Joy Of Driving in San Francisco

Michael That leaves time for going out again on the weekends! We still don't have a car, but our friend Peter, who lives five blocks away and owns a Voyager minivan, is currently in Germany. The thing is, you can't just leave a car parked on the street in San Francisco for a few weeks: every street is cleaned on a different weekday, at a time indicated by a street sign. If a car is parked on this particular side of the street during cleaning time, the street sweeper simply goes around it--that's not the problem--but unfortunately, it's always accompanied by a ticket officer who mercilessly issues $25 fines! So, at the moment, we have the honor of constantly moving Peter's car, and--as a practical side effect--a means of transportation. Last weekend, we went to the beach at Half Moon Bay, and this weekend to Point Reyes, which was very nice! Unfortunately, Peter's car has a flaw: when stuck in traffic, it starts to emit blue smoke from the exhaust. You should know that Americans place great importance on low emissions, and they have had catalytic converters as standard since before the word was even known in Germany. Smelly cars are dealt with swiftly: anyone who sees one can call a free 1-800 number to "report" the car--the owner then receives a form from the DMV, where they must check whether A) they were not at the specified location at the specified time, so it's obviously a mistake, or B) the car has already been repaired. If you drive through poor neighborhoods like the "Mission" around the corner from us, no one cares, as every car smokes, but if you're in "Tiburon," "Sausalito," or "Palo Alto," where all the suburban snobs live, you get "reports" constantly--Peter alone has already received three. It's becoming noticeable to keep checking option A! That's why, over the weekend, we desperately tried to avoid any traffic jams and drove an extra hundred kilometers just to prevent the car from smoking. Yes, we're now also considering getting our own car!

I'm still commuting to work by bike and train, and recently, as I was pedaling up a hill in San Mateo, a delivery van overtook me, and there was a dull thud that almost startled me! Then I saw that it was the paperboy, driving by the single homes at a speed of 20 km/h, throwing the daily newspapers, wrapped in plastic covers, into the driveways every five seconds. Wroom -- Tok! Wrooom -- Tok! Wroom -- Tok! Since Americans don't insist on having the newspaper in the mailbox and aren't bothered if it ends up half under a parked car or near abandoned children's toys, the paperboy manages an average of 12 newspapers per minute. Clever!