Sunday August 2: Haight, Ashbury, Pillar 299

"Hey Grandma, you're so young.
Your old man's just a boy!"

I have Moby Grape on my brain as I stand at the legendary Haight-Ashbury intersection. The band was formed as a shotgun marriage, they made one incredibly brilliant album in 1967, then suffered mishap after mishap. Their most brilliant songrwriter, Skip Spence, was institutionalized not soon after, they made some half-hearted attempts at a comeback, but it never gelled again.

See, that's the thing. Brilliance is often a flash but the shadows remain etched in the buildings, and though they are seen by a few people at a time, they are no less deep. I feel that way about all of 'Frisco this morning.

Mark and Steph and I sit down at a restaurant down the street. I'm famished from dancing, and consume a big pile of scrambled eggs, mushrooms and feta. The espresso is molasses-thick.

They drive me to the SFO airport where I am to catch the shuttle to Yountville. They drop me off at Pillar 299 and I give them a hug. It was a great introduction to California, and I'm very glad they had me there.

As I wait for the Evan Shuttle, a few people show up at Pillar 299. I look at their luggage and see the yellow Vermont Bike Tour luggage tags. I first meet Patricia and Richard, then Diane and Terry. Patricia and Diane are sisters, and you can tell. They are all from Chicago, and we talk about our brief adventures in San Francisco so far. Over on the bench, Harry and Caryn from Houston are wolfing down sandwiches. The shuttle arrives, we get on, and pick up Heidi and Mark from Philly at the International Terminal. Heidi and Mark sit in back, and Heidi talks on her cell phone about some funeral she had attended that morning. She is a little worried and upset. Terry is playing with his iPhone, and will for the entire trip.

And right now, you're saying, "Who are all these people? This is like War and Peace!" So I'm going to give each a first name after their home city. So far we have the following couples:

• Chicago Diane and Terry - Terry plays with iPhone
• Houston Harry and Caryn
  
• Chicago Patricia and Richard - Chicago Patricia and Chicago Diane are sisters.
  
• Philly Mark and Heidi - Heidi just came from a funeral

That's about half of the 20-person contingent on this shuttle. I'm a little worried about Houston Harry and Houston Caryn. They look like they're purposely shunning people. I wonder if this group is going to gel.

We arrive at the Yountville Inn, and our trip leaders Doug and Dan meet us. They are both buff, young bike fanatics, and I'm sure they're going to push us beyond all endurance. I look around me. Most of the contingent is older than I am, and I'm releieved. At least I won't be the first one to poop out. Doug and Dan get us all our custom VBT bikes, adjusting the pedals and the seat and the rest. They go through the proper operation of the shifters and brakes, review the week's route, go over safety rules and we're all ready for action.

We take a 6 mile spin through town, getting used to the VBT cue sheets and maps. (A cue sheet is a list of turns and mileage stops that bikers use). Chicago Terry has introduced me to his sister Carolyn from LA. It turns out LA Carolyn and I are the only "singles" on the tour, although we are both married. Her husband and son are off on a Scouting trip this week. She is short and has her hair tied back like a librarian. I find an immediate connection with her - LA Carolyn is one of those people who has lots of interesting things to say, very thoughtful, and it's nice to be in listening mode. She rhapsodizes about LA, which is the first time I've ever heard praised from within.

Then I go to my room and .... yee gods! It's huge! It has a fireplace. The bathroom is actually three separate rooms: one for the sink, one for the shower, one for the toilet. All with doors. This is already feeling very decadent.

I prowl out onto the pool area. From Raleigh, Andrea and Sherry are discussing real estate. It becomes clear that they both live in the same house, and I think they're a couple. It's not clear yet. Meanwhile, from Boston, Geoff sits on the beach chair while Elaine dangles her toes in the pool. She chews him out for leaving their swimming suits at home. But they trade these little glances at one another. I find it a bit eerie. There's some kind of transcendental connection between them.

We meet for dinner at the Yountville Grille. The walls of the dining room have blackboards, and Dan and Doug pass out colored chalk, but no one writes anything. It's still too early. I have the Trout, which is crispy and spicy, and a flight of three Napa wines. I tell them to pick out the three wines and surprise me. This will lead to one of two outcomes: (1) they pick the three bottles that are almost empty (2) they pick three bottles that they adore, and want to tell the world. I taste all three, and it's definitely (2) all the way. They have suprising little flavor twists.

I sit beside Arve and Connie, also from Philadelphia. I worry about Arve. He's in his 70's, hunched over, and seems to mumble about everything. I am pretty sure he won't be able to make the trip. We have the van, though. Dan reveals someone once went on a VBT trip and ended up riding the bike only 2 miles, opting to spend the rest of the week in the van. I wonder if Arve will make it that far.

Then comes "Two Truths and a Lie." We are to go around the room, tell our name and hometown, then make three statements about ourselves - two of which are true, one of which is a lie. We are not obligated to reveal which one is the lie. Ever. So I pick:

• I wrote a book to finance dance lessons
  
• I smoked a pack and half of ciagrettes a day before quitting
  
• I am a professor of Forensic Accounting at Syracuse University

Some people make their lie fairly clear. Others have tittery spouses who blow their cover. But me? I'm surprisingly cool about my lie. Almost too cool. And yet, I have no problem sleeping like a baby. My conscience is clear ... or at least my conscience seems so dwarfed by the size of the room, it doesn't matter.