A Book of Walks Read online

  Mornings are also perfect for walking in the desert. If you want to take on the biggest hike in the area, climbing Camelback Mountain, usually you try to head over there early in the day when the desert heat is just starting to rise off the valley floor. Anyone who has spent time in the Phoenix area, even just driving through, knows the familiar outline of Camelback. What can you say? It’s a mountain that has a hump, like a camel, that’s where it got its name, and the hump is fun to climb.

  In the spring of 2012, I decided to hike Camelback one morning with Karen Sweeney, the executive assistant to our general manager, Brian Sabean, and Dr. Kenneth Akizuki, our team orthopedic surgeon, along with Chrissy Yuen, who is medical administration coordinator and works with our trainer, Dave Groeschner. We had a night game later, which gave us plenty of time to make an easy outing of it, and we saw no need to get up at the crack of dawn. By nine we were heading up to the start of the trail, around back of Camelback, and we enjoyed the hike. First you set out on a series of big steps sweeping up the gradual slope of the mountain leading up from the parking lot, surrounded by the deep red of sedimentary sandstone, then the climbing gets more serious and you have to work your way around the side of the mountain. There is some steep climbing and soon you come to a hundred-foot-tall outcropping of red rock poking right up into the sky that really makes you stop and stare a minute. It’s called the Praying Monk and it really does look like a monk tipped forward in prayer.

  One of the features of a great walk is a lot of variety, and another is great sweeping vistas — and Camelback offers a ton of both. By the time you get up to the summit you’re as tired from taking in so many stunning views as you are from all the climbing you’ve been doing. Well, almost. The doc and I were feeling pretty frisky and on the way down we really cut loose. We weren’t running, not quite, but we were moving along pretty good. It’s always exhilarating on the way down to cover ground in a hurry that took you a lot more time coming the other way, and you’re moving so good, it’s like the floor of the valley in the distance feels closer all the time. We got past the Praying Monk and were on the final stretch leading down to the parking lot when I heard my ankle go pop. I knew it was pretty bad. I’d rolled my ankle enough times to know that. But fortunately, I had a trained medical professional with me to give me an expert opinion.

  “You need to put ice on it,” Dr. Akizuki told me.

  I stared at him for a minute.

  “Twelve years of medical school and that’s what I’m getting right now?” I said.

  I had to hobble the rest of the way, or somewhere between a hop and a hobble, but at least we were near the end of the trail by the time the accident happened — and at least I was laughing. I had to put ice on it! I’d have never thought of that!

  My ankle swelled up so much, we actually had to X-ray it, but it was just a bad sprain, nothing was broken in there. Even so, after that I was a little nervous about climbing Camelback again. My left knee had always been my major problem, but I already had some history with my right ankle, too. Owing to a motorcycle accident I had a while back, that ankle is in bad shape. Ryan Klesko and I were shooting a commercial outside of San Diego back in early 2001 during my years managing the Padres, each of us riding big Indian Chiefs. We finished the commercial and I guess we got a little cocky and decided to just let ’er rip and have some fun.

  I dropped behind Klesko and then did my best to catch up, flying around a corner at high speed to close the distance between us. Well, meanwhile, he’d stopped, thinking I’d stalled out. There he was when I came flying around that corner, walking his Chief to turn it around in the middle of the two-lane road. I had nowhere to go. I had no good options. All I could do was try to stop: I put everything into hitting the foot brake, too much probably. You should use the hand brake a little bit more, but I didn’t have the experience to know that. So I slid right off the road. We were on the edge of a mountain and if I’d have veered off the road to the right, I’d have gone down about two hundred feet. I went to the left and went up the incline and turned my foot all the way around. The first doctor to look at it told me I had a compound fracture, but somehow it was just dislocated. Could have been worse! They patched me up, but I was in a boot for close to two months. In fact, we had Opening Day in San Francisco against the Giants and I was on crutches. Jon Miller was doing the introductions and when he read my name, he added, “Hustle up! Let’s go!”

  That was a short-lived deal for me, the motorcycle thing. I went and took a safety course, to do it right, but I never got to the point where I felt like I was riding with the wind, the way you kind of imagine. I was always a little nervous. If I would have gotten to where I was enjoying it, like I see with some of these guys, it would have been different. But once I got on the freeway it was white knuckles. Why ride if you’re going to ride like that? One bad spill was enough for me. The tendon is off the bone of that ankle now. It flipped. So I don’t have the support in that ankle I normally would have, which does tend to bark at me sometimes when I’m walking. I guess that’s just an unfortunate thing about getting a little older. There’s so much you want to do, but you’ve got to be smart about it. You’ve got to back off a little bit at times. But only a little bit. You can’t back off all the way and stop being active, because that’s why you’re living.

  CHAPTER 5

  WALKING FROM OHIO TO KENTUCKY AND BACK, OVER A HISTORIC SUSPENSION BRIDGE

  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love walking near water. Any city that has a river flowing through it probably has some good spots for walking, none better than a scenic bridge with a view up and down the river and right down into the current, if you want to peer over the edge. For me one of the highlights of coming to Cincinnati for a series against the Reds has always been the vantage point looking out over the Ohio River. For years the Reds played in Riverfront Stadium, going all the way back to 1970, and then in 1996 they renamed it Cinergy Field. Finally in 2001 they opened a new ballyard, the Great American Ball Park. It doesn’t matter much to me. Whatever they call their park, it’s right there on the Ohio River practically spitting distance from the Roebling Suspension Bridge, which was the longest suspension bridge in the world when it was built in the 1850s and 1860s. Cincinnati’s cool because you can walk across the bridge into Kentucky, walk around over on the other side, and then walk back across the Ohio River on the bridge and cross the state line again.

  The first thing you notice walking out of the ballpark toward the Roebling Bridge is the sheer size of the massive towers at each end. They needed to be massive, to anchor each end of the suspension bridge, and massive they are, constructed out of a combination of oak beams and a monumental assemblage of limestone and sandstone. Every time I walk that way I have to kind of stare up at the tower on the Ohio side, struck once again by how huge it is. The designer of the bridge, an engineer named John Roebling, wanted to make sure the towers were more than massive enough to support as much weight as necessary as horses and people crossed over the bridge, so the towers were intentionally built to be oversized.

  I got kind of interested in the designer, Roebling, as I walked across the bridge and read a plaque there that tells you a little about him. He started work on the bridge in 1856, but construction was interrupted during the years of the Civil War, starting in 1861, and it didn’t open until 1866. Roebling was from Germany, which is where Kim’s father’s family comes from. Later on I heard that Roebling studied bridge design in Berlin and also studied with Hegel, the philosopher, but decided to come to the New World to seek his fortune. Roebling started producing his own high-quality wire rope, which he used for the suspension bridges he built, and after he finished in Ohio, he soon went to work on his master project, the Brooklyn Bridge in New York. He designed that famous span, but died during the construction, following a freak accident, but his son oversaw its completion.

  When I look at the Roebling Bridge on the Ohio, I try to imagine the tools they had at their disposal back
then, and I think: How did Roebling get that bridge built? It’s incredible. We have issues trying to build a ballpark today, and they built this thing back when they did and it’s as solid as any bridge anywhere today. You look at water lines on the bridge and see how high the water has risen during floods, and yet that bridge is still standing, looking unmovable. That’s what I’m fascinated about, because they didn’t have the equipment and techniques that we have developed over the years. It’s like when I went to Rome and looked at the Coliseum. How in the heck did they build this back then? It’s amazing to think of spectator sports, all those centuries ago, and to think when I’m managing the Giants, out there in front of tens of thousands of fans, that being in an arena packed with people is basic and it’s something that goes way back. That’s where the spectacle of sports started, back with a competition between gladiators inside the Coliseum. That amazes me.

  Whenever I’m out for a walk as a visitor in a city, I’m always on the lookout for anything that will get me thinking about history. Once I walk across the Roebling Suspension Bridge and arrive in Covington, Kentucky, I like to take a left and follow Riverside Drive, heading north now. I check in on George Rogers Clark Park, which is best known for its views out on the river, but I like it for the seven bronze statues there. There’s one of Roebling, looking dashing in a topcoat; and also of Mary Greene, who became a steamboat pilot on the Ohio and Mississippi rivers starting in the 1890s, a rarity for a woman; and John James Audubon, the naturalist and painter, who lived in Kentucky for many years (who knew?) and loved to go on long walks as much as I do. I like to linger around those statues, trying to picture myself sharing a little conversation with people like Audubon and Mary Greene and Roebling, but then I move on.

  Of course, if you’re a Giants fan, you know I’m including a chapter on Cincinnati partly because that city will always kick up fond associations for us. When we boarded a charter from San Francisco Airport to fly to Cincinnati in October 2012 during the National League Division Series, I’m not gonna lie: That was not the cheeriest of flights. It wasn’t quiet, but it wasn’t loud either. It was really business as usual. The guys were loose. We’d been smoked by the Reds on back-to-back nights, right there in our home ballpark, losing 5–2 and (it almost hurts me to type this) 9–0. We had no answer for Bronson Arroyo and he just mowed down our hitters like he could do it all night long. We were behind two-games-to-zip and no team had ever come back to win an NLDS after falling behind 2–0 at home. I tried to keep on an even keel, the way I always do, but it seemed a tall order to return the favor and swipe not just two games in a row, but three, on the Reds’ home turf. Still, with a group of guys like that, you always believe and I had no trouble at all cranking it up for a pep talk before Game 3. That went over pretty well, but it turned out I was just the opening act. Next up was Hunter Pence, rallying the troops as only he can. It was something!

  The crazy part was, we almost felt that winning was inevitable once we got past Game 3 of the series, an extra-inning thriller we won in the 10th inning when Buster and Hunter got us going. The Reds gave us an opening. Buster and Hunter moved over on a passed ball and then Buster scored when sure-handed Scott Rolen bobbled the ball. Sometimes when you win a big game like that based on the other team’s miscues, it turns the dynamic of the series even more. It sure did feel that way. Angel Pagan’s leadoff homer in Game 4 gave us a lift right from the get-go, even though the Reds tied it in the bottom of the first. Barry Zito settled down and did a nice job for us and we had a 5–2 lead by the fifth and won going away. I guess for Giants fans it’s like a tune you know so well, you can all sing along: In Game 5, we were locked in a pitcher’s duel, Matt Cain and Mat Latos both putting up goose eggs, and then in the sixth Buster hit that grand slam we’ll all remember to the end of our days, jump-starting us to a six-run inning, and we held on to win 6–4.

  I tell ya, that one felt good. I was so proud of my guys for letting the game come to them and being ready to pounce on every opportunity. We had ourselves a heck of a good celebration that night, and the next day, we were kind of stuck in limbo, with nothing to do but enjoy what we’d done a little longer. The other NLDS also went to five games, and we had to wait a day to see whether the Nationals could beat the Cardinals at home to take the series. It didn’t make much sense to fly to another city until we knew where to fly! We had a free day, so I did what I loved to do: I went walking. And kept walking. And walked some more. Kim was there, of course, and she and I had a day we’ll never forget. The weather was perfect and we walked along those winding paths by the river, and stopped by and saw those statues I was mentioning earlier. Taking three in a row from the Reds was some feat, but afterward I needed nothing more than to decompress and that was what I did, walking here and there and everywhere, going back and forth from Ohio to Kentucky, taking in the day, being in the moment, and giving Kim my best “Life sure can be sweet!” smile. We didn’t know what was coming next, but we knew we were excited about it. I felt refreshed and recharged, walking with my wife. Amazing what a good walk can do for you.

  CHAPTER 6

  IN NEW YORK MY WIFE AND I SPEND HOURS IN CENTRAL PARK

  If San Francisco is my idea of the best walking city around, just for sheer beauty and variety, not to mention that great feeling of taking in a lung full of fresh sea air blowing in off the bay, I’d have to put New York right behind it. I’m not sure I’d want to walk through Manhattan every day. I might get a little tired of all the commotion. But for a few days at a time, especially when the weather is right, Kim and I just love our trips to New York. What a great city to walk in and take in the sites and the people. It’s a little challenging, because you’re running into so many people, it’s so busy everywhere you turn, but at the same time you just can’t beat walking as a way to get an experience of a city. It’s funny. I tend to fall into a little bit of a routine at home in San Francisco with my walks. I have my favorite routes I take, like walking along the Embarcadero to the Pier 23 Café for crab and turning around and walking back, or climbing the steps up to Coit Tower, or doing the big one and walking all the way to the Golden Gate Bridge. But in New York I have a different mind-set. I like to let the walks take me where they will. We never go the same way twice.

  Kim and I start out from the team hotel, just a few blocks south of Central Park South, and usually walk up Sixth Avenue toward the park. It kind of feels like home, in a way, we’ve made the walk so many times and enjoyed it so much. Even just walking through the city blocks, you see all kinds of places you know well from other visits. As you come up toward the intersection on 57th Street, you see the red awnings of Rue 57 lining the sidewalk and you know you’re close to the park. You pass your little delis, your luggage shops, all of that stuff stays pretty much the same over the years. Then you come up to 59th Street, with the big blue banner pointing you to the Ritz Carlton Central Park looming off to your right, and the green of the trees opening up in front of you and yellow taxis all sprinting past you to try to get through that intersection before the light changes.

  As soon as you cross the street and set foot in the park, it’s like the atmosphere changes. You’re still in Manhattan. You still feel all that activity and all those people and all that raw energy around you. But at least for visitors like Kim and me, Central Park always feels a little like a special kind of adventure. It’s like a carnival in there. Right there on the corner you’ll see horses and carriages stopping to pick up passengers, and next to them the pedicabs. Directly across from the Ritz is a giant statue of Simón Bolívar on his horse, which is pretty hard to miss. You can hit one of those little stands there for a hot dog or an ice cream or an iced tea, but I’m there to try to get in a good workout, so I’m not thinking about stopping. If I’m going to keep up with Kim, I’ve got to work at it, because she’s a walker. In fact, when I’m off at the ballpark with the team, she’ll keep right on walking most of the day.

  “I love New York,” she says. “There’s so much
to see. One time last year I left the hotel at one o’clock and didn’t come back until nine. I walked across the whole park. I was in stores some of that time, but I didn’t sit down for more than fifteen minutes the whole day.”

  Once Kim and I cross 59th Street, we generally walk right on up into the park through that area by the Pond. When Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux were designing Central Park after winning a contest in 1858, they made a point of landscaping the area and surrounding the Pond with trees to help give you the feeling that you’ve plunged into the middle of the wilderness. What they called “the Promontory,” now the Hallett Nature Sanctuary, wraps around the Pond and makes you think you’ve been swallowed up in some unknown woodlands. We keep moving and head past the Trump Ice Rink there, trying to imagine for a minute that it’s wintertime, with snow on the trees and people sliding around on the ice in skates.

  We walk past the rink there, picking up the long, gradual arc of East Drive, which takes you past a complex of buildings on the right, including the Central Park Zoo, and cut over on the 65th Street Transverse, heading back across the park now toward the Upper West Side. That takes us to the Central Park Carousel, which is always good for a smile. You hear that funny music sounding out, calliope they call it, even before you see the brightly painted horses. I always do enjoy a little history and I get a kick out of knowing that there has been a carousel there in the park dating back all the way to 1871. This is the fourth they’ve had, the last two having been destroyed by fire, and here’s a good detail: The current carousel, originally built in 1908, was restored and brought over from Coney Island, where it had been left abandoned at an old trolley terminal. Our boys Greg and Brett are thirty-five and twenty-seven now and Kim took them on that carousel when they were small.