Reflections on the Crosstown Trail
People come across our paths and walk with us for a time. Some stay til the end and others diverge onto other paths. But every accompaniment of another carries significance, propelling us onward, bringing us hope and delight in the present moment.
Some of our crew at Baker Beach (around mile 14 of the Crosstown Trail)
Sixteen of us started out on a beautiful, unusually sunny Saturday morning in April at the edge of Candlestick Point. The mission was simple but significant: hike nearly sixteen miles across San Francisco, from the southeast corner to the northwest corner. We would cut an almost perfect diagonal across the city, save for those pesky hills cluttering the central portion.
The trail connects city sidewalks with neighborhood green spaces and parks, passing over sixteen lanes of I-280 on the pedestrian overpass and somehow skirting almost all the city’s commercial corridors. From neighborhood to neighborhood we trekked, noting the flora of the community gardens, the varied architecture of the homes, the unexpected views of bay and ocean and city skyline as we ascended staircases and hills.
Less than a mile in, we stopped for coffee at Mission Blue, a locally-owned coffee and retail shop. The owners, Ken and Kellie McCord, have lived and loved this city for almost two decades. This shop is their lovechild and contribution to the community.
Next we hit the Visitacion Valley Greenway that extends more than five blocks through the neighborhood and is filled with community gardens and beautiful flowering shrubs and trees. “I had no idea this existed,” Lauren, a fellow hiker, proclaimed as we passed through. “It’s beautiful. And so well maintained.”
We hit McLaren Park next, an old stomping ground of mine. “The kids went to Shakespeare Camp here years ago,” I pointed out as we passed the Jerry Garcia Amphitheater. That’s the beauty of having spent over a decade in a place. The memories that are made.
Maybe you’re too young for this, but while passing through that park I was reminded of the meandering dotted line adventures of the children in those Family Circus comic strips in the Sunday paper when I was a kid. (You can read about these peregrinations in a nostalgic NPR article here.)
We passed through St. Mary’s Park and Glen Canyon. Before hitting Forest Hill Station, we took a shortcut through the grounds of Laguna Honda Hospital where our friend, Cliff, works. While we rested under the shade of a giant magnolia, Cliff shared about his work and the needs of the residents there. We prayed together before moving on.
And so it went for hours upon hours of walking. Folks joined us at various points as their schedule and endurance allowed. All in, we had thirty-seven people join the journey, including eight kids, four teenagers, and one dog.
What struck me the most was the ebb and flow of conversations that a long hike allows for—save for the necessary pauses to catch one’s breath.
Somewhere near the 16th Avenue Tiled Staircase, Joyce mentioned the coming and going of folks on the hike as a metaphor for the journey of life. People come across our paths and walk with us for a time. Some stay til the end and others diverge onto other paths. But every accompaniment of another carries significance, propelling us onward, bringing us hope and delight in the present moment.
If only we could transcend time and space for a moment and trace the dotted black line of our lives, seeing where people and places overlap and intersect. I imagine that’s something God sees and delights in.
“Do you remember renting paddle boats on this lake a few years ago for your birthday?” I asked my daughter as we crossed a bridge over Stow (now Blue Heron) Lake onto the edge of Strawberry Hill in Golden Gate Park.
We took a short detour in Golden Gate Park up to the Prayerbook Cross just off JFK Dr. It’s tucked away out of sight. Most people don’t even know it exists. “You can probably climb this hill with your eyes closed,” Julie surmised as we ascended. It’s where our church has gathered every Good Friday for maybe ten years.
At the corner of Park Presidio and Fulton, we met Ed with his one-year-old daughter in a backpack carrier. “You were hiking right through my neighborhood, so I figured I’d join up for a bit,” he said. As we walked down that long stretch of green that runs parallel to the road buffering us from the heavy traffic, he pitched an idea for a reflective hike somewhere out of the city where we encourage quiet contemplation and discussion with others along the way. He already had a few places in mind.
The end of the trail held the spectacular beauty of the Presidio, Baker Beach, Seacliff, and finally Land’s End. Our legs ached and we were eager for food and rest, but the sense of accomplishment was real. “This was so worth it,” Caleb exclaimed. “I really felt God’s presence with us along the way.” That comment and the look on his face made my heart sing.
We had framed this hike as a pilgrimage, an undertaking of not just recreational but spiritual significance. Seeing the juxtaposition of architectural feats and natural beauty at times felt like a precursor to the eventual Garden City. Heaven and earth are not now joined together but one day they will be, and I can’t wait to traverse it just like we did today, accompanied by fellow image-bearers in the glorious presence of God.
Let’s do it again next year!
Read more about the Crosstown Trail here
