Dee and Waino walked their beach cruiser bikes pass our campsite. Dee asked for directions to the Surf and Sea Motel. We gave her detailed directions which seemed to overwhelm her. Then I volunteered to escort them along the route. Waino remarked he had fallen three times since leaving the motel and that he had heart surgery not to long ago. I looked at my spouse and started loading their bikes into the back of our truck.
The bikes had been provided by the motel. They were sturdy and in good shape. The motel also provided helmets. Dee had hers on backwards but looked cute and enthusiastic. Waino just looked beat. His hands had road rash from the falls.
When we arrived at the motel I unloaded the bikes and Dee insisted I accept payment for my time and service. I declined. She insisted on taking photographs of me and Waino. She said she would post the photos on their website. Then she hugged and thanked me for helping 83 year old Waino.
Monday, April 27, 2015
Busted
While counting the floaters under my eyelids, my spouse conducted the noon campground check. As she passed our campsite, she said that a stash of wood was available at site 38. I immediately opened my eyes and looked for my gloves. When she returned after completing her rounds, I drove the electric cart as rapidly as its engine and conditions permitted to #38. Sure enough, a huge pile of termite killed soft wood was stacked neatly next to a bush. Also nearby was a box of kindling, a few camp chairs and a ratty table cloth on a picnic table. Since it is not unusual for campers to leave behind camping gear, I loaded the cart and sped back to my site where I neatly piled the wood. Then, I returned to load the remaining wood.
After stacking the second load, I experienced a feeling of having scored a great salvage victory. Just then, the dos Cowabungas arrived from a grocery shopping trip to Ralph's. I proudly showed them the stash of wood and said, "We are going to have a big, big fire tonight." Suddenly, a car pulled up and a man and woman got out. The man said someone had removed his firewood from their site, #38. He said he noticed tire tracks which appeared to match the host cart. I admitted I had removed what I thought was abandoned wood. He said they had gotten in to the site early to drop off the chairs and wood and tablecloth. I told him I would return the wood asap.
With the help and pointed commentary from the dos Cowabungas, we reloaded the cart. I shamefully drove slowly to site 38 where the guy help me unload and restack the wood. After the second returned load was stacked, I drove back toward my campsite but got sidetracked by the presence of a new Mercedes Benz Sprinter van.
The van owner, a surfer and electrical contractor, invited me on a tour of the van. It was brand new and would accommodate 11'6" boards. He said his brother-in-law saw the wood pile in site 38 and suggested they quickly glom on to it. The surfer declined since he sensed the wood was not abandoned. He said he saw me remove and return the wood and was glad he resisted temptation.
It is said that firewood warms you twice. First when you get it and secondly when you burn it. In my case it was three times. Getting it, returning it and burning with shame. Busted.
After stacking the second load, I experienced a feeling of having scored a great salvage victory. Just then, the dos Cowabungas arrived from a grocery shopping trip to Ralph's. I proudly showed them the stash of wood and said, "We are going to have a big, big fire tonight." Suddenly, a car pulled up and a man and woman got out. The man said someone had removed his firewood from their site, #38. He said he noticed tire tracks which appeared to match the host cart. I admitted I had removed what I thought was abandoned wood. He said they had gotten in to the site early to drop off the chairs and wood and tablecloth. I told him I would return the wood asap.
With the help and pointed commentary from the dos Cowabungas, we reloaded the cart. I shamefully drove slowly to site 38 where the guy help me unload and restack the wood. After the second returned load was stacked, I drove back toward my campsite but got sidetracked by the presence of a new Mercedes Benz Sprinter van.
The van owner, a surfer and electrical contractor, invited me on a tour of the van. It was brand new and would accommodate 11'6" boards. He said his brother-in-law saw the wood pile in site 38 and suggested they quickly glom on to it. The surfer declined since he sensed the wood was not abandoned. He said he saw me remove and return the wood and was glad he resisted temptation.
It is said that firewood warms you twice. First when you get it and secondly when you burn it. In my case it was three times. Getting it, returning it and burning with shame. Busted.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Dos Cowabunga
It was a pleasure to host two esteemed members of the Cowabunga Croquet Club recently. Miguel and Geraldo arrived with a croquet set and three longboards. We managed to play three days and surf a few days. Miguel was bummed that his favorite break wasn't optimal. Both Cowabungas also got to experience a rare Southern California event: rain.
The croquet setting is a sprawling lawn in the park adjacent to the beach, palm tree surrounded with transients, homeless persons and surfers walking through offering comments. Miguel engaged an oddly dressed transient woman in a conversation about croquet and English manors and English history. Miguel also launched a shot which went into the parking lot possibly damaging a vehicle parked therein, although he did not admit nor deny the result.
Every morning circa 6 a.m., Geraldo brewed coffee and checked the surf. We managed late dawn patrol sessions without Miguel who was trapped in his walrus tent by hungry and tweaking mice. When he managed to hit the lineup, Miguel forged ties with two local curmudgeons, aggressive AARP types. Miguel got his share of waves. Geraldo and I also scored nice peelers in glassy conditions with gray skies which made identifying incoming waves difficult. Also, Geraldo taught Miguel how to do laundry at the laundromat next to Bubba Kahuna' food emporium.
On Friday night, adjacent campers decided to drink to much beer, stay up late and argue. Geraldo, trying to sleep in his van's rooftop hideaway, finally went ballistic and decided to intervene. He is, after all, a bona fide camp host here at the campground albeit in the fall. So, he charged the noisemakers' camp site with his flashlight at head height, so as to conceal that he wasn't wearing official camp host clothing. How do I know this is what happened? Well, I was standing at the defaulters campfire blinded by Geraldo's light while admonishing them to cheer down. Once Geraldo knew I was on the case, he retreated to the safety and comfort of his van. It was nice to have backup when having to restore order after midnight at a site full of drunks.
One benefit of hosting Miguel is the constant updates about sporting events. With his black transistor radio held up to his good ear, Miguel was the campsite Sports Center commentator. I miss the, "Warriors up three." Or, "the Pelicans are up by nineteen." Sitting by himself in a turquoise plastic chair deep in the shadows, Miguel would issue updates between scarfing shortbread cookies.
As the two Cowabungas departed in Geraldo's van today, I knew I had to concentrate on repairing my relationship with she-who-must-be-obeyed. So, we went to Home Depot. Upon returning, we ate Costco shrimp and quinoa salad with avocado at the wooden and recently bleached picnic table looking out at the tranquil ocean. Life is good, except for the mice which missed tormenting Miguel.
The croquet setting is a sprawling lawn in the park adjacent to the beach, palm tree surrounded with transients, homeless persons and surfers walking through offering comments. Miguel engaged an oddly dressed transient woman in a conversation about croquet and English manors and English history. Miguel also launched a shot which went into the parking lot possibly damaging a vehicle parked therein, although he did not admit nor deny the result.
Every morning circa 6 a.m., Geraldo brewed coffee and checked the surf. We managed late dawn patrol sessions without Miguel who was trapped in his walrus tent by hungry and tweaking mice. When he managed to hit the lineup, Miguel forged ties with two local curmudgeons, aggressive AARP types. Miguel got his share of waves. Geraldo and I also scored nice peelers in glassy conditions with gray skies which made identifying incoming waves difficult. Also, Geraldo taught Miguel how to do laundry at the laundromat next to Bubba Kahuna' food emporium.
On Friday night, adjacent campers decided to drink to much beer, stay up late and argue. Geraldo, trying to sleep in his van's rooftop hideaway, finally went ballistic and decided to intervene. He is, after all, a bona fide camp host here at the campground albeit in the fall. So, he charged the noisemakers' camp site with his flashlight at head height, so as to conceal that he wasn't wearing official camp host clothing. How do I know this is what happened? Well, I was standing at the defaulters campfire blinded by Geraldo's light while admonishing them to cheer down. Once Geraldo knew I was on the case, he retreated to the safety and comfort of his van. It was nice to have backup when having to restore order after midnight at a site full of drunks.
One benefit of hosting Miguel is the constant updates about sporting events. With his black transistor radio held up to his good ear, Miguel was the campsite Sports Center commentator. I miss the, "Warriors up three." Or, "the Pelicans are up by nineteen." Sitting by himself in a turquoise plastic chair deep in the shadows, Miguel would issue updates between scarfing shortbread cookies.
As the two Cowabungas departed in Geraldo's van today, I knew I had to concentrate on repairing my relationship with she-who-must-be-obeyed. So, we went to Home Depot. Upon returning, we ate Costco shrimp and quinoa salad with avocado at the wooden and recently bleached picnic table looking out at the tranquil ocean. Life is good, except for the mice which missed tormenting Miguel.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Oh What I Have Seen
Just as the ears cannot, the eyes, also, cannot trespass. So, I look and look and see much that surprises me here in Southern California.
The guy on the road bike was pedaling fast but something was unusual about his motion. I was looking at him from his right side. As he passed me, I saw that he had only a right leg. I wondered how many times he had fallen, how he managed to keep his balance. Was he a veteran of recent wars? Then he was gone from view.
Last years' bikini walker has not been seen. Maybe the temperature is to moderate. Perhaps in May she will emerge.
A guy with a Jeep suv painted army green with big black-rimmed offroad tires and cargo boxes, jerry cans, metal ammo boxes and a rooftop tent with folding ladder was encamped nearby. He cordoned off his campsite with towing straps and ropes. He and his guard dog patrolled the perimeter. His neighbor flagged me down to ask whether black helicopters might be following the Jeepster. We laughed, but the point was taken.
The old couple pulled into their handicapped campsite and started unloading their small Ford car. I visited them to check on their camping tags. The woman, who was driving, had a small service dog in her lap. I knew it was a service dog because it was wearing a service dog pack from which the lady removed the dog's papers certifying it was a service dog. Then the woman told me she and her ailing husband were living in their car mostly since emerging from bankruptcy due to medical bills. They lost their home she said. I watched as they unloaded their car and tried to set up a large tent. Eventually, with the help of other campers, the tent was raised. The next morning, the tent was twisted and on the ground. Their belongings were sitting on and in the tent. The Ford was gone. They returned late in the afternoon and campers once again helped raise and anchor their tent. They lady told me they were trying to save money by camping. I doubt they are up to it.
The tattooed young man watched as his female partner juggled the two children while breaking camp and stuffing the gear into the old Honda Accord. They were already an hour past checkout time. The guy complained about his partner not hurrying and yelled at the kids to be quiet and sit in the car. At long last, the car was packed and they backed out of the campsite. Suddenly, the car braked and the guy yelled to the woman something about forgetting an important item. She opened, exited, then slammed the car door and fetched what looked like a bottle of bourbon from under a bush. Mission accomplished.
The guy on the road bike was pedaling fast but something was unusual about his motion. I was looking at him from his right side. As he passed me, I saw that he had only a right leg. I wondered how many times he had fallen, how he managed to keep his balance. Was he a veteran of recent wars? Then he was gone from view.
Last years' bikini walker has not been seen. Maybe the temperature is to moderate. Perhaps in May she will emerge.
A guy with a Jeep suv painted army green with big black-rimmed offroad tires and cargo boxes, jerry cans, metal ammo boxes and a rooftop tent with folding ladder was encamped nearby. He cordoned off his campsite with towing straps and ropes. He and his guard dog patrolled the perimeter. His neighbor flagged me down to ask whether black helicopters might be following the Jeepster. We laughed, but the point was taken.
The old couple pulled into their handicapped campsite and started unloading their small Ford car. I visited them to check on their camping tags. The woman, who was driving, had a small service dog in her lap. I knew it was a service dog because it was wearing a service dog pack from which the lady removed the dog's papers certifying it was a service dog. Then the woman told me she and her ailing husband were living in their car mostly since emerging from bankruptcy due to medical bills. They lost their home she said. I watched as they unloaded their car and tried to set up a large tent. Eventually, with the help of other campers, the tent was raised. The next morning, the tent was twisted and on the ground. Their belongings were sitting on and in the tent. The Ford was gone. They returned late in the afternoon and campers once again helped raise and anchor their tent. They lady told me they were trying to save money by camping. I doubt they are up to it.
The tattooed young man watched as his female partner juggled the two children while breaking camp and stuffing the gear into the old Honda Accord. They were already an hour past checkout time. The guy complained about his partner not hurrying and yelled at the kids to be quiet and sit in the car. At long last, the car was packed and they backed out of the campsite. Suddenly, the car braked and the guy yelled to the woman something about forgetting an important item. She opened, exited, then slammed the car door and fetched what looked like a bottle of bourbon from under a bush. Mission accomplished.
Friday, April 10, 2015
Relationships And Kid Speak
As I drive the electric cart around the campground and park, while trash shopping on the beach, sitting in my chair at the campsite, I hear people talking. Mostly, they are publically talking about relationships with spouses, friends, significant others, their kids, neighbors, god, their devices, doctors, you get the picture. Usually, a woman is talking to another woman, or a man to a man. Rarely, do I hear a woman talking to a man about relationships. Maybe, such conversations between man and woman are private, at least here in the campground.
The snippets of public conversations I overhear usually do not interest me, unless crying, shouting or laughing is involved. Since the ear cannot trespass, I have no guilt about listening. I especially would like to know why so and so drained the crying woman's bank account. What was the embarrassing situation about which the women were so loudly laughing. What did the woman do to be called a back stabbing bitch. Guess I will never know.
What really gets my interest is the stream-of-consciousness utterings of the kids racing around the campground road. Why is the kid on a Razor scooter repeating, "Batman, Batman, Batman, da da da da da da da da." What song is in the little girl's head as she rythmically rings the bell on her pink, streamered bike saying, "Do ya, do ya, do ya." Or, the skateboard racing boys shouting, "Faster than
blaster. Faster than blaster." More questions with no answers.
At least, I know that Barry Mann put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop.
The snippets of public conversations I overhear usually do not interest me, unless crying, shouting or laughing is involved. Since the ear cannot trespass, I have no guilt about listening. I especially would like to know why so and so drained the crying woman's bank account. What was the embarrassing situation about which the women were so loudly laughing. What did the woman do to be called a back stabbing bitch. Guess I will never know.
What really gets my interest is the stream-of-consciousness utterings of the kids racing around the campground road. Why is the kid on a Razor scooter repeating, "Batman, Batman, Batman, da da da da da da da da." What song is in the little girl's head as she rythmically rings the bell on her pink, streamered bike saying, "Do ya, do ya, do ya." Or, the skateboard racing boys shouting, "Faster than
blaster. Faster than blaster." More questions with no answers.
At least, I know that Barry Mann put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Midnight Mystery
A blue Hurley ball cap, a short leather dog leash, a nearly full pack of Marlboros, a USB cord, a blue fleece jacket were the items found in and around the broken, collapsed Ozark tent. It was a nice tent, easily assembled and spacious. But it was torn and toppled as though by a strong wind.
I don't remember any winds last night. I do recall that it was a cold night and that at 12:47 a.m. a dog barked. How did I know the time? Well, I got up to investigate and looked out the rear trailer window. The flickering light of the adjacent campsite fireplace revealed a tent and movement. The dog stopped barking and I decided that it was just a late arrival setting up camp. So, I returned to bed.
This morning, I inspected the unpopulated campsite and the overturned tent. The tent was torn. The dog leash was wrapped around a tree. I called the kiosk and learned that the site had not been rented. A nearby camper told me she had seen people at the site about midnight with a big German Shepherd dog. Eventually, a ranger arrived and decided maintenance staff should remove everything.
What had happened here, I wondered. Why would anyone abandon their property. Was it their property? These and other questions will remain unanswered. Just another campground mystery.
I don't remember any winds last night. I do recall that it was a cold night and that at 12:47 a.m. a dog barked. How did I know the time? Well, I got up to investigate and looked out the rear trailer window. The flickering light of the adjacent campsite fireplace revealed a tent and movement. The dog stopped barking and I decided that it was just a late arrival setting up camp. So, I returned to bed.
This morning, I inspected the unpopulated campsite and the overturned tent. The tent was torn. The dog leash was wrapped around a tree. I called the kiosk and learned that the site had not been rented. A nearby camper told me she had seen people at the site about midnight with a big German Shepherd dog. Eventually, a ranger arrived and decided maintenance staff should remove everything.
What had happened here, I wondered. Why would anyone abandon their property. Was it their property? These and other questions will remain unanswered. Just another campground mystery.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
Hair Brained Adventures
The other camp host asked for help today in unloading the firewood delivery truck. He said the wood would arrive at 11:30 a.m. or thereabouts. So, I decided to forgo surfing the lowering tide to help. I thought I'd hit the rising tide in the afternoon.
The firewood guy arrive circa noon-30. He was not the 6'9" charmer with the vicious Chihuahua dog from last year. Instead, it was a bald, portly man driving a rental truck. We unloaded the 200 bundles of avocado sticks and packed them in the shed. All of use were sweating and covered in wood dust. I thought to myself that the bundles must have gone to Weight Watchers because they were much slimmer than last year. I also realized that pervasive drought would cause more avocado trees to be felled for firewood. So, I resolved to hit Costco for a supply of the most delicious green fruit known to man.
Upon returning to my campsite, I saw my bedraggled image in the truck window and decided to clean up my act. I have the duty this Easter weekend and didn't want to repulse campers. So, I headed out to Costco with a list and a Yelp recommendation for a barbershop, specifically The Senors Barbers in San Juan Capistrano.
Walking into the five chair barber shop I couldn't help but notice the abundance of black hair on the floor. The head barber saiid, "Welcome amigo. Have a seat." The seven other guys stared at the gray haired gringo, probably thinking who is this dude. Anyway, I bided my time watching a series of the most interesting, intricate and bizarre haircuts I have seen since walking into a David, Panama, barbershop for the best $5.00 razor cut I have ever had.
My turn came and I was directed to the chair of a young guy who demonstrated speed barbering techniques the likes of which I had never seen nor experienced. I described what I wanted and the guy spun around my head like an angry red-wing blackbird. The electric shears buzzed and hummed and he manipulated my head like a chiropractor. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. Eventually, the ordeal was over. My haircut was much better than my expectations.
The firewood guy arrive circa noon-30. He was not the 6'9" charmer with the vicious Chihuahua dog from last year. Instead, it was a bald, portly man driving a rental truck. We unloaded the 200 bundles of avocado sticks and packed them in the shed. All of use were sweating and covered in wood dust. I thought to myself that the bundles must have gone to Weight Watchers because they were much slimmer than last year. I also realized that pervasive drought would cause more avocado trees to be felled for firewood. So, I resolved to hit Costco for a supply of the most delicious green fruit known to man.
Upon returning to my campsite, I saw my bedraggled image in the truck window and decided to clean up my act. I have the duty this Easter weekend and didn't want to repulse campers. So, I headed out to Costco with a list and a Yelp recommendation for a barbershop, specifically The Senors Barbers in San Juan Capistrano.
Walking into the five chair barber shop I couldn't help but notice the abundance of black hair on the floor. The head barber saiid, "Welcome amigo. Have a seat." The seven other guys stared at the gray haired gringo, probably thinking who is this dude. Anyway, I bided my time watching a series of the most interesting, intricate and bizarre haircuts I have seen since walking into a David, Panama, barbershop for the best $5.00 razor cut I have ever had.
My turn came and I was directed to the chair of a young guy who demonstrated speed barbering techniques the likes of which I had never seen nor experienced. I described what I wanted and the guy spun around my head like an angry red-wing blackbird. The electric shears buzzed and hummed and he manipulated my head like a chiropractor. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. Eventually, the ordeal was over. My haircut was much better than my expectations.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
The Second Time Around
I arrived yesterday at noon. The host site was vacant. I backed in and hooked up the sewer and water. As I walked to the front door of the trailer, a camper said, "You are leaking water." Sure enough, water was pouring out the front door. Evidently, a surfboard I had been carrying inside the trailer hit and opened the faucet. I spent the next few hours mopping up and drying out in the abundant California sun.
While mopping up, a camper directly across the road from me yelled, "Hey how ya doin? Remember me?" I replied that I did remember him, a baseball coach at a Nevada school who likes to spend spring break with his family at the campground. Nice people. Last year, he gave me a music CD which I enjoyed.
I am here by my lonesome. She-who-must-be-obeyed will join me in a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, I will live feral, eating odd food, thinking strange thoughts and hoping my croquet game will become as good as my surfing.
While mopping up, a camper directly across the road from me yelled, "Hey how ya doin? Remember me?" I replied that I did remember him, a baseball coach at a Nevada school who likes to spend spring break with his family at the campground. Nice people. Last year, he gave me a music CD which I enjoyed.
I am here by my lonesome. She-who-must-be-obeyed will join me in a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, I will live feral, eating odd food, thinking strange thoughts and hoping my croquet game will become as good as my surfing.
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