Day 1: San Francisco - The (sneaky) bike rider always prevails

I've flying down Market in downtown SF, paying close attention to the rail tracks traps in the roads, and an advertisement on the side of a bus catches my eye: "You deserve to have the job you love." Damn right you do! And I have it. It's to ride my bike. Who says the job you love needs to pay though? Adventure's the reward and maybe a little winnings can come along for a bonus.

The job for today: secure the VISA which will allow the real job to happen. So I am at the People's Republic Consulate at half past 8 and soon find out that, yes, the Chinese really have a strange process of allowing people into their country. Apparently, they are not "prepared to take my case" because my hometown is Minneapolis and my jurisdiction headquarters are in Chicago, not California. With the heart rate starting to rise and no entry in sight, I know all I could do was convince the People's Republic that I indeed had just moved to California and so my home address quickly became a beautiful cream and brown Tudor house in San Mateo, the home of my good teammate and also new father, Alberto Blanco. Thanks Bro! (he makes a mean pasta sauce too).

Double thanks to Alberto for lending me a bike for the afternoon. Afterall, this slick rider couldn't just hang out in the city for the afternoon waiting for the VISA stamp and lose his chance to train! I rode the train back to San Mateo and got directly on the bike. I drilled it back north, past the airport and into the city to retrieve my most valued passport, equipped with a $160 stamp saying that this Californian was allowed to enter the country. It's sometimes difficult convincing a communist country that my money's is still good.

I am overjoyed with the whole process, that I ride around Haight-Asbury singing Curtis Mayfield's "Ain't Got No Thing On Me" at the top of my lungs. The sun is shinning, music fills the streets, and I don't feel too bad that I can't take the time out to see the Golden Gate. I stop to say a quick howdy to my pimp-in-waiting Dennis Peron (lol) at the Cozy Castro Cottage (a great place to stay if you ever are in need) but couldn't entertain his prospects. My route back to San Mateo takes a roundabout way and I stop by the Cow Palace for... well, just cause its there.

I now take the last sips of my last large Sapporo (I mean, sleeping medicine) at the airport bar and I'm off to the East...