Author: punchwpadmin

I was born in a public pound in South Korea and came to the Peninsula through @princedogkorea, a rescue organization that saves pups from overcrowded shelters and neglect. When I first arrived in Menlo Park in 2021, I felt really lost—and it wasn’t just because I didn’t understand the language. I also didn’t comprehend the meaning of “love” and “home.” Thankfully, ever-so-patient Gabriella gave me the care and space I needed to settle in. (It took me eight months to figure out that an outstretched hand can be a positive thing: treat!) I’m still a bit shy and fearful around people, but I let my guard down completely around my pals, which include my cat housemate Lola, my bestie Kaida and my dog mom Marge, also a Jindo mix, who was adopted by a family just a few blocks away. Seeing that my personality comes out when I play, Gabriella recently pulled off a big surprise. In June, she rescued another Jindo mix from Korea to be my dedicated fur buddy. “Riley doesn’t really fit the mold of what most people think a dog should be,” I’ve heard her say, “but I love her like crazy, and I’m just trying to give her the best life possible!”

Calling All Dogs: If you've got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH.

Words by Sloane Citron

When I was shipped off to Andover prep school as a 15-year-old, it was a lonely journey. My father helped me carry my large black trunk to my third-floor room in Foxcroft Hall, shook my hand, wished me luck and happily left. There I was, 2,000 miles from home, an unsophisticated, immature Jewish kid from Amarillo, Texas. I felt like a scared little guppy in a tank full of sharks.

The other boys had formed their cliques (I came as a 10th grader while most came in as 9th graders), were incredibly smart and had a confidence that I envied. My goal was to survive that year and hope that my father would not make me go back, (Thankfully, I slightly improved my lot over time and managed to graduate.)

My one steadfast friend was my guitar, an acoustic classical model made by Yairi Gakki. When I was not working to try to pass my classes (I did, barely) or enduring the humiliating effort three times a day of finding a place (alone) to eat in the dining commons, I listened to the few cassettes that I owned and played my six-string.

One day, on a trip to the downtown Andover music store, I bought a songbook that had all the music of the newly emerging star James Taylor. I owned both his cassettes, Sweet Baby James and Mud Slide Slim and the Blue Horizon, and many of his songs spoke to me in my current situation. I learned them and sat for hours quietly playing and mouthing the words.
Taylor’s first and second albums were a collection of mostly melancholy songs; they spoke of “challenging” times and were warm and lyrical. In the song “Blossom” he sings, “Smile some sunshine down my way lately, I’ve been lonesome; Blossom, it’s been much too long a day. Seems my dreams have frozen.”

In “Long Ago and Far Away,” the lyrics go, “Long ago a young man sits and plays his waiting game. But things are not the same it seems as in such tender dreams.” The song tells how a young man’s dreams don’t match his reality and how expectations don’t last. Without my thinking too hard about it, the song deeply resonated.

Taylor and I would go on to live our lives, he finally finding tranquility, peace and stardom, and I finding—post-Andover—happiness and fulfillment, taking a more traditional path, building my publishing companies, raising four children and trying to discover who I am (still working on that).

James Taylor has always been my wife’s favorite too. A few years ago, I took her to see him at the SF Giants’ Oracle Park. It was somewhat of a disaster: freezing cold, too many people and seats that only allowed us to see him on the jumbo screen. We left in the fourth inning. This summer, when I learned that Taylor was coming to Stanford’s small, charming Frost Amphitheater, I bought the best seats available: second row, center stage.

The evening of the concert, we made our way to our seats to discover just how good they were. As Taylor came on stage—the charming, lanky, smiling performer we loved—we were feet away from him and his eyes met ours several times as he performed. From the beginning to the finish, it was the best concert we’d ever attended.

At the brief intermission, while the other musicians went backstage, Taylor hopped down from the stage to see and hug the man next to us, apparently a good friend of his. I couldn’t help myself and took a couple of steps forward so that it was the three of us in the conversation—those two talking and me silently nodding. When they were done, I turned to Taylor and seized my chance. He did not rush away but was fully engaging, welcoming and kind.

We talked for a few minutes. I told him that he had made a difference in my life when I needed it and how appreciative I was of his music being there for me and how I admired the man he had become. I became misty-eyed, as my life flashed around me. He looked at me with understanding, the kind that comes from having lived a period of your life in turmoil and pain and recognizing that we are all fallible. We did the “man” shake and hugged and then he jumped back up on the stage.

It was a surreal moment that will endure for me, the incredible joy of meeting the graceful, talented and humble man who had helped me through an early rough patch in my life. In his song, “Secret O’ Life,” there is a line that I have tried to embrace: “The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.” It’s worth remembering. Thanks for everything, James.

Now marking 22 years at Woodside’s iconic Michelin-star restaurant, Village Pub’s lead server shares her go-to comfort food, her crazy step count during a typical shift and a cherished encounter with the star of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

What’s the secret to delivering a memorable fine
dining experience?
Honestly, there’s no secret or substitute. It’s constant dedication and a ton of hard work. It may sound clichéd, but paying attention is critical. Every member of our team commits themselves every day to being 1% better than the day before.

What guided you towards the hospitality industry?
It runs in my blood! My mom and grandmother used to have really elaborate dinner parties, and me and my three sisters would get dressed up and host and run drinks and food. It sounds adorable, but we really learned so much.

What’s your go-to comfort food?
Nachos.

What’s your personal motto?
Do what you love and be the best at it.

How has the fine dining experience evolved over
the years?
It’s like an antique luxury car—I would imagine they’re always in the shop, with very fine adjustments being made all the time. I am happy to see that the scene is less serious now, and that guests seem more and more about being comfortable and just having a great time.

What’s your favorite type of exercise?
Hiking. I love being out in nature—it’s so grounding.

What’s a movie you could watch over and over?
Midnight in Paris or The Grand Budapest Hotel. Both are so beautiful and full of magic.

What TV show are you most embarrassed to admit you watch?
Everything on Bravo. Andy Cohen is my spirit animal!

How many steps do you take during an average shift?
Not sure, but I’d say between 10 to 15K. I really should start recording that…

What’s something people are surprised to learn about you?
That my husband is shorter than me. (I’ve always listed my height as 5 feet, 13 inches.)

How do you unwind after a long day?
MEZCAL! Well, it usually starts with an adult beverage, but just being home, in our own space, makes me feel a million miles away from everything. My man and I also love cooking at home.

What do you enjoy the most about your work?
Look, I make a good living, and that’s awesome, but the best part about what I do is knowing that for the two hours you’re in my section, you’re going to have an extraordinarily memorable experience.

Favorite celebrity encounter?
Paul Newman. He said, “Young lady, go ahead and order for me.” I chose the roast chicken. He was so kind—and he kissed me on the cheek!

Is E.T. phoning home? Some believe that “The Dish,” a hulking radio telescope in the Stanford foothills, was built to search the cosmos for signs of life. Although the history of Stanford’s Dish includes no alien communication, it nevertheless boasts an exciting saga filled with foreign espionage and interstellar rescue. In 1958, threatened by the Russian launch of Sputnik I, the Department of Defense commissioned the Dish’s construction after Stanford scientists submitted a proposal outlining its ability to spot enemy aircraft and the atmospheric impacts of nuclear explosions. After its completion in 1961, researchers could investigate our ionosphere and a local defense contractor listened in on Soviet signals bouncing off the moon.

However, under the near-complete control of the Stanford Research Institute, the device became much more than a Cold War spy machine. It measured electron content during the 1963 total solar eclipse, communicated with multiple NASA satellites and even helped map Venus’ atmosphere by sending signals to the Mariner probe. Unfortunately, radio interference in the surrounding Bay Area and NASA’s increasing frequencies of communication reduced the Dish’s functionality, and some even believed the university might sell it. Then in 1982, the underestimated apparatus made headlines after SRI scientists used it to save Britain’s malfunctioning satellite OSCAR 9 by sending a signal powerful enough to shut off its haywire transmitters. Twelve years later, workers were lowering the Dish’s humongous tripod when its cables snapped and it nose-dived to the ground. It took four months for the structure to be repaired and improved. Today, references to “The Dish” typically mean the 3.5-mile adjacent trail enjoyed by over 500,000 people each year—but the structure to which it owes its name still performs a variety of functions including satellite calibrations and spacecraft command. Sounds like E.T. might be sent to voicemail!

Words by Dylan Lanier

If walls could talk, Burlingame’s Kohl Mansion would chat your ear right off! Completed in 1914, the 40-acre estate—also known as The Oaks—was the country home of Frederick Kohl, heir to the lucrative Alaska Commercial Company, and his second wife, Bessie. Accustomed to a lavish lifestyle, the couple threw extravagant Peninsula high-society parties, but Kohl struggled with depression and family scandal. They separated after two years in the house, and Kohl moved into San Francisco’s St. Francis Hotel. Caretakers maintained the property after he took up with a new mistress, Marion Louderback Lord. Tragically, Kohl took his own life in 1921, leaving the estate to Mrs. Lord. During this period in limbo, the mansion served as the set for Little Lord Fauntleroy, a silent film starring the iconic Mary Pickford. In 1924, the Sisters of Mercy bought the mansion and turned it into their convent. Seven years later, the sisters opened Mercy High School with 36 students. By the 1950s, the expanding enrollment called for a new wing with additional classrooms and a cafeteria. The property made yet another Hollywood appearance in Flubber, a sci-fi comedy remake in which Robin Williams plays a brilliant but befuddled inventor who chases green sentient goo around the premises. Today, the property remains both a private all-girls high school and a popular event venue for weddings and other celebrations. Music at Kohl Mansion also uses the Great Hall, providing chamber music to appreciative listeners since 1984. Guests seem undeterred by rumors of a spooky spectral presence haunting the mansion since Kohl’s untimely death. While his presence from beyond the grave may be disputed, everyone agrees that if he has returned in spectral form, he’s probably just enjoying the party!

Words by Bob Siegel

Largely hidden from view, but easily accessible, the Arizona Garden is a floristic and photographic gem on the Stanford campus. Filled with flamboyant flowers in a vivid palette of colors, with points and swirls, weird shapes and curious symmetries out of some Seussian dream, the garden is a wonderful spot for an early morning photo shoot, a midday picnic with a friend or an afternoon contemplation.

Fence lizards, rabbits and squirrels scurry among the undergrowth. Perching birds and woodpeckers flit and chirp among the trees, and hummingbirds steal cactus threads to line their tiny nests. A redtail hawk calls nearby. A closer look reveals a multitude of insects and other small creatures pollinating the flowers, priming the soil and seeking safe haven.
A series of symmetrical paths demark the individual beds. In addition to myriad species of cactus, there are many other botanical curiosities—yuccas and agaves, aloes and jade plants, silk floss and coral trees, aeonium and spurge, palo verde and a boojum tree.

Predating the University, the garden was designed by landscape architect Rudolph Ulrich in the early 1880s. Although the name evokes our neighboring state, Arizona Garden refers to the drought-tolerant plants that are found there. Indeed, while some of the plants are native to the state of Arizona, others come from distant continents with similar climes. For much of the 1900s, the garden fell into disrepair. Restoration in the 1990s continuing to the present has revived the garden to its current vibrancy. Arizona Garden coordinator Christy Smith works hard to maintain the garden with the help of students and community volunteers.

For those who have more time, the Stanford Mausoleum, Angel of Grief statue, Stanford Arboretum and Cantor Museum are other nearby points of interest. Even a short stop at the garden is worthwhile. So, come wander… and take in all the wonders.

With its array of strange textures and alluring colors, the Arizona Garden is a great place for writers, artists and photographers to practice their craft. The garden is a frequent backdrop for family photos as well as wedding and graduation portraits.

The different shapes and forms in the garden reflect a variety of adaptations to arid or xeric environments. Unlike the cactus family (Cactaceae), whose spines are degenerate leaves, plants in the agave (Asparagaceae) and stonecrop (Crassulaceae) families—depicted here—have fleshy, compact leaves to minimize water loss.

In the garden, various tribes within the cactus family can be distinguished by their shapes. The red color adorning the house finch seems to mimic certain cactus flowers. The endangered golden barrel cactus (opposite) is sardonically described as “Mother-in-Law’s Cushion.”

While many of the plants “make a point” of keeping herbivores at bay, the garden provides a home for birds, insects and other small creatures. In the case of Anna’s hummingbird and the Valley carpenter bee, there is mutual benefit with the plants providing pollination in exchange for nourishment and nesting materials.

In addition to being a microbiology and immunology professor at Stanford,
Robert David Siegel is a docent and avid wildlife photographer who teaches
courses in photographing nature. web.stanford.edu/~siegelr/photo

Words by Johanna Harlow

It’s August 2022 at Linda Mar Beach, and a surfing competition is underway. Unlike your typical championship, however, the contestants are short, hairy and answer to unintimidating names like Teddy and Waffles. All perfectly normal at Pacifica’s World Dog Surfing Championships, where sea-savvy canines take to the waves to lick the competition.

Quite the crowd has gathered to see kelpies and corgis hang ten. Plenty of NorCal canines compete in the event, but contestants fly in from as far away as Brazil and Australia. Organized by TasteTV, the annual event has attracted the best in dog surfing talent since 2016.

Scoping out the competition with mismatched eyes is Skyler of Santa Cruz—and beside the Queensland heeler stands owner Homer Henard. “She doesn’t like swimming in the water. I think that’s why she surfs so good,” Homer chuckles.

Homer and Skyler surfing tandem

On board since she was a puppy, Skyler has surfed for 13 years now. “It kind of became her thing,” Homer explains. “Cattle dogs feel like they need a job.” Rather than go into the family business (working the ranch like her parents), Skyler opted to master the waves. She prefers her custom-made hardboard with traction crafted by Bob Pearson, one of the top shapers in the world. “The ocean is her dog park,” says Homer.

Between heats, Skyler retires to her tent to meet her many fans. “The groupies take pictures with her,” remarks Homer. Holding the title as the first dog to ever get barreled (cruising through a watery tube) and featured on an episode of Netflix’s show Pet Stars, Skyler has gained nearly 34,000 followers on Instagram (follow her exploits at @skylerthesurfingdog).

“Skyler’s huge in the UK,” Homer notes. “They always have crews coming over here and they’ll come and interview us and video us surfing.” She is also well-known for her volunteer work, partnering with surf-therapy organizations like Waves of Impact, Operation Surf and Mauli Ola Foundation to encourage kids with disabilities and wounded veterans to take to the waves. “They’re like, ‘If this dog can do it, I can do it too!’” Homer shares with a smile.

Back on the beach in Pacifica, owners continue to wade into the water with pups in tow. Responsible for setting up their dogs for success, they will need to select the perfect swell. Too small and your Lab will be fated for a lackluster performance, too big and your whippet will wipe out. Thankfully, life vests are on hand (or over tail) to keep dunked competitors buoyed. Human spotters stand by to ensure safety. “These dogs are stoked,” Homer observes. “You can’t make a dog surf. If a dog doesn’t like the ocean, it’ll run away.”

On shore, judges score based on ride length, technique and bonus tricks. They also take demeanor into account. (Is the dog calm or panicky?) Skyler’s unruffled assurance and confident stance have always served her well. During a prestigious competition at Huntington Beach, she once scored two perfect tens—the first to do so in the event’s history. “She’s leaning into the turns and is reading the wave,” Homer describes. “She’ll lift up one paw to go on rail in one direction and then she’ll put the other paw up to go the other way.”

What’s better than a dog on a board? Several dogs on a board! The competition heats up when the announcer broadcasts dog-dog tandem rides. As pooch pals team up in groups of twos and threes, the chaos mounts and more than one pack is dumped into the soup. Photographers (some of them international) heft cameras with lenses like mini cannons. Several wade into the waves in wetsuits.

Clearly, the surfing dog scene is no joke. Homer vividly recalls showing up to his first competition all those years ago. “People were serious about it. They had full pit crews… It was nuts! Dogs had outfit changes.” Elaborating, he adds, “A lot of the dogs are glamoured out. They wear sunglasses. They’ve got gold chains and leather jackets. And you’re like, ‘Whoa!’”

That said, the canine camaraderie is evident. “They don’t get all weird and standoffish,” Homer observes. Skyler and her bulldog buddy Rothstein will surf tandem today. The two often meet up for surf dates. “His owner John wants Rothstein to hang out with Skyler because Skyler’s like the Gerry Lopez of dog surfing, you know what I mean?” Homer grins. “He wants her to rub off on him.” Rothstein was jumping on boards long before John, but Homer has recently given John lessons so he can keep up.

Next on the doggy docket: man and man’s best friend. One regular tandem duo taking the board together is Kentucky and Derby (guess which one’s the dog and which one’s the human). Owner and goldendoodle cruise on in wearing sunglasses and matching blue mohawks. Next comes a scrappy youngster and his pit bull, both clad in neon green. And then a well-built old-timer with his stocky Lab. For his own ride with Skyler, Homer flips up an umbrella, “doing the Mary Poppins.” The crowd eats it up.

The day’s festivities also include “Yappy Hour” as well as a fetch competition and a pet fashion contest (meaning you might sight a Frenchie in a coconut bra or a Chihuahua with a mermaid tail).

As the festivities wrap up, Homer and Skyler win gold in both the solo and dog/human tandem rides. “The dogs know,” Homer says. There’s no doubt that Skyler lights up as the medal is placed around her neck to cheers from the spectators. “She comes home and she’s got a little pep in her step,” notes Homer. Skyler knows there’s a celebratory McDonald’s ice cream cone and steak dinner in her near future, which doesn’t hurt either.

Cheer on the Underdog

2023 Dog Surfing Championships
Linda Mar Beach, Pacifica
August 5, 9AM - 12:30PM
www.surfdogchampionships.com

Words by Sheri Baer

From her home perched above San Carlos, Bonnie Regalia raves about the view. But it’s not the expansive vista out to the Bay you’d expect. “We look to the Western hills, which is much more pleasing,” she explains. “It’s woodsy, it’s outdoors. It’s more of what I’m about: nature.”

Most of all, Bonnie’s backyard provides a dynamic spectacle she never tires of watching. She’ll spot chestnut-backed chickadees with their dark caps and white cheeks and listen for the repetitive chatter-like call of the oak titmouse. She delights in finches (American gold, lesser gold and house), which are flockers. “If you get one finch, you’ll get 12,” smiles Bonnie. Then there are the migratory visitors like orioles and cedar wax wings, which “look like they’re individually painted!” And, of course, the hummingbirds—the black-chinned and Allen’s that zip through in the spring and summer as well as the stunning Anna’s, which provide entertainment year-round.

Image by Annie Barnett / Cover Image by Rick Morris

“The show is continually changing,” she remarks. “This is one of the greatest places to bird in the United States because we’ve got everything.”

Bonnie’s passion for backyard birding isn’t just a hobby—it’s also her profession. As the longtime owner of Birder’s Garden in San Carlos, she takes pride in running a one-stop shop for Peninsula backyard bird and wildlife lovers. Along with providing expert advice, Bonnie stocks seed especially selected for local birds, houses, nesting boxes, feeders, bird baths… and every imaginable accoutrement for creating feather-friendly habitats. Located on El Camino Real with an additional back alley entrance, Bonnie notes that there is no natural foot traffic on her block. “We have to be good enough at what we do to make it a destination,” she says. “People have to want to come here.”

Bonnie traces her own path to the Birder’s Garden back to the shores of Lake Michigan. With family roots in farming and agriculture, she reveled in a childhood grounded in nature. “It was kind of like living in the Farmers’ Almanac,” she reflects. “We’d say, ‘There’s the first robin—spring’s coming!’ or ‘The migratory birds are going out—winter’s coming.’ If a storm was coming in, the lake seagulls would move inshore. We watched and talked about these things.”

Image by Rick Morris

After a Michigan childhood friend graduated from Stanford in 1968, Bonnie came out to visit—which inspired her own western migration the next year. She took a job with Carnes Piano in Palo Alto, before moving into accounting work for Silicon Valley startups. In 1996, divorced with two daughters, Bonnie read in a Wild Bird Center newsletter that the San Carlos backyard birding store was for sale. “My philosophy is that there are no coincidences in life,” she says. With support from the previous owners, the Small Business Administration and Wild Bird Centers of America, she swooped into the retail world with a resolute mindset: “I don’t do, ‘What if?’ ‘What if it doesn’t go well?’ Well, you’ll figure it out.”

Given that nearly a quarter-century has passed, Bonnie certainly did. Rather than a mom-and-pop, she became the successful proprietor of a single-mom brick and mortar. In the early years, her daughters would join her after school. “They’d help in the store and they’d start their homework. And then we’d all go home for dinner,” she recounts. “It really was meant to be.”

Image by Rick Morris

When the Wild Bird franchise agreement expired in 2006, Bonnie continued to operate independently under the new name, “Birder’s Garden.” An aptly descriptive moniker, the store invokes an all-things-that-flap-their-wings oasis. Enter from the back alley and you’ll pass through stacked rows of seed—in nearly 20 varieties, with bag sizes ranging from 5 to 50 pounds. (Birder’s Garden delivers to the entire Peninsula including the coast.) Will it be Backyard Basic, Songbird or Finch Blend? Dove & Quail or Nyjer Thistle? “There’s four and a half tons of seed here,” comments Bonnie. “And I have another half a ton coming in this morning. We sell three to five tons every week.”

“The mealworm came in,” calls out Caroline Spinali, who provides a steady staffing presence in the store. Bonnie nods in acknowledgement as she passes hanging displays of multi-shaped bird houses, hummingbird feeders and racks of hooks, poles and baffles. Bonnie realizes that the menagerie of avian-related products can be overwhelming. That’s where the education component comes in. Bonnie sees every customer interaction as an opportunity to impart knowledge and accurate information.

Image by Annie Barnett

“The backyard birding industry basically started on the East Coast,” she reveals, “and they still don’t recognize that not everything applies to the West Coast.” Not only does she rewrite and localize brochures, she also evaluates every item before offering it for sale. She gestures to a cast-off feeder sitting in her office. “I would never put that on my floor,” she says. “The squirrels are going to eat the plastic, and the plastic portals are going to come out of that in the first week.” Conversely, she points to a western bluebird box that earned her stamp of approval. “I had input into this,” she shares. “It has a longer roof and right-sized hole. It’s also protected so that a predator can’t get into it.”

After decades in the business, Bonnie appreciates the common values she shares with her customers. “They’re my people,” she observes. “We all care about nature. We all care about taking care of the environment.” For Bonnie, that means supporting and bolstering our Peninsula habitat. “What do you need in your yard? Native plants,” she advises. “Let things grow.” Citing factors like seasonal scarcity and tree removal, she views Birder’s Garden as a partner in supplementing essential food, water and shelter. In return, backyard birding delivers a spectacular display of colorful plumage and antics—set to a melodic soundtrack of chirps, trills and whistles. “Birds are also pollinators, and they eat insects, so they’re a good thing to have around,” Bonnie adds.

Image by Rick Morris

Even now, with her daughters grown and flown and five grandsons, Bonnie has no immediate plans to pass the backyard birding baton. She continues to relish her San Carlos hilltop perspective—amplified by all-weather, hummingbird, peanut, suet, niger and ground feeders, four bird baths and even a squirrel feeder—and cherishes the rhythm of her days in the store. “I like what I’m doing,” she affirms. “And I like the cause: backyard birding and taking care of wildlife. Why would I retire?”

Friendly to Feathers: birdersgarden.com

Homemade Suet Recipe

Rich with oils and proteins, suet is a high-energy food. There are lots of birds—like insectivores—that won’t come to a seed feeder. Especially beneficial in fall and winter, suet attracts feathered species like woodpeckers, nuthatches, chickadees and wrens.

1 cup chunky peanut butter
2 cups vegetable shortening
1 cup flour
1 cup rolled oats
1 cup coarse cornmeal
1 cup sunflower chips
medium-crushed egg shells

“Bicyclists and motorists who travel west of 280 on Sandhill Road will certainly have noticed the sign for The Horse Park at Woodside,” notes Menlo Park photographer Jennifer Fraser, who explains that this nonprofit equestrian center provides opportunities for educational, recreational and competitive activities. However, Jennifer relays that her connection is purely aesthetic. “Clouds frame the oaks that are so common to California landscapes,” she says, “and horses will often amble over to the fence to investigate a passing visitor.”

Image by Jennifer Fraser / jenniferfraser.zenfolio.com

Calling all Shutterbugs: If you’ve captured a unique perspective of the Peninsula, we’d love to see your Perfect Shot. Email us at hello@punchmonthly.com to be considered for publication.

“What’s a Nachi?” you ask. My family in Los Altos originally wanted a boy dog and had already picked out the name, Nacho. But then I came along—a girl—and Jennifer, Kenny and Daniel decided to swap the final ‘o’ for an ‘i.’ That was seven years ago, and they fully agree, “We cannot imagine Nachi being called anything else.” I’m a California black Labrador retriever, and they also say I fully live up to my breed’s reputation. I relish the feeling of the ball in my mouth, grass under my paws and the rush of the wind through my ears. And how lucky am I: The dog park is right across the street from us! It’s my favorite place to go, and I even know how to get there by myself. One time, when my leash didn’t come out soon enough, I wedged my wet black nose through a door gap and sprinted across the parking lot to the gate. “NAAACHIII! NAAACHIII!” I heard Kenny yell, and he seemed to be mad at first. But then he pulled out my ball and we played fetch until I was happily panting with my tongue lolling out of my mouth. Being a quintessential Lab, I also love swimming—and joy of joys, we go to Lake Almanor every summer. Here’s my perfect day: Nap in the sun. Walk down to the dock. Jump in the water. Paddle around for a bit. Repeat. That’s the good life—Nachi style!

Calling All Dogs: If you've got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH.

Kepler’s buyer and inventory manager shares what surprises people about Menlo Park’s iconic bookstore, a plot twist that truly shocked her and what she collects (which won’t come as a surprise).

Given that Kepler’s Books dates back to 1955, what most surprises people about the store’s history?
After 68 years, which included two near-death experiences, many people continue to be surprised that Kepler’s is still in business. We like to quote Mark Twain: Rumors of our demise are greatly exaggerated.

What does it take to make the cut as one of Aggie’s “Monthly Picks”?
I was raised reading classics, and my monthly picks are usually books I want to read and reread again and again. As many bookworms will attest, books pick me and not vice versa.

What was memorable about where you grew up?
I was born and raised in Sarajevo, Bosnia, the city now infamous for being under siege for 1,425 days during the break-up of Yugoslavia, the longest siege of a capital city in modern history.

What’s your go-to Peninsula restaurant?
I love Cafe Borrone next to Kepler’s. My favorite dish is their seasonal salad with the best raspberry vinaigrette in the world.

What do you consider a must-do on your bucket list?
Finish writing my novel-in-progress: You Are My Country Now.

What do you collect?
Not surprisingly, I collect books and even have different editions of some of my favorite books.

What do you consider to be the best and worst book-to-movie adaptations?
My favorite is Remains of the Day (after Kazuo Ishiguro’s book) with Emma Thompson and Anthony Hopkins. My pick for the worst is the recent Netflix adaptation of Rebecca with Lily James and Armie Hammer (lovely actors, but it didn’t work for me).

Where do you go on the Peninsula that recharges your batteries?
My favorite weekend pastime is hiking Russian Ridge in the Santa Cruz Mountains and having a picnic under the centuries-old trees (the Ancient Oaks Trail).

What’s a book with a plot twist that truly shocked you?
The recently published The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese. Something so shocking happens at the end of that book, and I never saw it coming!

What is your most cherished possession?
My mother’s notebook with her handwritten recipes.

What’s the last thing you do before you go to sleep?
Most nights, I read in bed for one or two hours. I have a big pile of advanced copies of upcoming books on my night table. Ann Patchett’s new book comes out in August!

What’s your favorite quote?
“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read.” —James Baldwin

Words by Sloane Citron

Well, it all started when I was visiting my son Coby in Israel early last year, and my grandson Evan asked me to bring back a steam engine train for his gift (see PUNCH, March 2022). While I briefly looked for such a thing, I knew that there was little chance of finding one in the land of milk and honey (but evidently not of steam engines).

I did find an amazing little BRIO steam engine train on Amazon. The precisely made toy not only produces true steam but also travels forward and backward (with a fair degree of power) and has working front lights. I knew Evan would be thrilled and so I ordered it to arrive in tandem with my return home.

Thus, the lie was begot.

Evan is obsessed with trains and this one rose to the pinnacle of his passion, going everywhere with him from school to car trips to, unfortunately, the playground where, once buried in the sand a few times, the little engine finally died. Nonetheless, he still carried it with him everywhere.

Eventually, I bought another one from Amazon and presented it to Evan as a gift from Coby in Israel, still embracing the origin story. Evan was back on his game, using it on the extensive track that covers much of the family room of my son, Josh, and his wife, Adara. Once again, a steam engine blew steam and pulled up to a dozen train cars along the winding and climbing track.

For the past week, my wife and I had the pleasure of hosting Evan and his sister Mara while his parents were on a company-sponsored trip to Bali. I made sure to bring his entire collection of trains and track—three large containers—to our home. I cleared out our living room, and Evan and I busied ourselves building an enormous track that covered that room plus our front entry and into our dining room.

During their time with us, I decided to play hooky with them one Friday and we had a day of adventures. Early that morning, we went to my office (where they love to play), followed by the bagel shop and then Century 20 in Redwood City. (Hint: If you ever want the whole theater to yourself, try to catch a 9:50AM show.)

We were halfway to our next stop to visit our former Rebbetzin, Robin Teitelbaum, who now lives at the Moldow senior living facility in Palo Alto, when Evan realized that he didn’t have his steam engine. I stopped the car, and we drove back to Redwood City, where, after parking in the garage and getting out of the car seats, we made the long trek back to the theater. After asking around and searching for ourselves, the crushing verdict was no steam engine.

The next day, we revisited my office and the bagel shop with no success. We walked the streets of Menlo Park, searched our home and tore apart the car with no luck. Perhaps the little train had run off to join the circus.

Though I am no fan of Amazon, this day it was our hero. In the midafternoon, I ordered another steam engine, and it was delivered to our door the next day. Evan quickly named this one Black Steam Engine 3. From the second it arrived, my four-year-old grandson discovered the art of caring for something that you relish. He carefully took it out of the packaging, saving the box, plastic holder and instruction manuals. We called Coby in Israel and on Facetime, Evan profusely thanked his uncle for sending the train to him.

Evan carefully filled the small receptacle that held the water to power the steam and quickly put the train to the test. Though these little trains are all presumably the same, Steam Engine Number 3 seemed to be a good one, with more power and an especially large plume of steam pouring forth from its smokestack.

The new rule for this train is that it cannot leave Evan’s home, ever. We’ll see whether he is still captivated by trains when (and if) it’s time for number 4. Meanwhile, somewhere, someone is enjoying Steam Engine Number 2, and I hope they are liking it. But while they have No. 2, they have nothing on Steam Engine Number 3, the best steam engine of all.

Words by Johanna Harlow

For Tony Vella, it’s a typical night on the job. On a street in the Tenderloin district, Tony cranes his neck up at a man with one leg out the window of a third-floor apartment. The guy has his arms wrapped around a 60-inch flat-screen TV. Then he lets it go. Tony instinctively arches back and—whoosh—the falling projectile breezes just over his head before it smashes across the concrete.

Dodging objects comes with the territory when you’re a stuntman. And tonight, Tony’s on set of the second Venom movie, filming a scene where the hero is embroiled in a Jekyll and Hyde battle with his alter ego and household items become casualties. It’s not Tony’s first time in the Marvel universe. You can also find him in Antman as a driving double for Michael Peña (AKA Luis).

Beyond stunting, doubling and driving, Tony works gigs as an aerial rigger and stunt coordinator. “Some people get known for being exceptional fighters—or they specialize in high falls, fire burns, driving, wire work, flying around or spinning,” the Pacifica resident says. “I’m an all-around guy. You know what I’m really good at? Getting beat!”

At the age of seven, he already knew he wanted to be in show biz. “Television was my babysitter,” recalls Tony who was raised by his grandparents, aunt and uncle in San Francisco. “The original Batman TV series really got my attention with the fight scenes!” Fascinated by the voices he heard in Warner Bros. cartoons, he experimented with impersonations. To demonstrate, Tony shifts his voice to a Brooklyn/Bronx swagger, “Pretty soon, I realized I could do a pretty good Bugs Bunny. ‘What’s up, Doc?’” He switches to a nasal stutter, “Or eh beh beh eh boy, Porky Pig.” Dipping into a dopier octave, he layers on a lisp, “Or ‘Hey! Bullwinkle Moothe here!” Tony also impersonated relatives and mimicked monsters like Dracula and Frankenstein. “My grandparents didn’t know what to do with me!” he laughs.

Later on, while caring for aging family members and working at an auto body shop, Tony squeezed in acting auditions during lunch breaks. He began securing instructional video gigs. “‘This is how we load the fry machine.’ ‘This is how we make the shakes,’” recites Tony in a chipper voice. “I probably did well over 75 of those in my career.” He also landed some “small parts in small commercials.” Undeterred by the slow slog, Tony kept at it, taking every local class he could on acting, commercial improv and cold reading as well as studying method acting at Jean Shelton Acting School. (“Keep trucking, keep trying, right?”) And then, on yet another audition, Tony noticed an ad for a stunt school on the bulletin board. Writing the number down changed his life.

After learning the precise art of getting pummeled, Tony found his way onto an episode of America’s Most Wanted as a cop who gets shot during a routine traffic stop. Suddenly, he had himself a niche. “Now I know what my calling card is! I’m the stunt guy who can act,” he realized. After two more AMW gigs, Tony started serving as a double for the character of Evan on episodes of Nash Bridges.

Tony poses with a cursed victim from The Bell Keeper starring UFC champion Randy Couture. Tony served as stunt coordinator on the film, which is currently awaiting release.

In those early years, Tony also performed in live shows at Vallejo’s Six Flags. In an epic water battle via fan boat, Tony morphed into the nefarious Two-Face. “I fought Batman and Robin, three, sometimes four times a day,” he recounts. He also skulked about as a henchman in the park’s Jungle Theater, an “Indiana Jones meets Laura Croft” kind of show. “You hit this button and then you had so many seconds to get out of the way because the big propane flame was gonna come,” he reveals.

As his career took off, Tony racked up credits in big-name productions like Penny Dreadful: City of Angels, CSI Miami, Zodiac and Contagion. He’s had the snot kicked out of him on 13 Reasons Why (ironically by the character of Tony) and he’s been punched in the stomach by Angie Tribeca (wearing a voluminous pink quinceañera dress and tiara, no less). He’s also had his head bashed through a confessional booth screen in Our Flag Means Death. (Look for him as Fred Armisen’s double in the “We Gull Way Back” episode.) Of course, under all that fake blood and prosthetic lacerations, Tony’s loving every minute. “I like the physicality of it. I like the creativity behind it. I like the magic of it,” Tony says. One of his more over-the-top stunts? He grins when he shares, “Not only have I done stair falls, but I did one in a dress, in a wig, in high heels. Backwards.”

Despite many graphic deaths, Tony has evaded serious injury—a fact he shares while knocking vigorously on wood. “I got hit in the face with a garbage can lid when I worked on the movie version of Rent,” he adds with a shrug. Nothing unusual there. “We call it ‘dings.’”

Beyond set work, Tony founded Bay Area Stunts, a Northern California stunt network serving the motion picture and television industry. He also teaches students the trade from the patio of his Pacifica home, which is fortified with gear—from body protection pads and aerial rig equipment to tumbling mats and crash pads. “A lot of the new people coming into the industry aren’t properly trained,” Tony says. “My course is designed to make you entry-level ready.”

In fact, he’s currently the only person teaching a Hollywood-style stunt course in Northern California. His class covers everything from learning about gear and proper techniques to understanding technical terms and camera angles. “When the course is done, I’m not done,” Tony remarks. He provides resume feedback and even recommends students for work on films. When Tony blocked fight scenes as the stunt coordinator for No Address (an upcoming film featuring William Baldwin, Xander Berkeley and Lucas Jade Zumann), he recruited his protégés to help him troubleshoot.

What will fate throw at Tony next? An anvil? A psychopath? A car with tampered brakes? Be it blade or blaster, Tony stands with body pads and crash mats at the ready. Go ahead, do your worst.

lights, camera, *ACTION*

bayareastunts.com

Words by Johanna Harlow

The labyrinth of life draws us all along unexpected paths. Can we embrace the journey despite its twists and turns? Can we trust the process, forging onward through the bumps in the road? For Lars Howlett, labyrinths and life lessons are intertwined. “I feel like labyrinths are an incredible tool for personal transformation—to set an intention or to solve a problem or to mark a period or transition in time,” he observes.

Lars’ career path as a designer and builder of winding serpentine footpaths (as well as a facilitator of contemplative walks) certainly took an unforeseen twist. His personal life too has taken him in unexpected directions. As Lars shares, “Through love, loss and new beginnings, meditative walks have helped me maintain balance, cultivate inner peace and continue to step forth with courage and curiosity on this journey, along an ever-unfolding path.”

Entering the Labyrinth

Now don’t get it twisted: labyrinths are not mazes. “A maze has dead ends and choices,” Lars differentiates. “It’s meant to be disorienting—and a game, really.” Its walls also conceal your direction. On the other hand, “A labyrinth is a meandering path that winds its way to the center… As long as you trust the labyrinth and yourself and keep putting one foot in front of the other, you find your way.”

Earlier on his vocational path, Lars worked as a photojournalist as well as a part-time high school photography teacher at Atherton’s Sacred Heart Prep. On syllabus day, Lars would take his students to the school labyrinth and they would walk the circuitous route while setting their intentions for the class. On the final day of the semester, Lars led them back to the labyrinth to reflect on their journey and consider next steps. He also returned on his own. “I found it a great way to decompress—especially if there was some difficulty with a student or it was the grading period,” he explains. “Just to kind of refresh and reconnect.”

When Lars’ long-term relationship ground to a heartbreaking halt, he built his own labyrinth in Half Moon Bay overlooking the water. (“To find myself again,” he explains.) Every time he went out to walk it, he’d find others winding along its path. Clearly, he had created a healing space.

“When feeling lost in a labyrinth, the important thing is to trust the path and continue forward, knowing that there are no dead ends or mistakes that can be made,” Lars reflected later. “I was able to cultivate acceptance and forgiveness for myself and others, realizing that the journey of life is a long, winding road.”

Moved by this grounding experience, Lars decided to attend a Candlelight Labyrinth Walk at San Francisco’s Grace Cathedral. Which led to a workshop with master labyrinth-maker Robert Ferré in the church’s basement. Which led to a trip to the Chartres Cathedral labyrinth in France.

It was a pilgrimage of sorts, Lars explains. Burnt out on photography and seeking fresh direction, he quit both his jobs, put everything he owned into storage and bought a plane ticket. After France, he traveled to labyrinths in Iona and Gotland to connect with his Scottish and Swedish heritage. “Since my future was kind of unclear, I decided to reconnect to my past,” he shares.

As Lars learned more about the enigmatic history and universal nature of the labyrinth, he became enthralled with designs dating back thousands of years. The double-spiraled Baltic Wheel of Scandinavia and the whirling chakra-vyuha of India. The 11-circuit medieval labyrinths of Europe and the square-shaped labyrinths of Rome. He discovered this “sacred geometry” could even be found hand-woven into baskets belonging to the indigenous peoples of the American Southwest. “Nobody knows who or where the first labyrinths were created,” he notes.

Turning The Bend

After returning from his trip, Lars wondered if labyrinths could become his new career path. He got his answer in a newsletter written by Robert Ferré, the same man he’d taken the workshop from all those months ago. “Our most experienced labyrinth artists are all pushing 60 years old or more,” Robert wrote. “Hello, is there a younger generation out there to carry this work into the future?”

When Lars came forward, Robert agreed to train him to follow in his footsteps. A project at Sofia University in Palo Alto would be the first collaboration of many. During another pivotal installation, Lars and Robert partnered with additional labyrinth makers at Denison University. Lars ended up rooming with Marty Kermeem—who, it turns out, installed the Sacred Heart Prep circuit that first set Lars’ journey in motion. “I saw Marty at one turn in the labyrinth and then I came back around and the next turn over, there he was again,” Lars chuckles.

In 2015, Lars founded his own business, Discover Labyrinths. Beyond work with private and institutional clients, he facilitates walks and teaches workshops through Veriditas, a community dedicated to supporting “all who wish to explore the labyrinth as a way to tap their own deepest wisdom.” With roughly 200 temporary and permanent labyrinths under his belt, Lars’ handiwork can be found across the Bay Area and beyond. Among his signature local projects: a pathway of lavender within walking distance of San Mateo County Libraries, a stone design in the old quarry site of Bernal Heights in San Francisco and an appropriately multi-colored design at San Jose’s Rainbow Park.

What you won’t find is Lars’ original “breakup labyrinth” in Half Moon Bay. After a season of healing, Lars threw the rocks back into the ocean. “I lifted the weight off of the land,” he says, explaining that each labyrinth has its own timespan. Down the road in El Granada, however, you will find a special labyrinth in an eucalyptus grove at Quarry Park. Lars built it with his then-fiancé/now-wife. He smiles when he adds that their daughter contributed her own stone to her parents’ design on a return trip.

Sticks and Stones

Like life, labyrinths are what we make of them—and the materials of Lars’ masterpieces elevate his work. Once, for a shoe drive to aid migrants, Lars formed a footpath out of donated sneakers. On another occasion, Lars utilized stacks of textbooks at a teachers conference.

On a personal note, Lars once repurposed the remnants of a shipwrecked fishing boat that had crashed on Half Moon Bay’s rocks. “Walking that labyrinth, I realized that my life had kind of felt like a shipwreck and had fallen apart into a million pieces,” Lars reflects. “By taking those pieces and putting them back together in a new form, it was as if I had taken the pieces of my old life and put them back together in a new way that could better serve me in moving forward.”

And when his grandfather passed away, Lars commemorated the traveling geologist’s life with a pathway made from his collection of rocks from around the world. “It was really powerful to walk through the stones from all his travels, to reflect on him and reflect on his life,” Lars shares.

Lars' memorial labyrinth to his grandfather

On the lighthearted side, Lars’ cheekiest design consists entirely of lawn flamingos (built for appreciative attendees of a labyrinth conference in Florida). “A lot of people think the labyrinth is very solemn,” notes the pathmaker, “but you can have fun in the labyrinth. You can dance a labyrinth. You can laugh through the labyrinth.”

So find your own twisting path. And see where it takes you.

around the bend

discoverlabyrinths.com

Labyrinth as Meditative Practice
(Created by Lars Howlett, Veriditas and Shauna Shapiro)

+ Set an intention. Focus the walk on a question/theme, 
or simply commit to experiencing your experience.

+ Attune to your emotions and attitude. Give yourself 
permission to feel and respond honestly and openly.

+ Prepare by focusing your awareness in the present. 
Quiet your mind and listen to your breath.

+ Follow the pace your body wants to go. Your stride 
may change throughout the different stages.

+ Feel free to move around others or let others move 
around you. This is easiest to do on the turns.

+ The path is a two-way street: people may be coming 
out as you go in. Do what feels natural when you meet.

+ If you are walking as a group, allow a minute for 
others who are entering or exiting before you start.

+ Be respectful of others. It’s an individual and shared 
experience. There is no right way to walk a labyrinth.

Words by Dylan Lanier

All aboard! The Menlo Park Station is a gateway to Caltrain rides up and down the Peninsula, but it also provides a journey into the past. Built in 1867 by the San Francisco and San Jose Railroad Company, the structure is the oldest railroad passenger station in California. The main building’s nostalgic design reflects the styles of a bygone era. First fashioned in the image of a picturesque 1850s cottage, the station received Victorian ornamentation in the 1890s to appeal to the students and visitors of the recently-founded Stanford University.

Whereas it previously took three hours to traverse the distance between Menlo Park and San Francisco, the new railway reduced travel time to just 80 minutes. This inspired city dwellers to seek out the Peninsula’s warmer weather, with many building residences, like Leland Stanford and University supporter Timothy Hopkins. In 1884, the station began providing the first telephone exchange for the area. A northwest extension was built after an influx of military personnel followed the establishment of Camp Fremont, a World War I military base located in Palo Alto and Menlo Park. For more than 50 years, up until 2020, the station provided a home for the Menlo Park Chamber of Commerce in the repurposed “ladies waiting room.” No faded relic, the Menlo Park Station remains a rich connection between the city’s past and present.

Words by Sloane Citron

Among my many character flaws is one to do with telephones. For reasons unknown to me, I have always had a fear of the phone, not the actual device itself, but everything to do with making and answering a call. I have not made any progress on this front since I was six years old.

As a child, I hated answering our home phone, but it had to be done and done properly, always with, “Dr. Citron’s residence.” Since my father was often “on call” as an orthopedic surgeon (think motorcycle accidents), answering the phone required careful attention. I was often alone in my house, so that fell on me. My sense of responsibility in these situations overrode my aversion to picking up the receiver, which was considerable.

When I was about 25 years old, I was visiting my Dad when the phone rang. Neither of us made a move to answer it, but eventually my dad exclaimed, “Answer the phone, Sloane!” I jumped up and obeyed because that’s what I did. After the call, he chastised me for my hesitation, and I told him, “I don’t know why, but I just hate answering the phone,” to which he responded, much to my great surprise, “So do I.” Ah-ha!

I’m a grown man now, with bunches of grandchildren, and I still hate the damn phone. Email was a great gift to me, eliminating almost all of the answering and making of calls. But still there are times when the phone must be used. Ugh!

For several months, I have had it in my mind to get in touch with some old (and I mean old) friends, namely the mothers of several of my childhood classmates. Maternal figures who were especially kind to me or who made a significant impact on my life. Women I held tenderly in my heart. Week after week, I thought about calling them, but that absurd phobia lay deep in my psyche.

But finally, I said, “Enough of this nonsense!” and I started my calls, three in particular.

The first was to Mrs. Barfield. She is the mother of my lifelong friend, Bourdon, whom I’ve known since we were three. She is a lovely, elegant woman. Her warmth, love and kindness when I was a child helped make my somewhat chaotic world more secure. When I talked with her, those emotions came flooding back. We had a wonderful conversation, recalling our shared past, our common friends and the current scene with her many grandchildren and now great-grandchildren. It was with veneration and care that we ended our call.

Next up was Mrs. Altman, a woman who “saved” me during my adolescence. Her son, David, and I were the only Jews in our middle school and had grown up together at our Hebrew school. After my mother departed Amarillo and I was left with my dad (and his girlfriend, soon to be my stepmother), Mrs. Altman stepped in, and for several years, I spent all of my weekends at her home. Though her voice had softened, she was still the feisty, caring woman who welcomed me into her family. It was only as an adult that I came to realize what she had done for me and when I think of it, I always tear up. Our delightful conversation brought joy to us both.

Next, I called Mrs. Standefer, the mother of my first true girlfriend, Susan, from grade school. She has always been my champion and thinks more highly of me than is deserved. She is the type of person who enriches your life and makes you feel better about yourself with her love and zest for life. We had an engaging call all about our old days and the sparkle of Amarillo and her recently lost phone, which she never found.

Calling these women—all of whom had an extraordinary impact on my life—was wonderful. Though it took a bit of emotional energy on my part, I know that I gladdened their days by sharing and recalling the lifetime of love we have had for each other. And, as these things work out, I’m sure I received even more from these calls than they did.

I’m making an effort to do more mitzvot (good deeds). These calls are a part of that. I have a couple more to make and I can feel my body freezing up and shaking in anticipation. It’s ridiculous, I agree. Conquering fears is a lifelong struggle. But I’ve learned that plunging forward can make someone’s life a little brighter, especially your own.

Awoooooooooooooooo! That deep, soulful, drawn-out howl is just my longer way of saying hello. I’m Ziggy
(@zigbean on Instagram) and I’m a Bluetick Coonhound, which is the official dog breed of Tennessee. However, it just so happens that I was born in Maine and moved from Boston to Menlo Park with Aaron and Paige. During our drive out here, we stopped in Knoxville, where I was mistaken for Smokey, the University of Tennessee mascot. It was fun getting all that attention, but I’m quite content now that we’ve made our home on the Peninsula. I’m named after Ziggy Marley, and his song “True to Myself” really speaks to me because I have a lot of unique attributes. You may have noticed I have really long ears. When I was a puppy, they touched the floor and they still dip into my bowl when I’m slurping up water. I also possess an uncanny sense of smell and enjoy searching for new sniffs. As you might imagine from my introduction, I excel at singing and almost anything will get me crooning out a tune. Aaron and Paige are big fans and even asked me to be the ring bearer at their wedding. I adore them so much and especially love a good cuddle. They made a big deal of getting me my own bed with a “better” mattress than they have. But I know where I belong at night: Right near Aaron and Paige, which means digging my way to just the perfect spot under the covers.

Calling All Dogs: If you've got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH.

Words by Dylan Lanier

While the Peninsula’s Dumbarton Bridge may pale in comparison to the Golden Gate, it’s certainly worth its salt! Replacing the original vehicular bridge built in 1927, the current Dumbarton debuted in the fall of 1982. This impressive feat of construction cost $70 million to build and stretches 1.6 miles in length. Seven years after it opened, the original four-lane bridge was re-striped to accommodate six after the Loma Prieta earthquake temporarily closed the Bay Bridge.

What’s that smell? Anyone crossing from Menlo Park over to Fremont is all too familiar with the sulfurous stink rising from the marshlands below. You can credit that pungent odor to rotting vegetation and organisms from the evaporating salt ponds. Another interesting fact: The first cars to cross the Dumbarton Bridge paid a $0.75 toll. Today, the 70,000 vehicles that drive across each day pay $7, with another boost approved for 2025. But at least one person escaped without payment. In 1971, the classic movie Harold and Maude featured a scene where a clueless Maude drives right through the toll booth on the original bridge and speeds off after a police officer confronts her.