I made the mistake of riding the 28 on a day the Bay Bridge was closed.

The 28 runs from Daly City BART to the Golden Gate Bridge along 19th Ave. and the Park Presidio, then heads east, ending at Fort Mason. With the Bay Bridge to the East Bay closed for repairs and new construction during the holiday weekend, the Golden Gate Bridge, along with The San Mateo bridge, became an alternate to get to the East Bay.

I avoided taking the 28 on a weekday. I used to take it daily for about two years as a commuter, and if I left at the wrong time I could find myself being passed up by packed buses until one stopped and I managed to find a space smooshed between someone with too many bags and someone who does not bathe frequently (of course these are not mutually exclusive). For some reason this route was never given the larger buses with two compartments connected by a device that looks much like an accordion that neighborhoods like the Richmond and Mission District have at their disposal. So, instead, the 39 seats on the bus get filled and another 100 people try to cram in on their way home from work.

I thought I was being clever by taking it on a Sunday. I got on at Daly City BART, along with what appeared to be 20 students. Because this bus also stops at San Francisco State University it gets very crowded on school days because the shuttles offered by the school can be few and far between and because those getting off at this BART station get a free transfer onto this line. I was a little surprised to see so many people heading to SF State on a Sunday, but I guess people are headed all over the city all the time.

We quickly progressed to the university and almost everyone got off. A large crowd got on, filling the seats once more. Luckily for me, my brother, sister-in-law, and darling 3-year-old niece joined me here, and my ride did not seem as awful as it could have.

By the time we reached Sloat, which is only a couple of miles away from the beginning of the line, things were looking pretty bad, traffic-wise. It’s not uncommon for this stretch of the road to get a bit congested, as my brother reminded me, and I was still optimistic.

By the time we reached Taraval, about another mile up, if that, people on the bus started grumbling and making phone calls to people with whom they were meeting to explain that they were going to be late.

By the time we reached Lincoln, which has the entrance to Golden Gate Park, we had been on the bus for 47 minutes. This is a distance of just over 4 miles, meaning we were crawling along at an average of about 5.5 miles per hour. For some perspective, this is 3.5 mph slower than a chicken runs.

It was getting warm and my nerves were getting raw, especially with the jackass sitting next to me blaring terrible music from his tinny cell phone speakers. I have lived here for years and driven during huge events like Power to the Peaceful, Fleet Week, and holidays. I have never seen traffic as bad as it was this day.

More and more people began calling people they were meeting, explaining that they were hopelessly late. The conversations among people on the bus were dominated by the speed at which we were traveling.

While the traffic was already grating on my nerves I was getting more and more angry at the young man sitting near me gracing us with entertainment for the ride in the form of terrible hard rock blaring from his tinny cell phone speaker. I thought I knew who it was, but as I worked up the nerve to ask him to turn it down I began to doubt that I knew who was holding the cell phone in question. The sounds were bouncing around the bus and plenty of people had cell phones on them. By the time I figured out exactly who it was I could no longer bring myself to ask him to turn it off.

Luckily, my brother was also getting tired of hearing the terrible music (as was everyone else, judging by the raised eyebrows and angry stares all around), and with a simple “hey bro, you mind turning that down,” he brought peace to us all.

The riders on the bus were almost all switched out at Park Presidio and Geary. A large crowd left the bus to catch lines that would take them downtown and to the Richmond District. There was no shortage of riders as an equal number of tourists, many European, got on for the ride to the Golden Gate Bridge. The chatter turned to German and I was no longer able to eavesdrop on stranger’s conversations.

While I was thankful to have my cutie-pie niece sitting next to me, she was losing patience on the ride. It turned out that she was actually just tired, and she was soon asleep, as was my sister-in-law holding her. I had lost my last source of entertainment while crawling north through the city.

About an hour and a half after leaving BART, we finally arrived at the Golden Gate, to everyone’s delight. I have seen this bridge literally hundreds of times, but every time I lay eyes on this beauty it takes a little bit of my breath away. Today was no exception.

The bus stop at the bridge is the same for inbound and outbound buses. It’s important that riders take note of which bus is pulling up before they board. If you aren’t sure which way a bus is headed or have a question, always ask your driver. They may snarl a little, but they are always knowledgeable.

There were so many people who boarded with so little of the route left that I was concerned that some of the people were headed the wrong way. No one seemed to be distressed as we continued on, so I guess that my concerns were misplaced.

The traffic was finally clear as we were heading away from the bridge, and we finished at a quick pace. A few blocks before the end of the route every tourist got off for the transfer with the 30, which takes them to Fisherman’s Wharf. There were two locals at the front of the bus, and the four of us in the back.

What the tourists didn’t know, but someone should have told them, is that at the end of the route at Fort Mason there is a beautiful path that runs along the Bay’s shore and ends at Fisherman’s Wharf via Aquatic Park, a strange, tiny bit of beach on the Bay.

I made it to this beautiful end of town where sailboats dot the shore and dogs and kids run around, playing. I was so glad to stretch my legs, and I vowed not to take the same bus back, breaking my round-trip when available rule. Please don’t blame me – after all, consider this: scheduled time to destination: 39 minutes. Real time to destination: 1 hour, 34 minutes. We traveled at a rate of 6.75 miles per hour, not quite the speed of a chicken, but we were getting there.