Golden Gate Bridge walk

Last time we stood at the edge of the Golden Gate Bridge, it felt just out of reach. Without Jane’s wheelchair, crossing wasn’t really an option — so we admired it from a distance and quietly filed it under “next time.”

Well, this was next time.

To the Bridge

With Jane's chair ready, the sun on our side and nothing urgent on the calendar, we were finally going to walk it — all the way to the other side. It's about a mile and a half each way, so not exactly a lazy wander, but with no time pressure and a cool breeze on our backs, it felt entirely doable.

San Francisco has a knack for turning ordinary goals into small triumphs. Just setting off felt like something worth celebrating.

We left the hotel around 9 am and headed for Union Square to catch the number 30 bus, which carried us part of the way. A quick turn and short wait later, we hopped on the number 28 — the one that takes you straight to Bridge Plaza. Most of that ride is on the motorway, about 25 minutes depending on the traffic, and the bus has to battle its way through the packed car park to reach the drop-off point. It’s tight, but for us, the bus is the only realistic way to get there.

The Gift, Try & Stop Me

First up, the gift shop. We grabbed a couple of branded pens — you can’t buy Golden Gate merch just anywhere, probably because the image’s been copyrighted to the hilt. Bit of a racket, but part of the experience. Then it was time for a drink, a snack and a bottle of water from the coffee shop, even though I already had one tucked in the bag. Once you’re on the bridge, there’s nothing out there — no cafés, no loos, no vending machines. So best to be fully fuelled.

One thing that caught us off guard was the barrier height. Only about three and a half feet high in most places, which feels oddly low for a bridge that draws thousands every day. The only tall fencing is on the stretch above the fort and roadways below — presumably to stop anyone from jumping and landing on moving vehicles. Practical, if morbidly specific.

Bridge Walk — Pelicans & Prayers

Almost Across

So off we went — setting out across the Golden Gate Bridge with fresh determination and a few water bottles rattling in the bag. What you don’t realise until you’re halfway into it is just how steep the climb is, especially when pushing a set of wheels. It might look gentle from a distance, but my legs told a different story. Plenty of stops for breathers. Thankfully, once you hit the midpoint, it’s all downhill to the other side.

About halfway across, while I was lining up a few photos, two blokes nearby started chatting to us and asked about Jane’s leg. They seemed genuine, quietly curious. After a minute or two, they asked if they could say a prayer for her — and we assumed they meant later, maybe back at their church. But no — they dropped to their knees right then and there, placed a hand each on her knee, and gently offered a heartfelt prayer as people passed by. It caught us completely off guard. They asked if it felt any better — which it didn’t, to be honest — but smiled and said, “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” before wishing us well and carrying on. No ask for money, no preaching — just two kind souls sharing what they believed.

We made it to the far side in just over an hour. Tired but happy. A highlight for me was spotting pelicans gliding overhead — something I’ve always hoped to see. And to witness it while crossing one of the most photographed bridges in the world just layered the magic on thick.

The City From The North Parking Lot

Oddly, the north end of the bridge doesn’t have the same welcome as the south. No gift shop or café, just toilets and a car park that’s just as crammed and chaotic as the other. I’d hoped to climb the hills on the far side, where most of the iconic bridge photographs are taken, but between the time and the fatigue, it wasn’t happening. Besides, it was mid-afternoon, and the sun would’ve been in front of me anyway — those postcard shots are best in the morning. One for next time.

With water bottles topped up, we turned around and began the walk back. The bridge, as majestic as it is, is also thunderously loud. All that traffic rattling past just feet away makes you appreciate solid ground and peace all the more. Still, we’d done it — and that’s a moment worth tucking away.

Forts and Views — Hidden History

Battery Marcus Miller

Back at the South Vista Point, I’d spotted something on the satellite maps I simply had to investigate — Battery Boutelle, one of the old fortifications built to defend “The Gate.” That refers to the narrow stretch of water between San Francisco and Marin County, officially called the Golden Gate Strait, which is where the bridge gets its name from.

This sort of thing rarely makes it into guidebooks. But tucked among the hills, it’s easy to spot the old English influence in the construction — solid stone, curved lines, functional design. Very much like the forts back home, only supersized and set against views you wouldn’t normally get unless you were a bird or hanging from a drone.

Some Many Fortifications Along here

These batteries and forts were built between 1900 and 1917, designed to protect the bay from torpedo attacks. The artillery guns they housed could fire shells up to seven miles. It’s strange to imagine something so scenic having such a fierce past.

I probably spent too long taking photos — but with that backdrop and the faded grandeur of the place, it was hard not to. Eventually though, I realised I’d strayed a bit too far and had to retrace my steps to find where I’d left Jane. The terrain was anything but friendly — steep hills, loose sand, uneven paths and even a few ladders with no safety fences in sight. Back in the UK, a place like this would be securely fenced off or sealed up entirely.

It’s not remotely suitable for wheelchairs — but the sheer amount of historical structures here stretches for miles. It’s the sort of spot that deserves a whole day of exploring… assuming we ever make it back.

Buses and Chicken

By now it was only around 3:30, so we hopped back on the number 28 bus from the bridge. This time, instead of getting off at the usual transfer point, we stayed on almost to the end of the route. The funny thing was, we were the only passengers left. That’s when the driver turned and asked where we were headed — clearly assuming we’d missed our stop or wandered aboard by mistake.

To be fair, most people in this city do seem utterly bewildered by their own public transport. There’s no shortage of passengers who’ve no idea where they are, where they’re going, or when to bail out. So when we told him we were off to the Safeway superstore — and actually knew where it was and where to get off — he looked half impressed and half confused. Honestly, it’s easy to see why these drivers get stressed. There’s modern technology at everyone’s fingertips, yet half the city treats it like witchcraft.

Safeway, at last. This one’s got a bit of everything — and at prices that make Walgreens look like Fortnum’s. We’d been in this branch once before during a stroll along the marina, but that time we took a scenic route back and ended up hauling our shopping for what felt like miles. Lesson learnt. This time, we grabbed some sturdy reusable bags and did a proper stock-up. Our next bus was only a short walk away.

What we both fancied for tea was a roast chicken — and as luck would have it, there they were in the hot cabinet, golden-skinned and practically winking at us. Ready-cooked, no faff. Couldn’t have planned it better.

I love the Smell of Chicken in the Afternoon

It was a fairly big chicken, too — just five dollars, which felt like an absolute steal. Shame they didn’t have any coleslaw to go with it, but we weren’t about to complain. After about thirty minutes of shopping and at least a couple of bags full, we headed back out for the short walk up the road to catch the number 30 bus.

Now, whenever possible, we tend to avoid the 30. It barrels through Chinatown, and it’s always rammed to bursting — not uncommon for people to get off simply because the doors won’t shut. Fortunately, we got on near the start of the route, so things weren’t too bad… for about fifteen minutes. Then it filled up like a tin of sardines, and the traffic all but stalled.

I’m fairly sure our rotisserie chicken was making a name for itself by then — the smell drifting through the bus like a slow-motion food advert. Judging by a few hungry glances, we weren’t the only ones eyeing it up.

The upside to the 30 is that it drops you right outside the hotel — though crossing the road is another matter. At this time of day, the traffic’s endless, so we ended up walking to the next junction just to cross safely, then doubled back. With the city’s reputation for road fatalities, it felt like the smarter option.

Back in the hotel at last, and what a day it had been. We’d ticked every box, made it across the bridge, bagged souvenirs, spotted pelicans, even had strangers kneeling on tarmac — all topped off with a roast chicken feast that trumped our original plan of dinner at Rouge Bar. It went down a treat alongside a cold tin from the fridge and a heap of snacks for good measure.

By now, we were absolutely done in — time to flick on the big telly, flop on the bed, and rummage through the growing pile of keepsakes we’d picked up over the last few days. Just one last job before bed: taking out the remains of the chicken. You could smell it everywhere — even in the lift on the way in.

Some things travel well. Chicken scent is apparently one of them.

Reflections on the Day: A Day of Prayers, Pelicans, and Poultry Prestige

Some days feel like a chapter closing. Sunday was one of those — the long-awaited crossing of the Golden Gate Bridge, a goal quietly shelved years earlier when Jane’s mobility made it feel just out of reach. But this time, wheels were ready, weather was kind, and we had nothing but time.

Getting there was its own mini quest: two buses, a car park gauntlet, and a gift shop stop for pens that probably cost more than the ink inside them. Still, you don’t walk the Golden Gate Bridge without a bit of branded flair.

The walk itself was tougher than expected. That gentle incline? A lie told by postcards. Pushing a wheelchair uphill on a bridge that hums with traffic and wind is no small feat. But we paced ourselves, paused often, and soaked in the views — including a squadron of pelicans gliding overhead like feathered punctuation marks on a perfect day.

Then came the moment that will stay with us forever: two strangers, curious and kind, kneeling on the bridge to pray for Jane’s leg. No fanfare, no agenda — just a quiet act of faith in the middle of a tourist thoroughfare. It didn’t change her symptoms, but it changed the tone of the day. A reminder that belief, in any form, can be a balm.

The far side of the bridge was less welcoming — no café, no charm, just a car park and chaos. So we turned back, legs aching but hearts full. On the return, I detoured to explore Battery Boutelle, one of the old fortifications guarding the Golden Gate Strait. It was like stumbling into a forgotten chapter of history — stone structures built to repel torpedoes, now quietly crumbling against a backdrop of sea and sky. Not wheelchair-friendly, not even particularly safe, but hauntingly beautiful.

Back on solid ground, we rode the number 28 bus nearly to its end — just us and a driver who looked mildly alarmed that we knew where we were going. Safeway awaited, and with it, the holy grail of comfort food: a golden-skinned roast chicken for five dollars. No coleslaw, but who needs sides when your dinner smells like victory?

The number 30 bus delivered us back to the hotel, albeit in sardine formation. Our chicken, now a minor celebrity, perfumed the entire vehicle. I half expected someone to ask for a drumstick.

Back in our room, we collapsed with snacks, beer, and the smug satisfaction of a day well spent. The bridge had been crossed, the prayers received, the chicken devoured. And as we drifted off, the scent of roast lingered in the air — a delicious reminder that some triumphs come with crispy skin and a side of serendipity.