Yesterday my friends & I got up bright and early (read: around noon) and mobbed out to Baker Beach … after making a quick pit-stop on Clement for some mimosa-making supplies. It was foggy when we got there, so we spread out our blankets on the clothed side - among dudes in Polartec vests walking golden retrievers and a Russian wedding with no fewer than eight inches of clip-in hair extensions per bridesmaid - and ate our lunch.
An hour or so later, the sun broke through the fog, the sky cleared and my friend and I managed to talk everyone else into a mass migration to (dun dun DUN) the Naked Side.
While obviously I can't put naked pictures of myself and my friends frolicking in the ocean on this blog, suffice it to say it was an invigorating experience.
There is truly nothing like climbing on rocks barefoot, seaweed between your toes, as the waves crash all around you, nothing like running naked through the surf with a 40 of High Life in your left hand and a carton of Tropicana in your right. I can't help but throw out a really trite reference here, but … I've sometimes wondered what it's like to be on one of Ryan McGinley's infamous naked roadtrips. If yesterday was any indication, the answer is really, really amazing.
For real though, readers, you all should do this! Maybe you can't afford to jet off to the Ligurian Riviera for topless sunbathing, but it is fully possible to create a little piece of Cinque Terre right here in San Francisco. I'm not a hippie by any means, but being naked in nature is straight-up fun.