I thought I couldn't run the most well-known footrace in San Francisco because I had a softball game double-header. Turns out it wouldn't have made a difference, even the god-I-love-them nutters who jog Bay to Breakers get up at running time to hit the streets. But I didn't realize this until the night before, over mac and cheese and broccoli and sardines with my buddy Hanna. So I sat this one out, but the two of us made plans to set out early for coffee and looky-loo.
When I woke up at 8, I could already hear the cheers and the music from my open window. The race and follow-up frivolity goes by not so far from my spot on the southern side of Golden Gate Park's panhandle. That is, it turns out a half mile is not so far when it comes to this particular event.
Hanna and I got in touch and I went to get a coffee and wait for her on the corner of Divisadero and Fell. It was a gorgeous gorgeous day. I had put on sunscreen and my team jersey, planning to walk to the fields in time for my game. When I got there, I immediately regretted not rocking the more deliciously garish colors the B2B deserves.
In the twenty minutes I was on my own waiting for my friend, I got to watch the amazing people of my newly rediscovered hometown go by in droves. There were unicorns, toga groups, three sets of homemade MarioCart characters, pokemon, a gaggle of bright yellow chicks, and the usual hot girls wearing hot girl costumes. There was a band of Mormons with bike helmets who greeted each other excitedly in the street, blue-painted tighty whitey wearing guys with the white hats of smurfs (plus one in a yellow smurfette wig), and a group of at least twenty ghostbusters. There were more naked men than I had seen in all of my almost nine years in Paris. There were people dressed as Legos. There was an Italian guy from behind me who taunted the police officers as they stopped people and poured out glass containers into the gutter. "Wow, your job must be incredibly difficult today."
I struck up a conversation with him and a girl standing next to me. Italian guy eventually wandered off, but she and I continued to muse over what Bay to Breakers is all about. "You must have done this a hundred times, being from the area and all." "No, actually, I've been away for a while in France." "France?? Why would you ever come back?" I looked at her blankly and then gestured to the parade of ridiculous, wonderful people in front of us. It was easily the most satisfying answer I have ever been able to give to that question.
Hanna showed up and we walked up the route a bit to find some shade. We set down our stuff across from a makeshift garage DJ playing house and soul. We danced. She was done up a bit in tie-dyed leggings and running shorts. Again, I was jealous. We shouted out to all our favorite costumes:
- Tie-dye power!
- Yeah opera hats!
- Woohoo Mariachis!
- Right on guy in suit and rollerblades, way to commit!
- Bacon! Yeah! I don't even eat bacon and I love you!
- Marry me Michael Phelps! Nice swimmies!
- Pac Man!
- Juicing cyclists and their nurses!
- Jamaican bobsled team!
- Ostriches!
- Super buffed out dude with girl in fat suit!
- Another Jamaican bobsled team!
etc.
It was wonderful. We were there for about an hour and I then I had to go. My walking route to the field was about the same as the race route, so I got to see more chaos on the way. Including Alamo Square, with all the Full House colorful victorians and hundreds of merry makers. And hundreds going by.
Next year I will get it together and run the race. There is something so appealing about doing something both athletic and ridiculous. Something encouraging silliness and community. Something so San Francisco.
And frankly, I was impressed at the level of contained mischief. I had talked with a couple of very coppy looking cops a few days before. The two of them were drinking snob coffee in a hipster cafe and we chatted about the upcoming event. They said they were cracking down this year, but "Honestly, what are you gonna do? Aside from clearing away people who are too drunk to walk. Besides, we're at the bottom of the pay scale. It's just not worth it to keep people from having fun."
Turns out they did a good job. When I got back to Lyon St at the end of the day, no one was passed out in the front lawn. In fact, it didn't even smell like pee.
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