As a lifelong cyclist, Steven Birenbaum shares his insights on his morning commute.
Biking along the Embarcadero at 15 miles per hour is an adrenaline rush. Three days a week I commute from Berkeley to Mission Bay, the last leg a ride most commuters would kill for. I just wish I’d let it linger. When I started a new job at UCSF six months ago, it became apparent that the most expedient, sane route was to hitch my bike on the front of the express bus, then cycle the final two miles to the office.
Leaving the gleaming Sales Force Bus Terminal, I slide into a double-wide elevator that dispatches me to the street. I like to pretend I’m in the starting chute of an Olympic downhill race. Once the doors open, I ride out. On Beale Street, I glide by dormant pickle ball courts drying in the sun. After work, when I make this trip in reverse, these same courts are abuzz with millennial tech-bro energy.
Passing the street-level garages of modern high-rises, my senses stiffen. Some residents drive out without looking. Already I’ve had a few close calls. Finally, I reach the main attraction, the wide berth of the Embarcadero sidewalk, with its million-dollar views. To the East loom the Star Wars cranes of the Port of Oakland. The scene on the Embarcadero is one of choreographed chaos. It’s Grand Central Station, glorious, yet perilous, a mad crisscross of bikes and scooters, joggers, dog walkers, parents pushing strollers and neck-craning tourists.
As a lifelong cyclist, I prefer any opportunity to view the world on two wheels. I love seeing the stream of riders on e-bikes, though it’s alarming how few wear a helmet, as this journey is not for the faint of heart. At South Beach Marina I pass sailboats tucked in slips, their tall masts in orderly salute. Soon I’m at the ballpark. Even after a quarter century, its majesty remains undimmed. Slow down, I say to myself, enjoy the feeling, but there are more exhilarating zigs and zags to be had before I lock up.