Dandy Perambulations

As the urban hike marries the athleticism of the Alpinist with the good sartorial sense of the urban sophisticate, let me lay down the first, and perhaps most vital dictum: natural fibers only. Though gear is fine for Himalayan excursions, one must recall that a city hike is ineluctably urban, so the same prohibitions on neoprene, smartwool and (shudder) running shoes that apply to all places save Yosemite still apply.

A good urban hiker maps at least one good ascent into his route, so dress in layers, ideally with a scarf and hat - a tweed fedora is my preferred headwear for a good tromp. Wear one fewer layer than you would otherwise, and as you'll be traipsing about, and perspiring to some degree (we are merely civilized beasts, are we not?), there will be times when you'll want to shed what you can.

Footwear is critical, and the point at which many urban hikers make their gravest mistakes. I opt for the classic Clark's Desert Boot in beeswax leather. Sturdier than the suede version and born of the needs of British officers in Cairo, the Desert Boot is hale enough to tackle any puddle-bestrewn San Franciscan hill while still communicating good sense and good taste. I purchased mine from Shoe Biz on 24th St. in Noe Valley. Ask for Adam, when you duck in. He'll set you right.

Properly-shod, the urban hiker needs only two more things: a map (topographical if possible) and a book. The book, ideally, should easily tuck into you back trouser pocket. When sitting in some newly-discovered café or at the pinnacle of a hard-won climb, you'll want to catch your breath, savor the view, and for a short bit, have a read. For my hike I happened into City Lights Books in search of poet Frank O'Hara's "Lunch Poems" from their Pocket Poets Series. Despite its merits, only a fool would hike with the Collected Auden.

The first part of my urban hike was a jaunt with my wife from our apartment in the Mission to meet my eventual co-hiker Ezra for breakfast at the Liberty Café in Bernal Heights. He met us there, and over top-drawer housemade English muffins and eggs, we plotted our route. In the interest of exploring some of the city's more wooded environs and less-traveled neighborhoods I laid out my ambitious path: Bernal Heights to Glen Park, down into Glen Park Canyon, up to the city's highest point on Mt. Davidson, then down again into West Portal for lunch. From there it could be Stern Grove, St. Francis Wood, the Inner Sunset, or hell, maybe the Great Ocean Road.

Ready for a bit more urban action, we made our way down a very slick, steep path toward Portola. By this time, we'd worked up a proper sweat and were ready for lunch. We headed straight for West Portal's Manor Coffee Shop-a near-perfect time capsule of a 1940s diner I'd been keen on trying. Feeling rather like a flatfoot in an old noir I had a club sandwich with fries and a coffee. Ezra had a patty melt.

Old-timers came and went, some of whom looked like it has been their weekend routine for decades. We lingered at the counter, cooled our heels, and plotted our next move. We decided on McCoppin Square, if only because neither of us had been there before. We hustled down to catch the L at West Portal-the urban hiker should feel fully empowered to take public transport to, from, and during the hike-and rode it out Taraval St. to 22nd Avenue.