A live band played on top of Hayes Hill encouraging the runners up, up, up as the dreadlocked San Francisco courtesans threw mardi gras beads from their studio apartment windows and beer and cocktails were openly swigged on the sidewalks. The light was bouncy and the weather was perfect.
I could tell when an old nudist (and they were all old men) was passing as Steven muttered "Oh dear God..." every single time. Thankfully these naked guys all sported shoes, socks, fanny pack, sunglasses and hat. Hopefully sunscreen. I reckon the fanny pack would be if their ass actually fell off mid-race, they'd have somewhere to stash it.
More photos? Go here. I love this city.