by Bruce Bochy
I said we like to be able to take a different path every time, and that’s true, but there’s a feeling of being pulled forward by the way in front of you, and sometimes we just keep going right along the edge of Sheep Meadow, maybe cutting across it a little, and walk up West Drive past Tavern on the Green with its big picture-glass windows. It starts to veer a little bit east as you get up toward Strawberry Fields, near the Dakota apartment building where John Lennon was shot, and we walk along Terrace Drive, past the Lake, to that area where they’ve got red brick all over the place and a whole bunch of steps leading down to the Bethesda Fountain, surrounded by a big round pool and topped off with an eight-foot bronze Angel of the Waters statue. Past there we’re back on East Drive heading north through the park again, and that’s an especially nice stretch. Over on the right is another pond where they have model sailboats and on the left is the Loeb Boathouse at the edge of the Lake. Then it’s not far to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on the right, looking out on the Great Lawn to your left with its complex of softball fields, always a game going on there.
That’s our basic walk, with variations, and it never gets old. I’ll do that with Kim or sometimes I’ll go out there on my own. In New York I’m usually focused on getting in a good workout, since everything in New York is a little intense and you want to make sure you have that release, but some days I’ll say to myself: You know what? This isn’t going to be a power-walk thing, we’re just going on a casual walk here. We’re going to stop anyplace we want to stop. On those days you’re liable to find me anywhere. I’ll keep on walking out the side of the park, down whatever street looks good to me that day, and if I see a little Irish pub along the way, which you always do walking around in New York, I might just duck in there and pull up a stool at the bar and order myself a beer. Those little Irish places are fun. Out on the street, in New York like in a lot of cities, there will be Giants fans and they’ll call out, “Hey Boch.” It’s kind of amazing, how wide our fan base spreads. But most of the time in New York when I pop into a little neighborhood bar, they have no idea. We might talk about the weather or hunting or fishing or most anything. I’m just some guy stopping in to take a load off and rest my feet a little, cold beer in hand, a regular guy like anyone else. I like that.
CHAPTER 7
ON MY WAY TO THE IVY-COVERED WALLS: WALKING CHICAGO’S LAKEFRONT TRAIL
Sometimes I like to go for a long walk back to the team hotel after a game, the way I did in Milwaukee that time I mentioned, but if it’s a great walking city, I might get ready for a game by walking to the ballpark. I find myself doing that a lot in Chicago, one of my favorite walking cities, where you can always count on dramatic backdrops and people-watching at its best. They call Chicago the City of Broad Shoulders, or they do when they’re not calling it the Windy City, that is. There’s something down to earth about Chicago people you’ve got to like. Our team hotel is on the Near North Side near Water Tower Place, close to Michigan Avenue and the John Hancock building. If I have a little extra time, I can head south from the hotel for a great walk along Michigan Avenue through what they call the Magnificent Mile, full of shops and sidewalks stuffed with people, or I might follow the Chicago River toward the lake and walk out to the Navy Pier. But if I’m on the way to the game, then I walk north from the hotel.
You often feel a breeze coming in off Lake Michigan, which in summer helps cool you down. I walk up Michigan Avenue a couple blocks, passing the Drake Hotel, a snazzy place that opened in 1920 and soon became a local landmark. Most of the time when I’m walking, even walking alone, I don’t want to have headphones on my ears, because I just love taking in my surroundings. I want to hear the sound of the water on Lake Michigan chopping in the wind. I want to hear birds squawking overhead. I want to hear the murmur of conversations in front of me that I couldn’t understand even if I wanted to. That’s part of the joy of walking for me, being focused on whatever I see along the way, alert to everything from a couple of songbirds making a bird bath out of a fountain to some friendly faces smiling at me from the far side of a picnic lunch. But I do love my music, especially country and country rock, and sometimes when I want a little kick to get me going, I’ll crank up some tunes as I’m walking. It makes me move along a little faster, and it makes the time go quicker.
I’m a big fan of classic country, anything from Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson to George Strait and George Jones. A good country song makes me smile because, well, it feels like home to me, losing myself in the rhythms of the music I grew up with. Funny thing, I was actually born in France when my Dad was stationed over there in Europe in the Army, and then the family moved to Columbia, South Carolina, and then on to the Canal Zone in Panama for a while. We spent time in Virginia before my Dad retired and we moved to Melbourne, Florida, which was where I graduated from high school and also spent two years attending Brevard Community College. That was where I met Kim. A good country song tells a story and if I’m out on a walk, that story will pull me right along just as surely as if I’ve got a wind at my back.
Take “The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers. That’s one just about everyone knows, right? Everyone my age, for sure. That starts: On a warm summer’s eve / On a train bound for nowhere / I met up with the gambler … Sure makes you want to listen to the rest of the story, doesn’t it? Given that my job is a lot about being in the moment and being alert to whatever cues are out there during a game, I enjoy this part: He said, “Son, I’ve made a life / Out of readin’ people’s faces / Knowin’ what the cards were / By the way they held their eyes …” From there it goes on to the famous part about knowing when to hold ’em, knowing when to fold ’em, and knowing when to walk away, which strikes me as some pretty good advice for baseball — and for life, too. “On the Road Again” by Willie Nelson is obviously a top choice, because it seems like we’re always on the road again doing what we do. My favorite of all is Waylon Jennings, songs like “The Taker,” “I Ain’t Living Long Like This” and “Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys.”
It can be fun, toddling up Michigan Avenue, which is as city as city gets, and listening to Waylon croon about how cowboys like old pool rooms and clear mountain mornings. In no time at all I’ve crossed over Lake Shore Drive to the Lakefront Trail, walking along the edge of the lake, and I’ll say it again, I just love walking along water. It’s at least a five-mile walk to where I’m going, so I keep a pretty good pace with not much time for dilly-dallying. The Lakefront Trail is a wide, paved walkway that runs a total of eighteen miles there along Lake Michigan, all in the Chicago city limits, and I usually prefer to stick with it, rather than cutting up and over toward Wrigley Field on more of a beeline. On the pathway I walk right by North Avenue Beach on the right, with stand-up paddle board rentals and a place to eat called Castaways that has live music some of the time.
Up from there it’s just about a perfect route for walking. The trail is flat and smooth, surrounded by sand, with beaches spreading out on your right, and beyond that a great view of the deep blue waters of the lake. You see all kinds of joggers and runners out there, people pushing strollers, but I’m happy doing my thing, walking along at my steady pace. When Kim and I walk that same route, we love the people-watching: You get all kinds out there! We also get a laugh out of seeing people spread their beach towels out anywhere they can, even on the concrete. She and I are both from Florida, so that seems pretty funny to us.
Kim and I walk awhile and turn back, but when I’m walking up to Wrigley Field I’ve got a ways to go. I pass by the boats in Diversey Harbor and over a little bridge, and by then I know I just have to reach the next harbor, Belmont Harbor, and I’m almost there. Once I get to Waveland Park, I take a left on Waveland Avenue and that’s when the sense of excitement starts to kick in big-time. I don’t think you can put on a baseball uniform and walk into a place like Wrigley Field, with its ivy-covered walls and echoes of history, and not feel some kind of shiver. The place was built in 1914 and back then
it was called Weeghman Park, the home of the Chicago Whales of the Federal League. The Whales! The Federal League didn’t last long and by 1916 the ballpark was hosting the home games of the Cubs. Managing there, where other managers have been leading their teams for a century now, always feels a little special. I’ve always loved coming into Wrigley for a series and seeing the way the local fans are enjoying themselves, whether they’re gathering on the rooftop of one of the places along Waveland or fighting the crowds to squeeze through a turnstile in front.
One thing about Wrigley, though: In an old ballpark like that the visiting-team clubhouse is tiny. Once in a while you’d hear a complaint from one of our players, and that didn’t sit too well with the longtime visiting clubhouse attendant, a real character named Tom Hellmann who everyone calls Otis.
“Wait a minute,” Otis would tell anyone complaining. “It was good enough for Babe Ruth. It should be good enough for you.”
You never hear much complaining after that.
CHAPTER 8
MY EVEREST: TO THE GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE
Different walks are different. Sometimes you want nothing more than to head out for a walk you’ve done so many times, you know every turn and you don’t have to pay any attention to where you’re going. Those are walks to clear your head and unwind. You might mosey along at barely a stroll, if that’s where your mood takes you. It really doesn’t matter, so long as you’re enjoying taking in your surroundings and letting your thoughts roll where they may. Other times you want a walk to feel like an accomplishment. You want it to be challenging enough to be good for conditioning and you want it to feel like an event. Not long after we moved to San Francisco for the 2007 season, back when I was still getting to know the city, I had one of those walks: I walked all the way from AT&T Park to the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge and partway back. That was a walk that was an event! I must have covered ten miles that day, but it felt like twenty, easy.
The notion of walking all the way to the Golden Gate Bridge was one of those ideas that came to me, and then I wanted to see if I could actually do it. Years ago a mountaineer was asked why he wanted to become the first to climb Mount Everest, and he answered, “Because it’s there.” I know what he meant. I guess anyone who is competitive enough to play in the big leagues, even as a backup in my case, has to have a fire inside that pushes you to do things. You don’t tell yourself you might do something. You don’t think maybe you’ll get to your goal or destination. It kind of locks in place, all on its own, and you just know in your bones: I am going to make this happen. There’s no drama about it. Quite the opposite, in fact. You just know and then you go out and live that experience.
That was how it was with my Golden Gate Bridge walk. I started out along the Embarcadero, the same route as Kim and I take on our way to Coit Tower, and that’s where a walk gets to being a little like life: There’s so much to see right in front of you, so much to take in and enjoy, you don’t need to think about what’s coming later on. Sure, maybe by the time you get three-quarters of the way there, your hip’s going to feel like someone put it in a vice grip, or your ankle’s going to make you want to curse Ryan Klesko (“Why couldn’t you have moved that Chief out of the road a little sooner, buddy!?”), or you might wind up with the mother of all blisters on your toe. Those are thoughts for later. Right then you’re on one thing and then another and another. You might stare across the bay at the outline of thirty-six giant white cranes all lined up together side by side at the Port of Oakland. You know what they are: They’re out there to hoist huge shipping containers at one of the busiest ports in the U.S., but even knowing that, they sure do look like something out of Star Wars. You might find yourself transfixed for a minute by the visual of a boat cutting through the bay on its way back to McCovey Cove, making a neat little wake in the calm water that looks so much like a painting you have to shake your head, smile and look away. Or you might look down for a bit, just in front of where your steps are falling on the pavement, and let the rhythm of the walk lull you into something a lot like half-sleep.
Even if I don’t stop for crab, I’m always going to follow the Embarcadero as far as the Pier 23 Café and maybe stop in and say hello to Mac. He’s a good guy and always has something upbeat to say about the team. That’s nice to hear! I won’t lie! From there it all feels like you’re flipping through postcards, the landmarks are so familiar. You pass the James R. Herman Cruise Terminal and see those big cruise ships out there looking like giant bathtubs painted white and as many other colors as they could get their hands on. That always makes me think of Kim: We went on our first cruise together on our honeymoon thirty-seven years ago, and love to sneak off on a cruise whenever we can find the time.
You pick it up a notch or two when you amble past the long lines waiting for the boats out to Alcatraz, and cruise by the Monterey Fish Market. Soon you’re passing by that little park or square with neat green lawns looking out onto Pier 39 coming up on your right and vintage-painted street cars rolling along on your left. I understand people who get a little tired of seeing tourists everywhere, but I kind of like it. Aren’t we all tourists somewhere sometime? They’re usually friendly, and might even nod to me, like I’m some kind of local attraction, right up there with the sea lions barking out in the bay.
Past the boats of the Blue & Gold Fleet it’s not far to Fisherman’s Wharf, which brings back great memories for me, and then down past that row of restaurants along Jefferson Street that always makes me hungry, even if it’s early and they’re not opened up yet: Castagnola’s, Lou’s Fish Shack, Pompei’s Grotto, then Cioppino’s and Capurro’s Restaurant. Then you’re into Aquatic Park, where I’m always amazed to look and see whole groups of people swimming in the ice-cold waters of the bay. That’s where I make my turn, going left to mix it up, and then it’s through the Marina, where Giants fans are everywhere, and on into the Presidio for the last stretch heading out to Fort Point.
Talk about exhilarating! You see those two huge red-orange towers poking up out of the bay, the hallmarks of one of the most famous and recognizable bridges in the world, and you can’t help but feel like one of the luckiest people in the world to be right there right then. I guess I’ve pretty well established myself as a little of a bridge nut. Well, the Roebling Bridge on the Ohio was the longest suspension bridge in the world for a while, and then it was the Golden Gate’s turn. What a feat of engineering! That last stretch of walking, it’s like there are giant magnets up there pulling you along and you don’t think about anything except feeling good. The first time I did that walk, early on in my San Francisco years, I walked back to the Marina and had myself a nice breakfast at a place I liked on Chestnut Street called Bechelli’s. (It’s since closed, but they have Bechelli’s Flower Market Café on Brannan Street not far from AT&T.) By the time I finished off my meal at Bechelli’s and settled up, I was getting to feel a little stiff and didn’t even think about walking any more. I caught a ride back home and looked out the window at all the same places I’d been walking by earlier.
That’s a walk I recommend to everyone. If you need to move along at a pretty deliberate pace and stop often to rest, so what. Take the whole day! Make an adventure out of it. Whether you’re a visitor to our city, or you’ve lived here your whole life, that’s a walk that will make you feel good. It will make you feel alive. It will make you feel more like yourself. After that, every time you see a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge or you see it in a movie or out the window of the flight taking you somewhere else, you can kind of smile and remember what it felt like walking those last steps and being there at the foot of the bridge. I had a feeling I just wanted to walk to the Golden Gate. I thought it would be pretty cool. You know what? It was. It was very, very cool.
WELLSTONE CENTER
IN THE REDWOODS
The Wellstone Center in the Redwoods, a writer’s retreat in Northern California, publishes books under its Wellstone Books imprint. Founded by Sarah Ringler and Steve Kettmann, WCR
has been hailed in the San Jose Mercury News and the Santa Cruz Sentinel as a beautiful, inspiring environment that is “kind of like heaven,” and featured in San Francisco Magazine’s “Best of the Bay” issue for its weekend writing workshops. “Our focus is on helping create the writers of tomorrow — and helping all of us unleash the writer within,” Kettmann says. “We also offer writing residencies, host book events, and welcome short-term visitors.”
www.wellstoneredwoods.org