Introduction Of Golden Gate Bridge
Last Thursday started out just right—warm sunshine, a breeze sharp enough to keep things fresh. I’d just wrapped up some work and went outside for a break, soaking in the blue sky and the company of my geraniums. And then it hit me: I’ve lived in the Bay Area for over 40 years and never once walked across the Golden Gate Bridge.
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I’ve driven over it a hundred times, sure. But driving is just passing through. Walking it? That’s something else. A moment in itself.
It’s funny how we treat the landmarks in our own backyard. When I lived in Paris, my friends had never been up the Eiffel Tower. In New York, plenty of locals have never made it to the Statue of Liberty. We think, “It’s right there. I can always go.” Until decades pass and we still haven’t gone.
But that morning, I decided—enough stalling. I packed the essentials: sunscreen, a mask, sanitizer, a couple granola bars, water, carrot sticks, and a cold Frappuccino. And off I went. Golden Gate Bridge
I parked at Vista Point on the Marin side around noon. The area wasn’t too crowded—just a mix of locals, all sorts of people, each with their own story and style. Families, couples, cyclists, teens with phones out and filters ready. San Francisco’s classic rainbow of humanity. Golden Gate Bridge
After snapping a few pics, I tied on my red bandana mask, popped on my GeoEx hat, and started walking.
Right away, the wind hit me. Not a gentle breeze—this was a full-blown Bay gust, the kind that powers kiteboarders down below. And the traffic? Loud. Constant. But after a minute, I stopped resisting it and let it be part of the experience. The sound of the city moving.
As I neared the main span, it suddenly hit me: I’m walking across the Golden Gate Bridge. A jolt of pure joy ran through me. You know that feeling when something familiar becomes new again? That.
At first, a wire mesh fence ran along the edge, a silver grid between me and the view. But once that ended, the whole Bay opened up—and I just stood there, stunned. The Presidio, the city skyline, Alcatraz, Angel Island, Marin’s hills, and the sweep of the East Bay all stretched out in one grand panorama.
Looking out over the water, I thought about what this place must have meant to the Ohlone people, the first to live here. The natural beauty, the power of the sea, the curves of the hills—this land must have felt sacred. And standing there, it still did. Golden Gate Bridge
As I walked on, the bridge itself became the focus. The structure. The sheer physical presence. I touched the girders, ran my hand along the cables. I’d always known it was beautiful, but now I saw it as a human achievement—a feat of design, engineering, and sheer labor. Every rivet, every beam, every cable: someone made it. Someone stood right here, eight decades ago, making this real.
That thought hit hard. The bridge isn’t just a monument; it’s a collaboration across time. And walking it, I felt that connection. The people who dreamed it up, who built it, who’ve crossed it—it all flowed together for a moment. I wasn’t just on the bridge. I was with it. Golden Gate Bridge
At the north tower, I stopped and looked straight up. The spire rose against the sky like a cathedral, a steel-and-paint monument to what people can do. Like Stonehenge, like the pyramids—just newer, and American.
I kept going, waving at cyclists, nodding to passersby, letting the wind whip around me and the sun do its thing. And when I reached the southern side, I found a spot to sit and breathe it all in.
To the west: the wide Pacific. To the north: Marin’s green slopes. To the south: San Francisco, bold and shining. Seabirds wheeled above. Waves glimmered below. Golden Gate Bridge
And I felt it—that lift. That reset. The past few months had been heavy. A lot of us have been running on fumes, feeling disconnected. But something about this walk had cracked that open. A breeze blew through my spirit. I felt new.
There’s something sacred about walking the bridge—step by step, not rushing, just being present. You notice the details. You feel the scale. And most of all, you feel part of something bigger. A tradition of awe.
It’s a bridge, yes—but also a shrine. Not in a religious sense, but in the way people show up with reverence. Every step carries the energy of the people who’ve walked before you. And you leave a little of yours behind, too. Golden Gate Bridge
Walking across the Golden Gate like that—slowly, mindfully—you become part of its story. And it becomes part of yours. Golden Gate Bridge
