from fog to smog
28 june

Sunday was Pride, San Francisco's finale of a whole season of events, culminating in what amounted to a ten minute ride up Market Street. Thankfully there were delays. James, wearing his trademark Mohawk, took a spill but managed to keep his bottle of liquor from breaking. "The baby's fine," he declared as he stood up, waving a headless doll with a bottle protruding from its neck.

In my role as one of the banner boys, I repeated the same trick, standing on the frame of my bike, over and over, and by the end of the short ride got pretty good and daring. I did not spill, nor did I get my co-banner boy Niko any closer to sleeping with me, though I did get him to agree that you never know what lies ahead.

A couple days before I visited two 'estate sales', part of some marketing scheme that hypes mediocre garage sales with a members only policy. At the first, billed as the treasures of an old woman who remained stuck in the 50's, I bought a pair of very 70's looking pair of silver expandable bracelets. Slipping them on as soon as they were paid for, I instantly became a superhero, though more Wonder Woman than Batman, and instantly started deflecting imaginary bullets as if by instinct. The bracelets expanded so much, like giant watchbands, I could fit them over my head.

And Sunday, while waiting for James to stop posing for anybody with a camera who looked his way so we could get some breakfast, I discovered I could slip a bracelet over my mouth and look like some extreme orthodontic fetishist freak.

With my little black shorts a wetsuit top trimmed in silver tape, black and silver sunglasses, and riding an all silver bike, I looked like a superhero delinquent. On the way to breakfast I stopped to explain my 'braces' to a little girl with a worried look on her face, and took off my gear to show her it was just make believe.

After causing a stir at breakfast (as one hot guy entered the bathroom I said "don't lock the door" and he shouted back "I didn't!" so I had to go in and introduce myself) James and I terrorized the mall where the parade ended. Since we both felt the event has gotten way too tame (loved the sign "we're a movement, not a market"- wishful thinking), we tried to put some freak factor into people's afternoon. James brandished his tattered and singed rainbow-windsock-on-a-stick announcing "Happy Shame", exclaiming he had to dash out of his arsoned condo grabbing his one favorite possession.

My favorite installation was the Radical Faerie Village, a temporary paddock built on the site of the AIDS Vigil, where patrons, mostly face-painted men in dresses, lay on the grass, painted the giant paper mural, smoked various substances and generally chilled out. It was very calming, except for the nude circle jerk, which just reminded me I was on sex overload.

James and I ran into the bathroom guy from breakfast *twice*, how did that happen? I told him I wanted to send him a cassette so he could record a bedtime story for me. On our last meeting, I got my hand down his pants. Next time I'm in SF, I'm looking him up.

Then it was time to split because we needed to get the venue for the Mikes on Bikes after-party set up, and a couple of the volunteers didn't show, so I agreed to help. Since I knew this party would turn into another orgy, volunteering wasn't so tough.

Most of the guys in Mikes on Bikes did nothing for me, but the few who did were also volunteers, and after we got everything in place, I took off for some food with one of them, I'll call him Ben because he's from back East and unlike people in LA who cream when they see their name in print, even under potentially damaging circumstances, those of us raised in New England shun publicity.

Ben and I had been in the same circles for years when I lived in SF, but never connected. I did remind him of a small milestone event when he first arrived in California, a car trip to Sacramento that led to his first sexual encounter in a vehicle. I wasn't there, but I heard about it. While eating passable Mexican food in the Mission, it was silently agreed that we'd consummate our passing glances relationship.

And we did, when we got back to the party, along with another volunteer, and a longtime member of Mikes on Bikes, but the progression was not so smooth. It didn't help that Ben was an ex-boyfriend of James, and got very self conscious whenever James came nearby. At first he'd remove his hand (we weren't having sex yet, just sitting on a couch, touching) and scoot over, and I found his discomfort powerfully charming, but later, especially after James remarked on our obvious coziness, we took our business downstairs to the basement, the den of sin.

We left the party early and rode to Ben's place in Dog Patch, and even in that neglected part of town rents had become so out of control that people had roommates. Seeing Dog Patch again, I got homesick again for San Francisco but walking into an apartment where you have your only private space consists of a single room cured me of that right away. We tried messing around some more but I was too wiped out.

I called a friend I was meeting for breakfast and asked if I could bring Ben and I'm glad I did, otherwise, besides the nice company, I would have missed going to Dotties Blue Plate, now my favorite breakfast place, period. It's in the Tenderloin, and worth the trip.

My friend leads religious services at a homeless shelter on Sundays and works as a phone sex operator during the week. It was one night, on the stroll in the Tenderloin, when we were in one of our goofy moods that I began my habit of tossing a coy "hi" and a wave to any car that beeped its horn, as if it some john trying to get my attention.

On the way home for a nap, this guy tried getting in my jacuzzi, licking his lips and looking down at my crotch. I was practically sleepwalking and freebie sex was not on my short list, so I graciously thanked him for his interest. I swear, all this sexual attention is an aberration.

But that night I agreed to see another client, turned out to be a handsome Parisian on Nob Hill and I rode my bike all the way up the hill. He loved my silver boots, though I could tell he wouldn't have liked them so much if he knew I had merely spray painted them that way.

Afterwards, while stopping at another friend's house for a quick visit, I got paged by another client, a regular who lived nearby and was always very easy, and interesting to talk to, as he'd always tell me afterwards about his adventures as a young man. This time he wanted me to bring a six pack of beer, so I stopped off at a little market before walking up the hill to his building. Then I got yet another page from another regular but had to turn him down.

I rang the doorbell several times, no answer. And just as well, all I really wanted to do was crash, so I returned the beer, swapped it for some ice cream, and took a leisurely stroll back to my hosts, free of demands of any kind. The city looked so beautiful, fog rushed overhead, traffic was at a trickle, it was a school night and most everybody was turning down covers and curling up with something to read.

The next morning after thanking my hosts (and turning down a tryst) I dragged myself slowly out of the city, stopping near the beach first at Other Avenues, one of the cities last old health food stores, then at Sloat Nursery for some unusual plants for my garden. I drove highway 1 down the coast, stopping to take pictures and seeds and slips of plants I found interesting.

For the first time I visited Moonstone Beach, south of San Simeon, where I usually stop to watch the elephant seals. This time I wanted to find the namesake moonstones but wasn't sure what they looked like. There were only a few scattered people on the beach and when I saw a woman with a plastic bag picking through the gravel, I knew I had found an expert.

She showed me the stones she already harvested. Not only did she find moonstones, but also jade, jasper, agates and pretty mystery rocks. I got right down to business, it was just like being a kid again. My mom has a collection of- I'm not kidding- sand from all over the world, and I knew she'd appreciate some stones. For her help, and as a consolation for getting soaked by a wave, I gave my expert some of my finds.

Later I met her partner- I'm always running into lesbians in out of the way locations- is there a message here? They come to stay at this little beach a few times regularly. Years worth of sun bleached driftwood, all very large pieces too big for the casual beachcomber, covered one end of the beach, like a wooden sculpture of a heard of seals.

At about this point in the trip I always get antsy to get home, so I hook up with Highway 101 at San Louis Obispo, where I once saw one of those roadside cleaning signs- sponsored by PFLAG! The night was coming quickly, gently reminding me to quit making pit stops, but I had to make one more.

I had been curious about this spot after one time stumbling across what had looked like a tiny version of Cruise Park, USA. The necessary elements were in place: single men in parked cars and some brush bisected with well worn paths. I had never stopped there at night, and coming up to the spot, sure enough, there were a few cars and a large truck. I pulled up to the end of the lot, turned off my lights, rolled down my windows, and waited.

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