Monday, 3 November 1997 – Portland, OR

Listened to two baseball games on the radio on the train—first, in Cleveland, then in Miami—Cleveland lost the first, won the second. Most annoying train ride I ever had, but still have a good feeling about the train, overall—really beautiful scenery, especially in Colorado in the daytime, and then Nevada and California the next day. Train arrived in San Francisco an hour late, in the evening, and I walked to the hotel. Actually, the train arrived in Emeryville and people going to SF take a bus to SF, Ferry Terminal. People were calling cabs, but cabs coming said it would be an hour! Saturday night, I guess. So, I walked instead. It turned out not to be so hard, walking up Market Street—my stuff was heavy, but not unbearable. Then I turned on Eddy Street, where the hotel is—and that street turned into kind of a scary urban environment, kind of poor and run down, people hanging out everywhere, and I felt kind of vulnerable carrying such big bags. Some guy asked me if I wanted to buy some Ensure. Finally, I got there, to the hotel, a welcome sight.