One of the most dangerous intersections in the Mission is now getting a bit safer with the inclusion of some long-awaited bicycle lane striping! Previously, navigating the dangerous Hairball Gauntlet has been extraordinarily treacherous for cyclists, especially those turning right off the skybridge from Cesar Chavez to Potrero who are expected to contend with merging traffic exiting from the 101.  While this spells things out a little more clearly, until they stencil in that bicycle guy (hopefully with pink helmets), drivers will still probably get confused.

Hopefully we won’t need to get the tank.

(BTW, I totally messed up by not taking the photo directly 180 degrees from this point of view so you can see what I’m talking about regarding the merging 101 traffic–this shortcoming will be ameliorated soon)

Expect the typical NIMBY and you-ruin-my-commute opposition. Why not swing by and give some counter arguments?

For some historical perspective:

1874: Precita Creek, future path of Army / Cesar Chavez, via David Rumsey (West is up). Serpentine Avenue — the old northern boundary of the Bernal Rancho – had yet to be straightened out. You see reference to the sewer they are about to put in — the one that is about to be replaced over the next few years.

And some of the efforts at widening Army St over the years in conjunction with the mid century highwayfication of SF.

1940, @ Harrison:

1962, between San Jose and Guerrero

I just want to be able to ride my bike down Cesar Chavez and not think I’m going to die, OK?

Everybody loves parades.  The Rose Parade, Dykes on Bikes; hell, Disneyland has a parade every single day.  And street festivals are all about revolution, taking back the pavement from automobiles and the insidious forces that promote their ubiquitous role in society.  Predictably then, the Cesar Chavez Parade and Festival was an obvious hit, marrying both concepts into a union that even the Mormons would have a difficult time de-legitimizing.

This fellow was particularly enthused to be part of the action.  Since they apparently wouldn’t let him be part of the lo rider escort team, rolling with the mobile mariachi unit was the next logical choice.  Oh, but you don’t have to litter, guys!

The unions also got to strut their stuff, which was probably the whole point when this celebration was initially conceived.  It was educational, too, since I previously had no idea that there was in fact a linoleum union.

As expected, the postal union continued their stagnant march ahead, blissfully unaware that the Post Office will probably be bankrupt in two years, having chosen to subsidize environment-wrecking mass catalog distribution and junk mail companies by resorting to steadily increasing the cost of postage for you and me to send simple letters, rather than attempting to creatively integrate the internet age into operations.

It’s unfortunate that it costs 44 cents for us to send a simple one-page letter in the mail, but Ikea (or pick whatever corporation you want) gets to clog your box with massive tomes that you will probably just forward directly to the recycling bin, and they only have to pay a mere penny or two to send each one.  Trees get chopped to supply all the paper, much of which often finds its final resting place in landfills.  All the while the USPS keeps hemorrhaging money without knowing why.  But arguing about snail mail on the internet is a tired affair, and I digress.  Plus, we’ve still got to get to the street festival!

Legitimate graffiti was also on display, giving artists a canvas for expression that promised not to anger homeowners or sketchy businesses.  Indeed, it takes the hood to save the hood.

All sorts of carts and tents offered delicious morsels such as marshmallows on sticks and tortillas with famous people’s faces on them.  Lots of people walking around with their children, most holding balloon creations of various shapes and colors.  A positive scene, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Sadly, not everyone could get it on the fun, but that definitely didn’t stop them from keeping an eye on everything:

I finished the day with a few tacos from my favorite spot, La Gallinita. Suadero, cabeza, pero no sesos.  You don’t wanna mess with bovine spongiform encephalopathy, or as Vonnegut put it, Ice-9.  Also, no I don’t know if that guy is wearing a baby holster, reverse backpack, or umpire chest protector.

The fun part of going there during a street festival is getting to witness moments like when these uncertain taco newbies follow up a question about accepting credit cards by asking if they served fish tacos.

You keep it real, little red hen.