Cycling the Golden Gate Bridge
Last Updated on June 13, 2022 by Adam Watts
When in San Francisco, cycling the Golden Gate Bridge is a thing to do. Perhaps not the funnest thing to do, or the easiest, but it sure was a thing I did. Join me for the journey in the sun, in the wind, on the hills, and on the ferry.
Finding a Bike
The humble bicycle has two wheels and no motor. Invented in the early 1800s and largely unchanged in two centuries, the bike is an excellent invention in transportation. And interestingly, unlike in other forms of transportation, development of the bicycle has resulted in an entirely new species of human, a species that would make Darwin go “huh? what the hell happened?” For those unaware of this species, see pictured below the modern Homo bicycliens:
I am no Homo bicycliens; I am a regular Homo sapiens but I decided, while in San Francisco, to cycle across the Golden Gate Bridge. With no preparation, no warm up, and no idea what I was doing, I would figure this out.
At a bicycle rental store at Fisherman’s Wharf I was greeted with such enthusiasm and cheer that I instantly got a migraine. Was this the life of a Homo bicycliens? If so, existentially, my status as a sapiens was affirmed. Being assaulted with this much energy was exhausting.
Finding the Bridge
After escaping mostly unscathed from the rental store, and importantly, with a bike, a helmet, and a map, it was time to start cycling the Golden Gate Bridge. Wait, but first I needed to get to the bridge. The route from Fisherman’s Wharf to the bridge and over the bridge is almost entirely covered by cycle path, which is great to avoid being killed by a car. However, traffic on roads is almost entirely predictable. Traffic on cycle paths is not. There are other cyclists with fluctuating speeds from 0.5 mph to 20 mph, there are groups of people walking four-abreast, there are families with prams as wide and lethal as chariots. In short, there is chaos.
After escaping mostly unscathed from the Pram Warriors, I cycled on the road towards the majesty of the bridge itself. This part of the route I managed fine, albeit while struggling face-first into the wind. But then I remembered that bridges aren’t at ground level, so I would have to get up some hills. Well, guys, I tried, but I gave up after about 3 seconds and said screw this hill and screw this wind and I got off and walked up. In my defense, while pushing my bike up that hill, I overtook three other people. Take that, suckers.
The bike rental place had had the option of an electric bike. But I was on vacation. Who on their vacation would pick a relaxed afternoon scooting along the bay and over the bridge when they could battle the blazing sun and the hills and the intense wind? Not this guy. Give me pain or give me death!
Across the Bridge
Once up on the bridge, time passed quickly. The bridge is 1.7 miles long but while up there your mind focuses on two things:
1) How elegant this gigantic structure is and how stunning the views are, and
2) why is this path not wider?? I’m going to veer sideways and slam into someone and that someone is going to fall off the edge and oh man this was such a bad idea why couldn’t I have just looked at the bridge from down there!!!
There isn’t much time for counting distance and pondering what’s at the other end of the bridge.
Sausalito and Tiburon
But if you did have time to ponder that, the answer is Sausalito, a cutesy town overrun with cyclists, unsurprisingly. I was planning to stop for a drink and a bite to eat but given everywhere looked packed and the “bike parking” cost $5 to have your bike shoved into a pile of other bikes, I checked my map and decided to continue on. I’d made it this far, why stop now?
So on I went to Tiburon, another 10 miles away. I was going to list out the route and say turn left eight clicks past the old shed and skirt the outer rim of the bay’s edge and such like and such was. But instead you should try and decipher the guide the bike rental company provided, which is sun-faded, missing key points, and with a map so illegible even Ferdinand Magellan would’ve decided exploring wasn’t for him. Or, you know, you could just google an actual guide and hope you don’t end up at this blog post. Sorry.
At Tiburon, legs jelly, hands swollen, and butt sore, I sank onto a luxurious patch of thin grass and waited for the ferry. Job done. Journey over. The End.
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