I am pleased to see my bike box in baggage claim at San Diego's International Airport (Lindbergh Field), given that Air Canada had misplaced my bike for three days after a a recent Cape Cod trip.
With the interstate-style highways leading into and out of the airport, I opt to take a cab to Coronado on the ocean. Once there, I assemble my bike (and jettisoned the cardboard box) at Fairfield Cycle and roll through the clearly wealthy downtown Coronado:
Looking East: You can see the bay-spanning Hwy 75 and, in the background, corporate San Diego:
Looking South: Highway 75 has become the desolate Silver Strands Boulevard - Heavy fog at 2pm in the afternoon:
The Pacific Ocean, blanketed in fog:
The fog is a blessing in disguise - I lock my bike up to the local lifeguard tower, and throw my clothes on top of one of my panniers, and take my symbolic skinny dip in the Pacific Ocean without offending any local sensibilities.
The sound of the ocean is a wonderful thing.
Judging by the way the surf broke, there is some kind of ocean shelf or drop-off about 30 yards out, which causes the ocean to rise up with a roar and slam down with a wonderful display of sound and power.
I spend the afternoon out on the beach.
Reluctantly, it's time to go and find my motel for the night so, back onto the Silver Strand Boulevard, with the fog now clearing:
And to the east across the San Diego Bay, tomorrow's mountains:
I
I loop around the Bay and check into the Best Western Chula Vista Inn
Once in my room, I'm struck by a bathroom modification - curtain rod over the tub is curved outwards.
It made the shower a much larger space, and when I went out to dinner at the local Mexican restaurant, I get an inkling why Best Western retrofitted all their bathrooms with these curved shower curtains.
At Kama's Mexican Seafood Restaurant (and we are five miles from the Mexican border), I am surrounded by incredibly oversized white English-speaking Americans being served by trim, slim brown-skinned Mexicans speaking with a wonderfully lilted english.
The experience is akin to encountering two distinct sentient species, with the large soft pale-skinned animals, for some bizarre reason, in the position of power both economically and culturally.
And the fitter, darker, more alert species is filling the subservient role.
On another note, throughout dinner I am serenaded with 3/4 time (waltz beat) Mexican folk songs, complete with guitar, accordion, trumpet and falsetto harmonies. The sensation is equivalent to the drifting mental state of being tipsy. Interesting sensation............
