How to Spend A Sunny Day in Bolinas
Bolinas is a tiny town in Marin County, and well worth the visit. (Michele Ursino)
BY DAVID COPPIN LANEGAN
When you swing into Bolinas off Highway One, you’re probably pissed. You likely spent the last forty minutes winding through the hills north of the city at fifteen an hour, stuck behind a flock of road bikers stuffed into bright neon tights that look like the sun overhead got excited and shat something slippery.
But once you tear in, throw the brake on your vehicle of choice anywhere on Wharf Road, and start seeing the good looking people in swimsuits through your black sunglasses, that bad attitude melts away. Everyone is laughing and you’re feeling good, you grab your surfboard and the sand on the side of the road cushions you and you hit the waves barefoot. People are already gathering just off Bolinas Beach in the shallows, waiting for breaks, and you run out there and give it a shot and maybe you suck because it’s your first and only time surfing, but that’s okay because everyone in the water is friendly as hell.
Once you’re tired and you’re starting to sunburn, lug your board back up Wharf to your vehicle, and strap it down while you dry. That sun feels a lot more like your pal now. If you’re hungry, walk up and around the curve to the Bolinas People’s Store. For the lucky, they’ll have their special tamales for sale. For those not, they have lots of fresh fruit and candy and good healthy stuff all around. Sit outside and eat your food and wander into the Free Store, first in spirit as you wonder what the hell it is, and then in body, tossing your garbage on the way over before you sift through the piles of castoffs and leftbehinds in the little shed. Maybe you’ll find a little carved wood elephant with tin armor bolted to it, engraved with strange shapes that you’ll remember for a long time.
Pocket it and head back out, hoping Rauri Mikai’s illegal coffee-chai-oatmeal stand is open and stopping if it is. He’s strange and kind and the oatmeal is really delicious and made in the same pot as the chai. Walk a little bit slower now and finish the stuff, and cram it in your car’s cup holder. Maybe someone else is driving today, so you lean your seat back and put the window down, and you smell coffee and salt coming in as you pull away in the evening time. On the way back, put your little elephant in your hand, and as you fall asleep going south through the hills, unbothered by bikers, dream that you’re Hannibal crossing the Alps.
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