Even before I stepped inside, I heard the rumbling, churning sound of the massive sheave wheels, the source of motion for all of the cable cars in San Francisco.

And although I didn’t know it at the time, I too would soon be harnessing that power as I rode a cable car westward toward Golden Gate Park. I also didn’t know about the hilarious bright-red guy… but we’ll get to that.

First, let’s explore the origin of this power: the Cable Car Museum, for within the museum is the mythical powerhouse that drives the cable car lines. And as you’ll soon realize, the Cable Car Museum is a must see. It’s free, it’s educational, and it’s a blast. Even the welcome sign has something to teach us.

A Friendly Welcome & The Sheave Room

I decided to wait until the end to checkout the Sheave Room downstairs. First, I would investigate the rumbling sound coming from deeper inside. And since the sign had introduced me to a new word, I also needed to find out what a “sheave” was. As I proceeded inward, I soon realized the source of the sound I’d been hearing.

There was a powerhouse just below me.

The Source of the Sound

Of course! The source of the sound I’d been hearing was the very source of motion for the cable cars: the winding machinery, which consists of the electric motors, the cables, and the sheaves.

I should probably clarify here. A “sheave” is a wheel with a groove for a rope to run on. When connected to an electric motor, as in the case above, a series of them can be used to power cable cars around the city. And these sheaves are constantly spinning at a leisurely 9.5 mph.

In fact, four separate cables were being routed through the cable car powerhouse below me, and a sign nearby explained that each were supported by large sheaves and hundreds of small pulleys as they moved in channels under the San Francisco streets. To move, each cable car had a grip mechanism that, when used by the gripman, would grab onto a cable running just below the street to pull the car along.

The system, while designed over 100 years ago, was nonetheless amazing.

A Tale of 22 Lines

Soon, I came across this 6 ton giant. Grip car #46 (pictured above) was part of the Sutter Street Railway in the 1870s. Apparently, during the heyday of cable cars from 1880 to 1906, nine different railroad companies operated twenty-two cable car lines throughout the city. Competition was rife, and to prevent other operators from using their tracks, each company used different track widths.

Of course, the heyday didn’t last forever, and by 1956 the tracks for the three remaining lines were absorbed into San Francisco MUNI and standardized to work together.

Whatever company grip car #46 had belonged to, it was well-preserved; and I tried to imagine this car going down the streets of a much younger San Francisco without all of its modern skyscrapers and tech company giants. Obviously, it was quite a different world back then.

A Friendly Warning from the Vigilance Committee

We need look no further than a nearby sign threatening the hanging of thieves (pictured above) as an excellent example of how society has changed. I’m not sure where this was posted originally, but I doubt it was created for the museum since it was founded in 1974.

And yet, it’s very likely that this building has contained the winding machinery powerhouse for longer than that, so perhaps it was posted in the powerhouse to prevent any lawlessness. As you know I’m not a lawyer, so if anyone could leave a comment to illuminate me as to whether or not there actually were hangings in San Francisco in the 1800s, I would appreciate your insight. 🙂

At last, the Sheave Room

Eventually, I made my way down to the sheave room which routed the cables under the street. It was quite a feat of engineering, and I found myself staring at half a dozen or so wheels as they spun with an almost hypnotizing rhythm.

What would it feel like to harness that power? I decided to head back up the stairs to street level and find out.

Hanging Out & The Friendly Gripman

After waiting a few minutes, a cable car approached, and I jumped at the opportunity. It was already pretty full, but I’d never done this before and knew this was something I had to do while the opportunity was fresh.

Somehow I found a comfortable seat on the side. Ahead, I saw the gripman use the huge grip lever to clamp onto an unseen cable below the car, and soon we were roaming up one of San Francisco’s hills with ease. As we sped along at a smooth 9.5 mph, I held onto a grip and hung out from the cable car a few feet, resembling a rhesus monkey as I snapped some photos. Below, I noticed that another cable car track ran parallel very near to the track we were on.

Soon, I realized the interesting ramification of this as another cable car passed very close by us. So close, in fact, that I had to put my backpack on over my stomach so we could pass by without bumping elbows with anyone in the other car. I’m not sure if this is a common problem, and if our car hadn’t been so packed, it wouldn’t have been such a squeeze.

Welcome to Wonderland

Seeing the city by cable car is a unique and unforgettable experience. As we headed west toward Golden Gate Park, we passed construction projects, city monuments, famous hotels, and this hilarious man in a red suit (pictured above).

Now, at the time I didn’t know anything about the Sir Francis Drake Hotel, but later I learned that they require all of their doormen to wear these hilarious “beefeater” uniforms. Apparently, they’re going for a Medieval theme… or Alice in Wonderland. Either would work. Anyway, this guy fit into his surroundings about as well as a Bengal Tiger would have.

It was magnificent.

Soon, we were near the Haight-Ashbury intersection, just a few short blocks from Golden Gate Park. I jumped off the cable car and asked the gripman what I owed him. He waved his hand and told me it was free. Perhaps he could tell I wasn’t from the city, or perhaps he’d gone over capacity and already filled some kind of quota. In either case, I was grateful for his generosity; and as I walked west along Haight Street, exotic sounds of a street performer playing a sitar floated through the air.

The wonders of the Japanese Tea Garden were just ahead.

— Bonus —

It will not surprise long time readers to hear that Marco the Spacefarer continued to follow me on that day and therefore appears in all 15 photos in the accompanying photo gallery. If you’re new to the “Where’s Marco” game, it’s similar to “Where’s Waldo” or “I Spy”, and it’s totally fun!

Learn how to play →
Then find him in the photos! →

Continue the journey

As I alluded to above, next we explore the beauty of the Japanese Tea Garden nestled within San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park and the disguised sea monster inside:

See what happened next →

All accompanying photos are in the Cable Car Museum photo gallery. With so much free, high-quality content, why not tell a friend and share this article?

The tragedy had happened 80 years before I’d even arrived; and events had come together so that I could visit Seacliff to witness the results of that tragedy for myself.

When I arrived at Seacliff State Beach (safely near Santa Cruz), I was surprised to be struck by the realization that I’d been here before. Yes, images of that long pier in the distance echoed in what seemed like ancient memory. Still standing near the entrance, I looked to my left and noticed a colorful sign explaining the dangers of riptide, and I pitied any lost soul who dared swim in these waters, for I knew the secret. I knew what had caused the tragedy exactly 80 years before my arrival.

I surveyed the beach. Combined with a stubborn haze, the overcast clouds gave the entire scene a blue, gloomy look; and up ahead the sea seemed to merge with the sky into an unholy, unnavigable soup.

In the distance, I saw the stone monolith, but I looked away. Not yet. Not yet. Instead, I walked along beach in meditation for some time, but I knew I would be drawn to walk down the long pier once again, just as I had as a child long ago.

When I could resist no longer, I walked up the beach and stepped onto the long pier, the same pier that led to the results of the tragedy that had occurred long ago. And with understandable hesitation, I made my way down the pier to the immense grotesqueness that waited for me at the other end.

Along the way, I passed such unspeakable things. For some ineffable reason, I observed a box of dead squid on the edge of the pier. Having been stolen from the unfathomable watery depths, they had been reduced to a pile of lifeless blobs, their eyes still open and evoking the appearance of pure shock.

I stood there for some time, pondering the meaning of the pile of dead things in the box. And then, urged on by a nameless impulse, I continued my sojourn. I could see parts of the grey mass now…

Soon, I saw the vessel in its entirety. Around it, the sea itself seemed to form a hellish black mire which the ship was no doubt anchored to for all eternity. The ship itself was tortuously long and loathsome, and atop it were hundreds of blackened birds. And a closer examination filled me with sensations I cannot express.

Indeed, mere photography cannot grasp the scope of this grotesque vessel that had been turned to stone so many decades before. Of course, being people of science, I doubt you will believe this, but how else can you explain a ship that is made entirely of stone? Haven’t you heard the legend? After all, who would build a ship made of stone? No one. At least, no one of sane mind.

There are other, decidedly saner, explanations. Legend tells that this ship was once called the SS Palo Alto and was built for the Great War; but by 1919, the war had ended. So, being too late for the war, it was henceforth used as an experimental ship, outfitted with exotic energy devices designed by Nikola Tesla himself. (Although no one in the Defense Department will admit to this, of course. They maintain that the ship was docked for ten years before it was purchased by the Seacliff, Co. and the moved here, but that is only half of the story.)

And then, the great tragedy occurred.

According to the story, one of Tesla’s energy devices was successfully used to open a portal to another world. The crew rejoiced… until they saw what tried to come through. It was vast and unspeakable, and if it were to enter our world it would release universal pandemonium. In a panic, they rushed to close the portal—but not before a final blast of energy emerged from it, changing the molecular structure of the ship and its crew forever. In an instant, the otherworldly energy transformed the ship into solid stone.

The fate of the crew was even more hideous, for just as the ship was once lovely and useful before that day, the hundreds of birds that now sit on the vessel were once its crew. Since that day, they congregate together atop the rotting vessel in desperation as the memory of their human lives slowly fades. Only by staying together do they fight the tide of forgetfulness and remind one another of who they truly are.

— Bonus —

It will not surprise long time readers to hear that Marco the Spacefarer continued to follow me on that day and therefore appears in all 8 photos in the photo gallery that accompanies this article. The “Where’s Marco” game is like Where’s Waldo or “I Spy”, but more challenging.

If you’re new to “Where’s Marco”, learn how to play →

Can you find him in all 8?
Seacliff State Beach photo gallery →

Continue the Journey

To my surprise, the Cable Car Museum turned out to be much more than a mere museum, for within that legendary museum is the powerhouse which powers the cars around the city. In fact, I would soon be harnessing that power as I rode a cable car westward toward Golden Gate Park, seeing a hilarious bright-red guy in the process… but we’ll get to that:

See what happened next →

Let it be known that the legend involving SS Palo Alto is currently unsubstantiated and intended to be enjoyed solely in your mind. Offer void where prohibited. Not valid in the State of Utah. No motorcycles after 3PM.

All photos from this event are in the Seacliff State Beach photo gallery. All photos in the Byteful Gallery are under a Creative Commons license. Tell a friend about Byteful Travel… if you dare.