A strange, exotic and slightly dangerous place

It was morning. It was the weekend. I needed pan dulce.

And as anyone knows, if you live in San Francisco and want authentic Mexican anything, you need to go the The Mission District -- a place you only go during daylight and in groups of 20 or more. However, this morning, I would be making the trek alone. I pre-dialed "911" on my Treo and set off on my quest to this exotic and far away (about 1/2 mile) land.

Would I survive? Unknown. But I would chronicle the trip with pictures as perhaps a record of the final chapter of my time on earth.

I left the safe haven early.

...and began my trek. The destination? The panaderia (mexican bakery) at 24th and Mission. Yes, deep into the Mission I was traveling...alone. As I began to get nearer the Mission, I noticed the streets were deserted...oddly deserted.
I was unnerved as one of the locals had raised an upside down American flag. The universal signal for distress.

I pressed on. Visions of sugary goodness can drive men to take incredible risks. Like the one I was taking now with this solo journey. I had second thoughts and seriously considered phoning a friend, but alas, the receiver was encrusted with ...matter...and stuck to the base.

After the incident with the phone, I pressed on, eyes glued to the sidewalk so as not to step in any...matter. As I looked up to get my bearings, I noticed an odd thing. Cars were abandoned. Right in the middle of the street. Obviously, these people had to get out of the area in a hurry. What madness could have happened here?

Already exhausted by the trek and running very low on supplies, I stopped for provisions. The shopkeeper seemed nervous and spoke a native tongue I did not understand. We traded some beads and I got the supplies I so desperately needed to continue my journey.

Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man, no time to talk.

The signs were clear. I was getting closer. I believe this sign, roughly translated, said "Welcome."

Confident in my compass bearings and by the look of the obvious signs I was seeing, it was clear -- The Mission was close. Dangerously close. I pressed on for what seemed like hours and then stopped to break out my binoculars and get a read on my position. "Grocery, Liquor, ATM." By George, I was near!

I considered asking the locals on the corner for information on my destination, but unsure of the native dialect in this region and thinking it was safer to avoid mingling too much with the native population, I circled around. I reached for my binoculars again. At first, I couldn't make out the sign. I increased the power and it slowly began to bring the sign into focus.

I began to sprint. Partly because I was so excited at being so close and partly because moving targets are harder to hit.

I rounded the corner and it was there. Sweet mother of God, it was there! Tears streamed down my face.

I ask you -- what says "Authentic Mexican Bakery" more than a poorly rendered Minnie Mouse window painting? I cared not. I entered. I purchased.

As I left the bakery, retracing my footsteps back to safe haven, I reflected upon my journey. The triumphs. The tradgedies. The dangers. The thrills. Those I had loved. Those I had lost.

It was the trip of a lifetime (or at least a Saturday morning). I'm happy to have been able to bring it to you and I hope this record will serve others who embark on this rewarding trek.

God bless you all.