Death Race! And Swimming in the Bay

Death Race!

In 1976, my sister and I both had that morbid fixation that many teenagers had, with the added twist that we were both very well read. And one day, while reading the LA Times, I saw a negative article on the video game Death Race. 

Compared to modern video games like Grand Theft Auto, it was pretty tame. In graphics that seem only a shade more sophisticated than Pong and not as advanced as Asteroids, the objective was to run over people walking on the screen. Adding to the challenge, when one of the people was hit, a tombstone immediately popped up, necessitating using reverse to continue with the killing. The more people you ran over, the more tombstones and the more difficult it became to achieve the objective.

Look out, running stick figures!

The manufacturer claimed that it wasn't people, but 'gremlins' that were being run over. No matter, only a handful of the games were manufactured, and once the AP picked up the story, many were removed amid protest. It looked like I would never be able to play one. 

Some kids spent all their time in the arcade back then, playing favorite games for hours seemingly on the same quarter. I wasn't very good, though, seldom earning the extra life or ball or whatever. The value to entertainment ratio was low-I seemed to go through a lot more quarters than everyone else did, and generally preferred to spend my money on records and other things. Still, the idea of Death Race fascinated me and I searched all the local arcades. Finally, probably in '79 or '80, my Mom took my sister and me to Knott's Berry Farm, and in the arcade we saw it-Death Race. My sister and I quickly changed our dollars and set about on mass mayhem, gleefully running over the figures, laughing as we got stuck on the tombstones and had to shift into reverse, both trying to get past 'Bone Cracker' (4-10 kills) and 'Gremlin Hunter' (11-20 kills) in the allotted minute of time. I don't think either of us made it to 'Expert Driver' (which could possibly be a reflection on our current driving skills).

I think I've seen the game at one other place, but I don't recall where, and whenever I'm someplace with older arcade games I have a quick look to see if Death Race is around. According to the Arcade Museum website, though it was reasonably popular, only about 500 or so consoles were made. Again, the graphics are very primitive, and I can't imagine a high demand to play. But it does have that nostalgia appeal to me, recalling a day in Knott's Berry Farm when things were going pretty well in my life.

In San Francisco I was walking by the Musée Mécanique on Fisherman's Wharf, and thought I'd take a quick look around. Most of the things in the building seemed like scary fortune telling machines and creepy mechanical marionettes, the kind of things that start bad horror movies. There were a few old pinball machines and a couple of mechanical player piano type things, but in the back, hidden along a sidewall, was the holy grail-Death Race, looking like a well cared for machine. I immediately pulled a quarter out of my pocket, and dropped it in and it all came back to me in a hurry-running over a figure, a tombstone immediately sprouting up and having to shift into reverse. I had forgotten that as you run over a figure, the others on the screen move faster, making them harder to catch. They'll also duck behind the tombstones or run up on the 'curb.' 

I settled for 'Bonecracker' before continuing my day.

 

Swimming in the Bay

Aquatic Park with Alcatraz in the distance

 

In 1991 I competed in the 'Escape From Alcatraz' triathlon. I was in my late 20's and in one of my peak physical condition phases, having done the San Francisco Marathon the previous spring and competing in Master's Swimming events. I thought doing a 1.5 mile swim, 20 mile bike ride through the city and across the Golden Gate and following it all up with a 18 mile run through the Marin Headlands would be a good time, 

It was a good time, actually, and I learned something important about my athletic ability. I was a great rough water swimmer-I was out of the water 10th overall, in sight of all the race leaders (Mike Pigg, who won, and Scott Tinley) and I think I could have gone faster except that I didn't have my glasses on and really couldn't see. I'm an okay runner, but I'm a terrible bike rider. I felt like the entire race went past me on the bike, and it was a bit demoralizing. I wasn't really tired, but I definitely had a weakness.

I had some other memories, too, of that swim. The temperature was in the mid 50s, and I did it without a wetsuit. I remember going to a mandatory meeting of all the triathletes (and staring at the legs of legendary triathlete, Paula Newby-Fraser, far and away the best legs I've ever seen) the day before, and them recommending you swim that day so you'd have an idea of what you were getting into. I went to Aquatic Park and calculated that the swim should take me about 1/2 an hour. I jumped in, and the wind was knocked out of me. It was a good 10 minutes before I could breath normally. That lasted about 10 more minutes, and then my toes went numb, which spread to my feet and hands. At 30 minutes, my jaw also went numb, and it was time to get out.

In the race the next day, the same thing happened in the same sequence, and as I had calculated, I was out in about 30 minutes.

Every time I've been in San Francisco over the 30 years since, I've looked at Alcatraz and think to myself, "I could still swim that."

The last time I was in San Francisco, I notice a few people swimming in Aquatic Park and asked a pair of older women, both in wet suits, sitting in the stadium if they had just swam. 

"Oh yes, it's a lovely swim, lots of people do it." I chatted with them a few more minutes and made plans to swim it the next time I was in town.

Last week, I brought my swim suit, and since I was staying in Cow Hollow, walking distance from Aquatic Park, I told myself if it was a sunny day I'd give it a try. But it's not an easy thing to decide. The water is cold, there's no lifeguard, and if I go under, no one would know. I woke up at 5:30 AM, thinking about it, and again at 6:30, staring at the ceiling of the motel I was in. At 7 I decided to look up whatever information was on the internet, and found a few suggestions, among them to bring warm liquids to warm up the core, which continues to drop in temperature even after getting out. 

The water temperature was a chilly 59, okay for the air but very cold in the water. I decided that I was going to do it, so I through on my trunks, some shorts over that, a sweat shirt and some shoes. I brought $10 with me to buy coffee on the way back, and headed toward the water.

I had a thick cap and prescription goggles, and walked to Aquatic Park. When I arrived, a well insulated woman was putting her stuff on the bleachers preparing to get in. I asked about swimming etiquette, and she said that there was plenty of room for everyone. I saw people swimming counterclockwise around the buoys, and before I could talk myself out of it, I headed to the water.

It was cold. Very, very cold.

But I dove in before I could talk myself out of it, and after about 10 minutes, started to swim comfortably along. I chatted with some people in the water, and commented on what a beautiful day it was for a swim. At the end of 30 minutes, I was thinking maybe I should get some stroke work in before getting out, but told myself that my goal was 30 minutes, and 30 minutes was what I had done.

The chills didn't hit until I was in the bleachers drying off, and they rippled in a way that I never felt before, from somewhere deep inside of me. It was intense, and I understood what I had read before about core temps. 

But while sitting there, a man walked up and started to prepare to swim. He asked how the water was, and I told him that all things considered, it wasn't that bad, but that now I was getting chills and wanted some coffee. He said that he only swam on days that were like that, clear, sunny, warm and no wind. He also suggested I head up Polk Street to St. Frank's Coffee. A walk to thaw sounded like a good idea.

What I didn't realize is that Polk Street is all uphill.

My feet weren't quite responsive due to the cold temps. The warm sunshine felt good, but the actually walk turned out to be challenging-not because of the hill, though I'm sure that didn't help-but because chills were still rippling through my body for the next 15 minutes, about the time it took to get to St. Franks.

The shop looked very cool, and the coffee was good, but not amazing, and priced a touch on the high side. I wouldn't not go if it were the only shop nearby, but I wouldn't make a special walk either. I still prefer Philz, which actually was on the next block. 

After the swim, though, I'm thinking sometime soon I will conquer the swim from Alcatraz once more.