Sometimes ones very best days are also their worst. It may have something to do with that annoying “dialectic” in life that really smart people and Zen Buddhists talk about. You know what I’m talking about. It’s the whole “light and dark”, “good and evil”, “two sides of the coin” opposites attract thing. Here’s a recent example.
Picture me in Paradise on a 10-day vacation, otherwise known as being in San Francisco, California. I’ve already stuffed myself to the brim with the “perfect” sushi meal in Japantown, the perfect dim sum in Chinatown, the perfect butter croissant in Berkeley, and a frothy near perfect Cappuccino in North Beach that by rights should make every Starbucks barista in the world turn in their apron and espresso machine and admit defeat. Thus I am riding a wave of peak number “10” culinary experiences and synchronicity that also included creating impossible-to-get parking spaces near the Ferry Building at the Embarcadero and controlling the weather. The sun is shining and the temperature is 73 degrees unless I chose it otherwise. The success of the San Francisco Giants in the World Series was possibly another small example of a baseball team riding my self-centered tsunami wave of good vibes, good food and “high-end” manifesting of the very best there is in the Bay area. Dont get me started about legal pot in California either as it was easier to score good weed in SF than it was in Colorado where they direct airport buses in Denver right to their ubiquitous medical dispensaries and sophisticated cannabis-based economic infrastructure. In contrast, we walked to Haight-Ashbury and before I could pass the McDonalds on Stanyan Street and Haight Street I was already hooked up by a business-minded hippie named Steve who was not only highly efficient but also didn’t require a picture ID or phony baloney medical card.
Anyway, picture me and the gf sallying forth one day to beautiful Muir Woods in Marin County to commune with nature and the giant Sequoia trees. It’s a perfect day…as usual. We then decided to take a 3-4 mile hike on the “Ocean View” Trail. The idea was to have an amazingly gorgeous yet reasonable little trek through the forest floor and then experience the majesty of the Pacific Ocean trailhead as we emerged triumphant into the sun-drenched eucalyptis-scented hills above Mill Valley. Of course thousands of other out-of-shape tourists do this every single day there so what could possibly go wrong? Short Answer: My prostate gland.
Epilogue: When the Japanese couple failed to materialize as expected I yelled back to my girlfriend, “What the hell happened? Where are the Japanese?”
She: “I dont know they sort of disappeared. Maybe they were ghosts.”
Me: “Then why the hell did you scream!?”
She: “Oh, that was a mistake. I just tripped on something while I was cropping a photo on my cellphone”. Riiiiiiight……….
Picture me in Paradise on a 10-day vacation, otherwise known as being in San Francisco, California. I’ve already stuffed myself to the brim with the “perfect” sushi meal in Japantown, the perfect dim sum in Chinatown, the perfect butter croissant in Berkeley, and a frothy near perfect Cappuccino in North Beach that by rights should make every Starbucks barista in the world turn in their apron and espresso machine and admit defeat. Thus I am riding a wave of peak number “10” culinary experiences and synchronicity that also included creating impossible-to-get parking spaces near the Ferry Building at the Embarcadero and controlling the weather. The sun is shining and the temperature is 73 degrees unless I chose it otherwise. The success of the San Francisco Giants in the World Series was possibly another small example of a baseball team riding my self-centered tsunami wave of good vibes, good food and “high-end” manifesting of the very best there is in the Bay area. Dont get me started about legal pot in California either as it was easier to score good weed in SF than it was in Colorado where they direct airport buses in Denver right to their ubiquitous medical dispensaries and sophisticated cannabis-based economic infrastructure. In contrast, we walked to Haight-Ashbury and before I could pass the McDonalds on Stanyan Street and Haight Street I was already hooked up by a business-minded hippie named Steve who was not only highly efficient but also didn’t require a picture ID or phony baloney medical card.
Anyway, picture me and the gf sallying forth one day to beautiful Muir Woods in Marin County to commune with nature and the giant Sequoia trees. It’s a perfect day…as usual. We then decided to take a 3-4 mile hike on the “Ocean View” Trail. The idea was to have an amazingly gorgeous yet reasonable little trek through the forest floor and then experience the majesty of the Pacific Ocean trailhead as we emerged triumphant into the sun-drenched eucalyptis-scented hills above Mill Valley. Of course thousands of other out-of-shape tourists do this every single day there so what could possibly go wrong? Short Answer: My prostate gland.
Here’s what happened in a nutshell: After 2 miles we both had to pee really bad. After 3 miles we were both doing that squish-your-legs-together thing. At 3.5 miles I gave into temptation and decided to take a surreptitious whiz off-trail by carefully spacing myself between the Japanese couple behind us and the South American family of five far ahead. The plan involved using my gf as bait and primary “lookout”. My simple instructions to her were as follows: “Fall back to within sight of the Japanese and when I yell “GO” observe their progress and ONLY yell if they are coming around the bend. Keep in mind that my 60+ year old bladder was by this time more swollen and engorged than the Goodyear blimp seen flying over San Francisco’s AT&T Stadium. Fortunately, my pee-plan went flawlessly…until it didn’t and basically blew up just like the Hindenburg. EXACTLY mid-pee, which every beer drinking man on the planet knows is the legendary “point of no return”, I heard a scream/guttural cry in the distance and immediately knew that meant there were “strangers in our midst” aka Asian tourists approaching near to my “mist”, so to speak. There was nothing I could do but accept the consequences of polyuria-interruptus. At that point I lost complete bladder control and ended up wetting my Docker safari shorts like an incontinent octogenarian or feral Siberian wolf-child. Dont believe me? You think I jest? Just check out the photos above. I know…..ewww.
Epilogue: When the Japanese couple failed to materialize as expected I yelled back to my girlfriend, “What the hell happened? Where are the Japanese?”
She: “I dont know they sort of disappeared. Maybe they were ghosts.”
Me: “Then why the hell did you scream!?”
She: “Oh, that was a mistake. I just tripped on something while I was cropping a photo on my cellphone”. Riiiiiiight……….
Note to Self: Come up with better safe words and nuclear pee codes….even in Paradise
captaincliff 