigrants from Canada.
The journey to San Francisco was long. Spending this much time in a car isn’t the norm for any of us, and it can certainly get frustrating. We managed to make it thorough, with just enough time to try to see the sun rise at the bay.
It was FREEZING. I thought California was supposed to be warm and sunny. What happened?
Even though we were facing the wrong direction and couldn’t feel our faces, it was a memory in the making and I was excited to be doing it.
When we finally toured through San Francisco after a day of rest, we realized how much different it was to be in a city of this size compared to Seattle or Portland. It was like a mixture of a bustling metropolis and the open landscapes of the country. I believe it was Nick who said San Francisco was like the “Joliet of California.” It wasn’t nearly as overpopulated as I had dreamed it to be. Certainly, the line for the streetcars was long, and there were quite a few people walking around Fishermen’s Wharf. However, there weren’t nearly as many people meandering through side streets in the middle of the day in Chicago.
Not having many people around us put us at ease. It was almost like we were at home, walking around by the mall. Obviously, it wasn’t exactly the same. I can see how people would be able to live in Joliet and walk along the sidewalks to get to the grocery store. I can’t, on the other hand, imagine living in San Francisco.
The mountains that we had driven through the night before were almost nothing in comparison to the hurt that we put on our legs walking up and down those streets. We would walk down a very steep hill only to have to walk up the next one at an incline that I was sure would finally end me. How everyone who lives in that city doesn’t have the calf muscles of a male body builder is astonishing. People were riding bikes! BIKES! I could barely manage to lean against a tree for support while half way up one of those so-called streets.
Other than the strenuous exercise, San Francisco was a beautiful place. Hanging on to the handle bar of the trolley while going down the street at top speed is something I’ll never forget—and it’s not something I will ever want to. As for the shaking, aching legs at the end of the day? That’s a whole other story.
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