Late October. My primary goal was sell the motorcycle (and presumably use the money to buy a new one in Madison— or for groceries); the alternative, drive it across the country. But two obstacles reared. One, you can’t sell a motorcycle in San Francisco in October. Two, I didn’t really want to sell it. Bee-Sting Betty came down the Alaska-Canada Highway with me, and had never failed me. Even after more than a year of storage, she started right up. So while I was traveling ostensibly to sell, I brought along a license plate. Just in case.
Unfortunately for either plan, it turned out the gracious friend who’d stored my motorcycle the last long months had accidentally taken the key to Australia.So while I waited for a copy to arrive via exotic international post, my dear old friends entertained me. Mulling over the Richard Avedon exhibit at SFMOMA’s rooftop cafe, I ate what proved the most whimsical food of the trip: the poodle, a chocolate ice-cream sandwich. I think of it as the polar opposite of everything I ate in Oklahoma. Those of you who know how much butter I eat will know what it means for me to say that I am still marveling at how much of it the bakers got into this little cookie. The poodle’s accompaniment a cold-brewed iced coffee from Blue Bottle, of course—San Francisco’s cult-inspiring coffee roaster appears to have expanded quite a bit the years I’ve been gone. No better way to pretend it’s still summer.