 Early morning.
Roe packs the bike to head for the Golden Gate
Bridge.
The suite to the right, with a hot tub no less, was
ours for the night. We didn't use the hot tub!
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 We came through San Francisco and across the Golden Gate Bridge
after dark. Although the bridge was illuminated, fog surrounded
the lights. Riding over the bridge was like riding through a
tunnel.
We missed our exit off I-380 in south San Francisco. The
Interstate spur ended and we exited to ask direction in a
not-so-desirable neighborhood. I stayed with the bikes while
Roe went into a small convenience store to ask directions.
During the five minutes that Roe was inside, I saw someone set the
alarm off trying to break into a Ford Explorer parked across the
street and a guy came up and offered to sell me drugs. When
Roe returned (none too soon!), we mounted up and got the heck out of
there!
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 The next morning we rode back to the bridge for pictures. You can barely make out the bridge in the background through the
fog.
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 I'm not sure what the goofy expression is all about,
but the scene is
the California coastline.
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