I generally do my stretching on the lawn in front of the
Conservatory of Flowers. Golden Gate Park, on John F. Kennedy Blvd begins with
the Conservatory of Flowers. Painted white, like a white-painted sand castle,
the Conservatory stands in stark contrast to the patches of Crayola Crayon
Colored flowers scattered around the lawn. The whole scene is woven with the
sounds of picnic conversation, wind, the beat of runner’s feet, the humming of
bike tires, and the clicking of cameras.
Running from the Conservatory, the tall brown trees with
dark green tops sway with the breeze like elephants marching to the sea. On the
left is the brown battleship building of the De Young museum, and across the
field, the glass-front science experiment of the Science Museum. The knobby
trees in the concourse between the two museums is a no-man’s land of tourist,
dog walkers, wanderers, and Thai Chi practitioners. From a distance, they look
like dots bumping into each other and moving in circles.
In the park, you might see groups of people doing Kung Fu
classes, practicing their forms, kicking and punching in unison in a slow
fight. On Sundays, if you look to the right, you’ll see a roller skate dance
party straight from the summer of 1985, complete with fluorescent-colored
shorts and sweat pants. A lot of naked torsos and bouncing pig tails
disco-roller- skate-dancing in funky circle 8’s. Each person dances alone like
giddy 16 year olds rehearsing for the prom. Across the street from the
roller-skaters is an organized, chaotic cloud of people doing the Charleston to
swing music swinging from large speakers.
The rose garden is further down on your right. The scent of
roses mixed with BBQ smoke and cigarettes smoke smells like a fire in a perfume
shop, or Valentines Day on fire.
Couples kiss, children fight, dogs roam. I have seen bikers
yelling at cars, cars yelling at me. Once, as I crossed one of the streets, a
man in a truck lurched forward as I jogged through the crosswalk. I put my hand
up in a thank you, and he - five o’clock shadowed, and baseball capped - slowly
and calmly flipped me off.
After the museums, the park flattens out and passes a
scattering of fields filled with a swimming mix of families, and hobos, animals
and sometimes what appears to be a mixture of both.
Airplanes buzz high above, cars and motorcycles sputter down
the street, and thousands of conversations in hundreds of languages collide
together, creating a high energy white noise that is impossible to hear and
impossible to ignore.
Starting from the Conservatory of Flowers, at every mile
there is a water fountain. That’s a great thing for a runner, but what makes
Golden Gate Park special is that, each water fountain is equipped with a spigot
set high for adult humans, a spigot set a little lower for human children, and
then a spigot set at the ground level for dogs. While I can guess that my dog, Auggie
loves the park for the respect they give him with the fountains, I’m sure the
myriad smells of dog piss, garbage, food, people and plants all wafting in the
air are even more intriguing. Regardless, he trots through the park with his
nose perched high, sniffing and trying to take in all of the air at once.
The first set of fountains is located at the overpass at
Crossover Drive. Beyond the overpass, JFK slopes downward, past a waterfall
with green water tumbling out toward a foamy pool, and letting out to Loyd Lake
with its single ruin consisting of a porch from a Nob Hill House that was
destroyed in the 1906 earthquake; the only one of its kind, strangely. The
casual runner should be careful while running past this area as it has been
rumored to house spirits and ghostly floating orbs gliding on top of the green
water.
To the trained eye, JFK’s side of the park becomes less
pruned, and grows wilder. The trees hang over the running path like frozen
waves.
Behind the trees, between 25th ave and 30th
Ave, and between Fulton and JFK Blvd is a long strip of land laced with paths,
hills, and mounds reserved for Frisbee golfers to “tee off” from. These are the
goateed cargo short wearing guys, and their reluctant girlfriends. They emerge onto JFK and into their Subaru
Outbacks and pickup trucks with eyelids at half-mass, and hovering under a
cloud of pot-smoke and beer-breath-stink.
I have seen a crazy man, waving an umbrella like a sword
and, as I passed him, he said “I’ll kill you all.”
Continue on JFK, and the runner descends down a slight slope
toward Spreckles Lake, a large pool of water that, during the weekends, is the
second home for man-children with their model yachts. These replicas bob like
miniature society people around the lake. At times there will be small
speedboats, skidding and humming along the water. When one of the speedboats
capsizes (which is often), you will see a fully-grown man holding a fishing
pole with a tennis ball attached the end. He will cast his ball over and over
again until it hooks on the boat and either turns it right side up, or drags it
to shore, where the fully-grown man will polish the boat and fill it with gas.
At Spreckles, there is another set of fountains for adults,
children and dogs.
Keep running for about a quarter of a mile, and the Bison
Paddock opens up like a day dream to the past, with six foot tall, prehistoric
looking animals, marching regally with their heads high with no recollection
that they used to run this town before we showed up.
After the Bison, the park darkens
with shadows. The lighter shades of apple-green turn to a deep forest green,
and the moisture from the ocean fills the air like smoke. There are less people
in this section of the park, and the steep downward slope near the golf course
gives the runner the sensation of descending into some kind of a new world. As
the golf course breezes by on the right, the trees open up to the grey, mossy
brick windmill, standing tall and immaculate, surrounded by hundreds of
brightly colored tulips; reds, whites and yellows hugging the base and framed
by green grass. The whole scene looks like something out of Alice in
Wonderland. The runner then turns around and heads back uphill to see the whole
scene in reverse, and the backsides of all the glory.
