Biking is my introverted bliss. I have my thoughts and beautiful scenery to inspire and intrigue me. I started going for long bike rides during Peace Corps. Now that I have a bike again, I’m returning to the habit. A weekend on my own turned into two days of riding.

On Saturday I biked to Ocean Beach, with the intention of hiking the Land’s End Trail. By the time I got there it was pouring rain and Ocean Beach felt more like the North Pole. The view was worth it. I rarely see the ocean in San Francisco. Listening to the stormy waves crash against the damp sand was a song for the soul. I warmed up with a bowl of pho and returned home. First thought: I’m doing this again tomorrow, only bigger.

Sunday, I biked the Tiburon loop. This 47 mile route is full of beautiful views and fun stretches of road for riding. While rain may normally be a deterrent I thought it made the trip more fun. The smell of wet trees made me feel at home. This ride went from incredible to frustrating as soon as the sun set. As much as I had tried to time the ride so that I would get back before dark, that didn’t happen. I was having too much fun in Tiburon to cut the route short. I had underestimated how tired and cold I would be at the end of the trip. Climbing hills in the rain at night was awful. All I could think about was finding the Golden Gate Bridge and biking back into San Francisco. I made it home safe and utterly exhausted.

As fun as my weekend of biking was, my thoughts still circled around to a twinge of sadness. I moved to San Francisco six months ago. That number has bounced back and forth in my mind for the last week. It’s been half a year. I’ve moved enough to know that I am slow to transition, but I still feel like I should have hit my stride a bit more by now, that social situations would come easier, my room would have furniture and I would stop getting lost. Nope, transitions are slow. The truth is after six months, I still completely rely on one person for social connections, my room looks like something from a scary movie and I still make many wrong turns. I know I’m moving forward, I just wish some things would move faster. I came home from an incredible adventure and didn’t know where to share my story. So I thought I’d start here. Hi World, Last weekend was awesome!

There’s this thing that Peace Corps does to you. You have to get our of your space/city every now and then, or you will lose your mind. Not even kidding. So I love San Francisco and all, but if I don’t get out of here every now and then, the wall starts caving in.

We chose Lake Tahoe as my first out of the city destination. This is mostly because I lived there for a summer in college. I thought sunbathing on the lake and working at the K-Mart Garden Department held the potential for a good vacation, at the time. That summer was a real mixed bag of nuts, but I digress.

I wanted to see South Lake Tahoe before the snow held it hostage. It had been 7 years since my last appearance and I was finally over the PTS enought to miss the lake, plus I would be so tan afterward.

First step, rent a car, like a big girl. Done did. I talked my way into a better price and everything. We even got a free upgrade! That kind of thing only happens in the movies.

I drove us to the finest dive-y brunch nearby. I was more giddy about our weird dive brunch than some of the fancy SF stuff. They asked us if we wanted fried rice on the side! How priceless is that? When I started taking pictures, Cullen was all like “This is a foodie moment?” and I was like “Oh yes it is.” I really should have ordered fried rice on this side of my waffle. When my waffle did come, the lady at the table next to me started carrying on as if I had just ordered a plate of sweet salvation. I would not have put it past her to walk right over and stick a finger in the whipped cream.

It wasn’t really that much further to Lake Tahoe, but if you ask Cullen, he’d say it was a step from death, a left at hell and blaze past go at every steep cliff. Some things really are subjective. I didn’t really mind driving through the mountains to a few Joy the Baker podcasts, but my company was a little shell shocked. Joy the Baker was not to blame.

Upon reaching our destination we realized what we had suspected all along. The good places were booked. I’d done my job. I’d researched everything, dug real deep in some weird forums to find the best places to stay, but no one made any reservations. I didn’t really care so much. We were in Lake Tahoe, I would sleep in the car if I had to. We bought a tent at K-Mart and pitched ‘er up. Planning is overrated.

Of course we were slightly distracted by the more ridiculous items available for purchase. Sure, our K-Mart tent might rip to shreds come wind or rain, but my majestic horse blanked will keep me warm and the chipmunk chair though little, will serve a purpose. No, it probably wont. That should never have happened. Though when everyone opens their chairs and the last person opens a chipmunk made for a tiny woodland creature, it’s a little funny. I don’t think we returned it.

We bought a box of wine, made s’mores, and bickered about Thailand while hovering over the campfire. I tried to sleep on the tarp floor of a tent, before giving up and sleeping in the car, which for some reason is so much scarier than sleeping in the tent. There was the dream of bear attacks, the time Cullen rolled over the keys and unlocked the car in the middle of the night and the other time that I dreamed about a goldfish ghost that showed me the meaning of life.

Before leaving the 7×7 of San Francisco, I made my intentions very clear to Bekah. I want beach. I will lay on the beach for as long as I want. Do not make me climb up some dreadful hill!

After a couple hours on the crystal blue waters, breathing dust into my already campfire filled lungs, I was ready to explore.

We asked some advice for a day trek and were led to some sort of Disneyland for senior citizens pavement circle. So we asked a forrest ranger where to go and she pointed us in the right direction. We stopped at Emerald Bay and climbed our way up a trail that led to a rock formations fit for exploring. It was awesome.

Then it was back to SF.

Oh yeah, I ate a peanut butter hamburger this weekend. So bad. But I had to do it! It was on the menu to challenge me! I think I won…no, the garlic fries won.

I better start documenting my San Francisco experiences, lest I forget. There’s been so many firsts. The first time I ate an It’s It, the first time I danced to dubstep, the first time I saw poopy toilet paper on the sidewalk, the first time I was hit on by a homeless person, the first time I saw a sea of naked breasts in public, oh I could go on for days.

This was a day of firsts.

It was my first time riding around San Francisco with someone who has a car.
This was the first time I saw Ocean Beach.

It was the first time I visited the Sutro Baths.

It was the first time I’d seen the Golden Gate Bridge since moving here. But a tiny glimpse it was.

It was the first time I ate a savory brunch and didn’t immediately regret not getting pancakes. Ok, maybe not the first. But it is on very rare occasion that this occurs.

And it was my first time taking a class at Yoga to the People.

Check out my latest post on the Vayable blog: Photos from a Bike Tour in San Francisco.

Check out my latest post on the Vayable blog: The Family Reintroduction: What Traveling in Southeast Asia Taught Me About My Family

via Andre Pipa

via Chris Gin

via Stuck in Customs

via Chris Gin

No, I’m not writing to you from the rice fields. I’m writing to you from my SF bedroom.

During my Peace Corps days a village weekend was something I met with mild terror. A weekend in the village meant aimlessly filling my time with things like reading blogs, watching a zillion downloaded TV shows and walking across the street to buy fake Oreos. The highlight of the weekend was usually a bike ride into town or some weird project I threw myself into (homemade peanut butter, creating a spreadsheet of Bangkok guesthouses, studying for the GREs I never took…). Over the course of two years in the village I grew accustomed to the village weekend. I stopped fearing them, but they weren’t exactly the highlight of my month.

Fast forward to life in America. A village weekend to me means a weekend with absolutely no plans or likelihood of plans. This weekend usually happens when friends are busy.

This village weekend came up at the perfect time. While most people are away enjoying the spoils of a three day weekend, I’m in my bed reading or watching movies. Anyone seen Toast? I love it! I’ll probably do some grocery shopping, clean my room, cook some meals for the week and get in a workout. But if I don’t? Meh. After a crazy month of being sick, landlord fights, changing jobs and celebrating life with friends, a weekend of nothing is exactly what I need to recharge.

I shall emerge next week with some resemblance of order in my life.

Until then, I’m having a thumb-twiddlin’ good time.

So is it Friday for reals? Meaning I haven’t updated my blog with anything besides the occasional cute pic in quite sometime. This was my first full week at my new job. Awesome! But a little discombobulating for the rest of my real life. There’s been an out of control laundry situation, a screaming landlord situation, a time for antibiotics situation and an I don’t remember the last time I purchased a vegetable situation. And an awesome weekend situation – to which I did not bring a camera so as to live wholly in the moment. I like to do that sometimes. Soon enough I will return to my regular over-sharing ways. And the new iPhone comes out some time this fall, which means things abouts to get real crazy over here.  This muggle will finally have one all to herself.

So many day of being sick! I’m over it!

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