The Rock

The next day, after a blister-inducing exploration of San Francisco, my mom, Kyle and I set out for a well-known landmark: Alcatraz. Alan didn't go because, after having swam 300 meters in Lake Shawnee one summer, he isn't that impressed with the one-and-a-quarter-mile swim it would take to escape from the prison in the freezing and very strong currents of the bay. I, however, was impressed with the prison. And by impressed I mean, "I would never want to serve time there."



When you got up to the prison, you were issued a headset that led you on a guided tour, giving first-hand accounts of escape attempts and tantrums over spaghetti. The standard cell:



If you were brave, you could get locked into one of the solitary confinement cells, in the dark, but we bypassed that option. Here the super cheerful recreation area:



The view of San Francisco from Alcatraz.



After the Alcatraz tour, my mom and I limped to Pier 39 to have lunch while Kyle called us wimps. Then, as I was going into the bathroom at the restaurant, I underestimated the heft of the door, didn't get it open all the way, and banged my knee into the corner of the door. Really, really hard. I was then seriously gimping around the rest of the day. We did some souvenir shopping, and while Kyle really wanted a souvenir "Alcatraz Psycho Ward Outpatient" shirt, he left with a pair of sunglasses instead. And because my mom and I were in such bad shape, we threw in the towel and passed up a trip to the top of Coit Tower and opted to head back home for a nap and ice packs instead.