Remember the Stephen King story where a mist rolls over a Maine town? Spooky stuff then ensues. I always get that same feeling when visiting San Francisco. I was heading up to Napa to visit a close friend, so started the journey before sunrise through San Francisco to the Golden Gate Bridge.
That week the marine layer was thick this morning, and the visibility was limited from the overlook. Crossing the bridge I kept imagining a monster, say Godzilla, suddenly appearing in front of me. Traffic was light heading off the bridge yet most people were still doing 20-25 MPH.
I made a wrong turn trying to get to the Pacific side overlooks and ended up as the base on Horseshoe Bay. From down below I could see the bridge extending across to the city. The rest of the bridge was lost in the fog but still lit by the glow of commuter’s headlights.
Beside a few fisherman and seagulls, it was a quiet, peaceful morning.
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