Today me and my girl went to the farmers’ market for a big basket of salad leaves and avocados and potatoes and cucumbers for pickling and pluots for pluot crostata and peaches and broccoli and two handmade pieces of jewelry to give to the Wayward Fiddler for her birthday and Christmas, this being the month I have the money for such things and there being no guarantee I’ll still have it in later months. So that was a good kickoff to Sunday.

Then we went to the grocery store for the things they don’t sell at the farmers’ market. Then we went home and made sandwiches and walked the new Bay Bridge trail.

That scene was mobbed. You could have robbed every house in the 510 area code this afternoon, because every single resident of the East Bay was walking/riding/scootering on the new bridge. With their dog. In some cases with their 3 dogs. It’s loud and the view is urban and it’s not shady, but it sure was fun to watch the fashion. My favorite was the family of 5 sisters, all under age 12, working out a dance routine to a One Direction song on their walk. There were pairs of men in matching polos, grannies in strappy sandals and visors, a group of slim European retirees of mixed gender all in lavender, and at least one little boy in a mohawk bike helmet. There were annoyed joggers in neon and ambling couples in church clothes and bicycle posses with no shirts at all. There was a lot of loud interpreting of the bike vs. pedestrian walkway signs. There was a healthy representation of Keens and Tevas, some stubborn Birkenstocks, some platform wedges and some heat-defying Docs. The full array of Oakland and Berkeley stylings. Kind of made me love it here.

When we got home my girl iced her back, nursing a kayaking injury as she is, and I did a lot of larger-motor-skills things like slice pluots before my hands stopped being so swollen from walking in the heat and I could practice the guitar, but still. The Bay Bridge Trail. It’s a fine thing.