No more elevation markers, but must be down around 100' above sea level. Skirting around SAC.		When I returned to da Vinci, the rear cast was face down and one arm ripped off, the chest cracked.	I stood in the chai line for a few seconds, looked around the room and left. I had that Jane Goodall feeling again. The place was packed with all the wrong people.
Made the exit onto I-680, easy exit to miss, done it several times, and no easy turn around.
		There WAS enough wind to knock the cast back to the ground, but surely not enough to splinter the wooden supports. This was some yahoo. In full daylight.
		The burn was good but lacked the flair, timing and buildup of past years. Of course I got a few photos, but the image is in the only safe long term storage areas of my brain.
		Didn't make it all the way to the center ring of the fire. Nearly got trampled getting close enough to toss in a bag with a few thousand firecrackers, but I might as well have been peeing in the ocean.
Last greasing of my hands before home. Oakland is behind, San Jose just ahead.
			There is always a lot of pushing near the fire but it seemed that the soccer hooligans were out in force. Looking to see if someone could maybe get trampled.
	I headed back toward camp with a stop to just sit down for a few minutes. Carnival was in the air, but I was ready to head back into reality. A second stop at the remains of the Violet Hour camp to say goodbye to fast friends and promise an early reunion. A third stop at the trusty Porta Pot and off in to the night with some major concerns about the state of my hands.
			end

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