Feeling re-energized, I waited in line to ride the cable car back to the hostel when I encountered some tourists from the New England area. I good-naturedly teased them about the series between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox for the American League pennant. (I'm not a baseball fan, but I can't help but be amused by the rivalry between these two teams.) They were guardedly optimistic about the Red Sox's chances to advance to the World Series, while I figured the Yankees would dash their postseason hopes yet again.
I boarded the cable car, riding in the front as I held a pole. Lumbering through Russian Hill was uneventful until we reached the Cable Car Barn and Powerhouse. At that point, the gripman said his shift was over and got off the vehicle -- even though his replacement wasn't at the depot. Many passengers were left stranded ... and his behavior left me infuriated.
Hiking the rest of the way back to the hostel, I explored Nob Hill and watched the city come alive for the evening rush hour. After reaching my destination, I concluded that Denver -- a place I've never visited -- has nothing on San Francisco when it comes to being "the mile-high city."
