Fleeting

Out on this coast for business, my brother dropped by for a brief visit. I've often felt that he's not particularly impressed with California. We don't share many interests; how would I entertain him?

Flipping through the weekend listings, I realized it was Fleet Week in San Francisco. Heavy traffic, big crowds ... two reasons I've always steered clear of this event.

Research suggested that BART was the way to go. From the Embarcadero station, we walked along the waterfront. After peering at the not-yet-commissioned U.S.S. America (from afar), we wandered through the farmers' market at the Ferry Building. For lunch, we found the vendor with the longest line [deservedly so] and enjoyed some fine porchetta sandwiches. He managed to overlook the arugula.

Apart from the U.S.S. America, and one ship being towed through the bay, we were puzzled to see more Canadian than U.S. naval vessels. People stood patiently on epically long lines to tour some out-of-sight ships, and we guessed those must be some of our own.

The airshow was underway as we made our way along the waterfront, seeking a good vantage point. We paused at Aquatic Park to marvel at the acrobatics. I expected the lawn to be packed; it wasn't. We slipped into a gap at the water's edge, inching forward into the second row as others moved away.

Trailing red, white, and blue smoke, the Patriots Jet Team warmed up the crowd. As two jets split into opposing arcs, I smiled. I realized they would trace a heart in the sky, but a third jet surprised me by piercing it through.

To the east, the Blue Angels cruised by in the distance as another acrobatic interlude was wrapping up. “They're gonna come straight at us—watch!” We had scored perfect seats. I saw the smoke before I saw the jets; all six soared right over our heads.

They flew straight at each other and rolled sideways to pass. They flew high. They flew low. They flew straight up. They flew upside down. [How long can they do that?]

And then, as a couple of them distracted us with some tricky low maneuvers over the bay, a pair of Hornets flirting with the speed of sound roared low over our heads.

The expression on my brother's face? Priceless.