I had a happy adventure yesterday as I headed out to Golden Gate Park with my pals David and Oscar for the Chipotle Cultivate Festival.  I was sort of a tag along as this was something David was really excited about and I thought it could be a fun way to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon.

As it turned out, it was a fun way to spend a Saturday afternoon.  Unfortunately, we’d discounted the microclimate effect because we’ve been spending too much time in the cheery sections of the city.

If you’re not familiar with microclimates, that’s how the locals refer to the fact that in San Francisco, the temperature – and really the entire climatic character of the city – can change from tropical to arctic in the span of a few blocks.

When I first moved to the city, I thought it was cute that people actually used the word “microclimate” conversationally.  “I live in a good microclimate.”  “The Avenues are a bad microclimate.”  To be honest, I thought it was a little quirky and self-centered.

Then there was that beautiful Saturday my first summer here.  It was pushing 80 degrees in Hayes Valley and I decided I’d go to the beach.  One of my favorite features of San Francisco has always been that you can catch a bus or a train and get to the beach in less than an hour.  This day was crying out for a walk in the sand, so I hopped on the next N-Judah and headed west.

I guess I was caught up in my vision of what an afternoon on the Pacific would be like because I failed to notice that the bright blue sky was growing paler with every stop or that the air was becoming chillier and chiller.  I was in a California state of mind.  Hell, I was in California.  Where else can you enjoy the beach more?

When I happily stepped off the train at Ocean Beach, I was a little shocked – first by the gush of cold sea air that hit me broadside and then by the familiar Seattle-like light that filtered through the solid high, white clouds.  I was nearly the only one foolish enough not to be bundled in a jacket and long pants.

My big afternoon in the sand lasted exactly until the next N train arrived headed back to downtown.  On the way back, I did pay attention.  I watched as the clouds thinned gradually until we had crossed under Divisidero Street and the sun returned in full force.  I’ve since learned that Divis is pretty much the furthest west you can go and still count on good weather.  Now when I want to be hear the water I head for the Marina or the Embarcadero.

But Cultivate was being held at Hellman Hollow, about the midpoint of Golden Gate Park, so that was where we were going.  Somehow it got lost in the discussion how far into no-man-without-a-parka’s land the festival space was.  I prepped in sunny, warm Noe Valley, slathering myself with sunscreen and jumping into my shorts and muscle T.  Sure, I brought along a long-sleeved shirt – more out of habit than anything else – but I was sure I’d heard this would be one of those magical days when the sun shone all the way to the coast.

It wasn’t.

We grabbed the 5 Fulton downtown to get a jump on the inevitable crowds and watched as the sky grew hazier and hazier and the wind whipped up, blowing bushes and trees in all directions.  Without the wind, it might not have been so bad.  With it, wow!  I was glad for the extra T and still suggested that we all crowd together for warmth like I’d seen the birds do in March of the Penguins.

Luckily Cultivate was a really great event, which kept our minds off the cold.  The vegetarian protest at one of the cooking demonstrations was, oddly, a high point of the day.  And whereas I thought this would be a typical foodie fair, Chipotle worked hard to make it an interactive learning experience to bring us all to the healthy side of eating, too.  Add to that good food and lots of great beers and I almost forgot that I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore.  I promised myself that once my hands thawed, I would eat better at home.

So one new lesson was learned and another was reinforced in the fields of Golden Gate Park yesterday:  1) Eat fresh and avoid preservatives at all costs.  2) Never go anywhere in San Francisco without a light ski parka no matter how hot it is outside your front door.

Next year I will be prepared – and, of course, it will be 85 degrees without a cloud in the sky.