Learning to surf - Part 2

I came to Lahaina for 2 months in September of this year. I'm still here as I write this and the trip has lengthened into three and a half months. I will fly home to Aspen, my wife, my daughter and my dog and my life and job and friends December 17th with a pocket full of cash and my bicycle and my SURFBOARD as my checked luggage. I'm staying with Danny, rent free at his girlfriends house on Front Street. On the correct side of Front Street. The ocean is the back yard.

Oh, by the way, did I mention that Danny is not a surfer? My old friend Bruce came and stayed with us in Aspen a couple winters ago and brought his friend Robin.

Robin is his friend from his days living in Hawaii and Robin still lives in Hawaii. Robin was born and raised in Hawaii. Robin is upper body buffed out from a life in the water. Robin is dark skinned and carries some gnarly abdominal scars. Robin is burly and tattooed. Robin is not native Hawaiian, even though you probably thought he was with a name like 'Robin'. He's some kind of crazy ethnic mix as is often the case here. When Bruce and Robin came to Aspen, they were quite bundled up even after a day on the slopes. It seems that you get cold easily after you spend a bunch of time here. Even at night in the house, you couldn't see much of them what with all the clothes. I didn't give it a second thought at the time.

When I called Robin to tell him I was here in Hawaii, we planned to get together. I drove Danny's '69 Corvette Stingray down to Kehei. Robin lives in Kehei, maybe twenty miles south of Lahaina but a world or two away. If you blindfolded me and dropped me off in almost any neighborhood or mall (of which there are plenty) in Kehei, I would guess maybe somewhere in California only because of the vegetation and ocean. If you deposited me inside one of the suburban houses, looking out a window, I'd be geographically stumped to large general areas. It could be Florida. Hell, it could be Aurora or Highlands Ranch on Colorado's burgeoning Front Range. Anyway, it's brand new suburb land. I was recently assured that my attempt to find the 'old' part of town, thus something maybe interesting, was fruitless only because there is no such place. But, Robin's perfectly immaculate, split leveled, two car garaged, unobtrusively painted house has appreciated immensely in three years. I can appreciate that.

I had this ill gotten, subconscious image of Robin as kind of slight of build. Probably because he is such a nice guy and I only saw him in ski clothes before that day. Whoa, I bet there is some crazy phycology in that. As I slowly nosed the growling 'Vette into Robin's neighborhood, I saw one bad ass looking local in what the directions appeared to tell me was Robins' driveway. Oh great, I thought, it's going to be Corvette talk time with one of Robin's neighbors or worse, maybe this is Robin's never-been-off-the-island-and-damn-proud-of-it-cause-if-you're-not- proud-of-that-you-might-have-to-admit-that-you-have-never-been-anywhere
brother that he forgot to tell me about. Haoles? Duh, take one look at him. He hates all Haoles.

I reconfirmed my scribbled directions and actively avoided making eye contact with this man. Between me and my Corvette, we comprised everything you could see in any direction that didn't belong here. That was the driveway. It was Robin.

Seems like a good kind of friend to have around here. Robin has all the toys. Danny gave me the opportunity to learn how to surf, though, slowly realized. Robin taught me or is teaching me how. Day one with Robin walking into the surf at Kehei Cove, he taught me the eminently important ethics of how it works out there. What to do and not do to avoid getting punched out.

No, ethics is not the word. The word is etiquette. If you don't know and follow the proper etiquette, you are assured a confrontation. Even if you do, one could ensue at any time. I heard two guys cursing each other my first day out with Robin. This was at the beginner beach.

So, Robin tells me etiquette as we walk out. Next, while I'm still walking, this other guy starts asking my techno questions about the board I'm pushing. I had no idea about the board. But, given his questioning, I can ascertain that it is a cool board. Not some floating styrofoam like the rental boards. It's a 12 foot long hollow board. I know that much. More techno. questions from another guy that wanted to sit and talk tech while I wanted to try to catch waves.

I tried to catch waves. Turns out that like skiing and biking, there are technoweenies in surfing. They can talk the shit all day, but can't really surf/ski/bike. Of course some can do both. Talk and perform.

Learning to surf - Part 1

I came to Hawaii for two weeks in the early Eighties. Surfing was a non-subject. It was so far from my realm that it didn't exist. It wasn't as if I had watched surfers and thought that I could or couldn't do it, I simply didn't see it. We water skied, (on the ocean, Danny still does). We sailed on the Hobie, we partied and traveled in packs.

Many of my old Aspen best friends ended up in Hawaii. All on Maui in Lahaina before a gradual dispersion took place over many years. Nancy has been on Kauai for twenty years. Karen lived on the big island a long time and is now on the mainland doing an extended R.V. assisted travel session. Donna is in Paris. Tim? Bruce is currently in Aruba. He lived in Taos, Sonoma, Vail and other places. Majic is on the 'Other Side'. And of course the unofficial leader of our loosely defined gang, Danny, still lives in Lahaina. Oh yeah, and Moose lives up north in Kahana.

We functioned as a group. Just like in Aspen. But in Hawaii the laid-back island attitude had particularly infected my gang. Hence the unofficial, never written down, but still known moniker nonetheless. I was a visiting member of The Slow Dumb Gang. We also sometimes called ourselves, Club Foot.

The S.D.G. was all funny and overly appropriate. After the fourth day of not actually getting out of the house till well after noon, and doing nothing of significance once we did, I became privately frustrated. Significant in the 'I'm in Hawaii for the first time aren't we supposed to go snorkeling or up Haleakala or something type of tourist activity' significant.

Of course, the stumbling around town in our tattered young group of friends looking for a place that serves breakfast late and booze early to 'hair 'o the dog' our perpetual hang overs is ultimately much more memorable and significant. I mean, how lucky?

We were all pulled to Aspen at the same time from different places for different reasons with different plans. We became instant life long friends sharing those two apartments, #615 and #625 stacked on top of each other in Silver King. We lived out of both places. I as often as not climbed up the outside of the building and came into #625 over the deck rather than used the stairs. Nobody said anything. It was just StevO.

Nancy was from Minnesota. Danny, Florida. Bruce and Jimmy, Connecticut. Richie Boy from N.J. Lucy and Barbara Sue grew up in Aspen. Krazy Kenny from Texas. Johnny D. from N.Y.C. Annie C. from eastern Canada. Donna-wanna from Conn. Majik from R.I. Juan N.M. Chevy? No idea. Ralph and The Good Doctor D? No idea. Shelfish, So Cal. Etc. and I'm omitting a lot.

And now here some of us were, wandering the coveted lanes of Lahaina. So, as I said, I didn't even see surfers then.

I came to Lahaina again for two weeks in the late eighties/early nineties. I think I was on my way to New Zealand that time. Never made it past Lahaina. On my thirteenth day out of fourteen, I took a surf lesson. I saw this guy lounging on the beach next to a bunch of huge soft surfboards. It was the morning, we agreed that I would come back at 4 for an 2 hour private.

During that day, we went to Baby Beach (no longer there) To play Frisbee. At that time I was still newly half deaf, having crashed my bicycle on Main Street in Aspen a few years earlier and used my head as a slowing down device. The beach Frisbee sessions are great, diving catches into the eighty degree ocean. It was the 'Locals' beach and Danny even kept the sailboat there. I was in the zone. As I lunged prone horizontal to the water, I could hear my friends' hoots and hollers. I couldn't make out the words with my one good ear. It wouldn't have mattered anyway as I was already air borne. I could only assume that this was a spectacular leap and hey, I caught it! At the same instant my fingers clutched the disk, I hit the water. But, I also hit the shoal at the same, same time. I bounced off of it the way football players sometimes bounce off the field wrapped around the ball. I gained a pretty accurate relief map of the surface of the shoal on my torso. A big circular abrasion bloomed nicely across my chest. I was also pink from a couple weeks of Hawaii sun.

I showed up for my lesson. A skinny white, I mean, pink boy with a red, soon-to-scab 'drawing' of a shoal across my bony frame. Just to make absolutely sure that it was obvious that I was an totally clueless beginner, he had me put on a pair of white too-big-for-me sneakers before we went in the water at the Break wall with these ridiculous boards. They were highly buoyant. If you couldn't stand up on one of these, just give it up and go the the bowling alley.

Well, I 'got up' yes I 'caught a wave'. It didn't really look like a wave. It looked to me more like a small amount of softly frothing foam running up toward the beach being pushed shoreward by a whole lot of nothing.

The next day I flew home and didn't return to Hawaii till October 2001. Three weeks after 9-11 I flew to Hawaii and stayed for a month. I didn't remember to go try to surf.

Spring of '05 I went to Costa Rica for 2 weeks with my friend Halsey. Halsey wasn't interested in taking lessons or renting one of those big stupid looking boards. We wandered into a hut and rented a couple cool looking surfboards. We proceeded to get pleasantly pummeled for the next several days.

After two days of near death, no breath experiences this stunning girl came walking toward me as I rested and turned pink on the beach. I thought I finally must be getting good at swimming into big waves, getting knocked back further than where I started and doing it over and over till I finally was somewhere beyond the breakers and could finally focus on never even once getting up on the board, and she was coming over to tell me how fast I'm learning.

She sat down, didn't look at me but pointed out to the waves. She said, 'You should swim out over there where there are less breakers, it's a lot easier.' I was elated that someone had been watching progress'. She left. That was it. It helped immensely, I proceeded to get out past the breakers much more quickly and was lucky enough to not catch significantly more waves that I wouldn't have caught without her help. I did end up catching one wave long enough to think 'Wow, I'm ...' then I crashed and realized that the board had even turned slightly under my feet for me.

After 5 days of this we returned our boards and walked away up the northwest oriented beach, never to return. We eventually walked, hitch-hiked and stumbled all the way to Nicaragua and went to the island of Omotepe in Lake Nicaragua. Another story, another time.

From then till this time, I told people about how I 'caught a wave'. I was quick to point out that I was talking in the singular here. I hadn't been catching waves . . . rather, I caught a wave. But that's not the case anymore.

Jaded Nonchalance, the Ultimate Compliment

That she should mention my jaded nonchalance concerning fireworks affords me the opportunity to elaborate.

I've lived in Aspen twenty years longer than Bridget and have awed at the shows for years. They are the best fireworks shows you will ever see. Aspen can afford it. It is particularly spectacular in the winter with snow covered Aspen Mountain looming out of the darkness with each colorful explosion.

In the 'Old Days,' we used to ski in the 'torch-light' descent during the winter display. At that time all you had to do was show up at the base of 'Ajax' and go. Not that I remember this but I'm sure some years we just went to Little Nell's apres-skiing until it was dark and they fired the lifts back up. So much more convenient than going home getting out of all your ski clothes only to suit back up shortly again. Plus, it left a lot more time to drink.

I've dashed up the Ute Trail on the 4th. I was partying in Wagner Park and finally noticed that it was about to get dark. I bolted to Ute Ave and ascended. Ute Trail is a nasty little switchback infested affair that people train on. I didn't have time for switchbacks! I went straight up the steep creek made crease that gives Ute Trail its boundary. I wasn't cutting switchbacks on the trail. I was next to the trail. I popped over Ute Rock with sweat streaming and my tee-shirt firmly gripped in my teeth. The first people I saw were less than five feet away as I lunged over the top in my obviously agitated state. Their eyes lit in surprise as the first booming scarlets exploding below announced my arrival. I found my friends and tried to calm my heartbeat. The trip down the trail in the dark with no flashlights was harrowing.

I've watched the 4th of July display in Whitefish Montana over Flathead Lake. They shoot the fireworks off of a floating dock out in the lake. It is also quite spectacular, refracting the lake and hinting at the jagged escarpments of the Mission Mountains leaning back against the 'Big Sky' state.

But the second most impressive 4th. of July display I have ever seen was from a rocking chair on the deep porch of the Roosevelt Lodge in Yellowstone National Park. No, they don't allow fireworks in National Parks. It wasn't a bunch of errant teen-agers shooting off Bandito bottle rockets that they secretly bought in Nebraska while Dad was fixing something in the camper and Mom was in the service-station restroom, doing whatever moms do there. It was a slashing voracious thunder storm with tightly choreographed lightning blowing rents in the stacked, blackening clouds. It was Yellowstone, which alone is powerful enough. It was the lesser visited Roosevelt Lodge and the Lamar Valley area. The storm arrived as a northern Wyoming sunset was slowly wrapping up. The pines swung ponderously. Wildlife sniffed around and dashed away with the thunder.

That was all worthy, but the single most spectacular fireworks display I have ever witnessed, and I guess my wife doesn't understand this, it was so stupendous, as it was happening I knew it would never be repeated, matched or topped. It was the kind of show that can leave a person jaded and nonchalant toward any future attempt. I sat out on the grass. I was with this beautiful woman. It was all so new and exciting. I met her that day! I watched fireworks with her the first evening we ever hung out. She was obviously intelligent, articulate and lovely. The venue wasn't the best. We had a kind of sideways, partially blocked view of the event. It was another of the classic Aspen shows, where pretty much the whole time, it's going off as if it were a perpetual Grand Finale. Then comes the Grand Grand Finale. The show ended, the night got back to itself and we all dispersed.

I married Bridget two years later.

So, would someone please explain to me how I am supposed to be excited about any shows after meeting Bridget at an Aspen one?

And hey, lets not overlook the fact that last winter we walked up to Aspen Mountain for the X-Games fireworks. We took Ellie. It was fun and we even walked up the slope a little.

Honolua Bay, Part 2

I've only got nine minutes left and I was hoping to talk about Honolua Bay and meeting 'Buna' and his brother, whose face was half deep tattoo.

Buna told me stories about his grandfather surfing here when he was young. At that time you had to either be dropped off by a boat or take a rugged horse back trip hauling your surfboard to get to this mythical bay.

He told me to paddle over whenever I see him and I told him that if he ever sees an old blue Corvette parked around, then I'm there.

He saw the car that day and I really hope to catch back up with this guy. I even thought about if I were to ever get a tattoo, it would be through these guys.

I can only assume they didn't come into Lahaina and get them at 'Skindeep' or any other tattoo assembly line.

Chronic Observer

I'm just a lucky of the luckiest kinda guy who ended up happily in Colorado.

I know there is the real world of yer' supposed to do this here whatever by this age or live in a place this here so you can justify yer' John Deere.

I am not looking for that. I am looking. I have recently realized that. I am a chronic observer. Watch everything around me and want to write it down.

I went to Honolua Beach today. It's the Mecca of surfing. Me? I'm a beginner. But, I am lucky enough to be a beginner surfer on Maui.

Slippers

I wrote a letter on an envelope.

Now . . . why would a fella write a letter on an envelope? Well, because the smallest amount of envelopes I could buy at the nearest ABC store was a box of 50. I'm here for 5 more weeks. If I write 10 letters a week, well, I'll have to scramble to find one more envelope at the end 'cause I so brazenly used this one.

I did it. Yesterday, I finished the 5th floor. I hung the last few vanities, put bulbs in and then hung 57 bath trims. 9 am to 10:30 pm.

Today I'm getting a later start, but I drove the 'Vette so I can work late. I'm back to demo/rough the 4th. My feet hurt from standing on the edges of bathtubs and my wrists hurt from the twist. My surfboard suffers lonely neglect.

Drag races Friday night! My last chance to get some t-shirts.

More coffee, boy on an ape hanger handlebarred beach cruiser just strolled, in a slowly rolling troll down Front Street. The surfboard he carried bit at the gentle tip of his breeze, nosing instinctively out to sea. There is a proper speed to ride to maximize coolness, It's slow, effortless pedal strokes. You don't want your slippers (flip flops) coming off. But too slow and you weave like a tike on a trike. I always go super uncool, way-to-fast, road-bike-speed.

But I'm old, I got grey hair flowin', salt and pepper eyebrows accent the graying side burns. Let's not talk ear hair, shall we? No one can see my tattoos 'cause of the caucasian colored ink. I got strong lookin' legs but no one looks at that. All these people have been ocean swimming their whole lives. Not me!! Look at my arms!

I'll be back!

That sun spits out vents through rents in Lanai's cloud veil. Chips and shards of supercharged silver and blinding white glare, burn off the sea and heat the blooming plumeria tree. Afternoon, a couple hours shy of the truth-is-stranger-than-fiction sun burnt and purple sunset sky, giving the night another try.

This morning would have been a water ski day. We watched with our surfboards as the glass said 'kiss my ass' and our wax melted. So Robin pulled out the big long hollow boards and paddles.

We got wet.

My road bike is demoralized as it has turned its 'Dura-Ace' components to being my overpriced, fragile commuter bike. I can ride bikes in Colorado, but I can't surf there. I can't surf here either . . . yet.

Paddle-surfing. It's apparently the oldest known form of surfing. There are petroglyphs of paddle-surfers carved in lava somewhere.

I just made that up, and I was expecting some punchline to appear but none did. I love the line and the thought though. Plus, it's as likely as not to be true. I know there are petroglyphs here. And I also know there are petroglyphs of skiers in Scandinavia somewhere.

Okay, paddle-surfing. You stand up on the board and propel yourself forward with a paddle. People actually surf waves this way. Or you can travel laterally to the beach up or down the shoreline. It's a great balance exercise. And great for regular surfing.

I'm sorry, but this is crap! I'm here to interrupt myself. It's almost 5 and I'm typin' away like some kind of kin unathletic whatever.

I can write more later, when it's dark.

I can't surf when it's dark, I can hardly surf when it's light.

I'll be back. But remember, surf's NOT up!

Debt of Gratitude

I'm sittin' here totally SOLO on the beach, at the house, the three bedroom, two bath, ocean FRONT, pointed-toward-the-sunset, only one hot-tub and four Tiki torches between me and the 80' Pacific ocean, full moon rising, all-by-my-lonesome, 'ain't got nobody to talk to, especially someone that could understand me, empty house.

An' all I kin do is write clever shit with cool speling.

I'm listening to 'They Might Be Giants' C.D. 'Flood.' A truly great album.

Forget this! I'm going out to the Point. That's where the outdoor dinner table lives out on the Lanai (porch). A little concrete enclave that juts slightly out into the sea from the edge of the Lanai.

This place is really good.

My Friend EG, best man in my wedding, he's been an electrician for twenty five years. He does okay. He sure 'ain't gettin' rich. He has been renting and living the content bachelor, always tons-o-roommates, no worries, Island lifestyle for as long as I have known him. And I've known him since I lived that way too. That's why I know him.

So, six months ago, he meets this girl, GF. EG ain't had too many girlfriends over the years. Turns out that after living (renting) at an ocean front house for 8 years, they actually finally sold the house, and EG had to move out. I don't know if I understand this exactly right but, GF, his new girlfriend, BUYS not his house but the house next door. EG moves in by knocking down a fence and carrying his stuff from one house to the next.

Except now he's rent free. And, so am I! On the friggin' beach in ... no, not some place like So. Cal. No, I'm less than 50 miles from 'Jaws', look that up on Google! I'm on friggin' Maui!

And, this is the 4th time! I owe EG a debt of gratitude. Good thing 'cause if it was any other kinda' debt, I don't know How I would ever repay it.

Halloween in Lahaina. I was the pineapple truck. I built it. It was the best of many great vehicles we created for our costumes. It's important to me that people know that I'm a real artist. I got some real talent. Mom's an artist.

I just can't remember creating or showing any art to any of my Montana friends. Or writings.

I'm rambling, on screen.

I'll be flying back home on Dec. 17th. Working immediately thereafter.

Wearing Thin

I'm at the deli/general store. The parrot named Kehau sits on his branch and cleans his feathers.

Part of this scene is wearing thin. Last night, I walked into town and at the banyan tree, this glassy-eyed teen started following me, so I stopped and leaned up against a post and watched him. That confused him and he slowed down and then did a slow, erratic, not-casual loop on the periphery around me. He mumbled some gibberish threat as if I was the trouble-maker here. I just kept a casual eye on him and never said a word.

This morning, one of the staggering, recurring bums started with, "Hey brother, could you . . ." I held up my hand, walked away and heard his voice go from plead to threat, "I'll punch you," etc . . . as he walked away.

You know, I'm just not interested.

My dad used to talk about how everyone said hi in Aspen. He would take that home to Rochester with him. He would say hi on the street there. After a couple of days of people looking at him like he's weird or not acknowledging him at all, he stopped.

I've learned to walk a little more aggressively here. I've learned not to say hi. I've learned about no eye contact and to maintain a tough guy poker face with a touch of menace in it.

I'm not interested in becoming that guy out of necessity. It's b.s.