As a child, I hated clowns.
I found their garish, painted faces extremely frightening. My grandmother had two images of clowns
hanging in a hallway, and I would always avert my eyes whenever I walked past
them. Later, when a kindergarten
classmate had a birthday party featuring a clown, I fled the patio in terror. No, I was definitely not a fan.
Thankfully, I have managed to avoid all contact with clowns until
a few weeks ago. And this encounter
occurred in the most unlikely context: the San Francisco Bay Trail. I frequently run along the Bay Trail, and I
love it. Both cyclists and joggers use this
network of paths, and there’s frequent pedestrian traffic. At one point, as the trail passes a NASA
research center, the narrow path rises above the landscape, and there’s a steep
embankment on either side. I enjoy this portion of my run since it affords open, unobstructed views of the surrounding
wetlands.
While jogging on this stretch of path, I glanced up to see a
GHOSTLY FEMALE CYCLIST BARRELING DOWN THE TRAIL! The specter had a painted white face and a
swarm of curly hair that billowed from under her helmet. Startled, I nearly fell down the rocky
embankment. As I regained my balance and
continued on my jog, I determined that the spirit on the cycle had been wearing
an extremely heavy layer of sunscreen. What
else could explain a clown on the Bay Trail?
Several days later, as I entered the grounds of my apartment
complex, I overheard two residents talking by the stairs. While I could not determine the specifics of
their conversation, I noticed that the woman had a childlike voice. As I rounded the corner, I realized that the
squeaky speaker was none other than GHOSTLY FEMALE CYCLIST! She was, in fact, wearing her cycling jersey
and she appeared to have just returned from a long ride. (Where she had, no doubt, terrorized other local
residents.)
The high-pitched squeal of this woman’s voice made me smile,
and that’s how I arrived at my neighbor’s nickname: Baby Clown.
As best I can determine, Baby Clown is about 60 years old,
and she LOVES to exercise. While I
frequently see her on the Bay Trail, she also enjoys swimming in the pool of
our apartment complex. When she swims,
however, she wears a full wetsuit, with only her painted white face peeking
above the surface of the water. She’s a
rather vigorous swimmer, and I whenever I walk by the pool, she utters heavy,
high-pitched grunts. I find the whole
performance quite entertaining, and I’ve been tempted to film portions of her
routine, but that would be creepy.
And she’s the creepy one, not me.
