Neptune & Kiko
Taken at Redendo's Pizza
I slowly went through how I was going to methodically kill each one of the crew members. These are the people that I hate the most, the people that I would have turned into, had my ex not dropped me years ago. The powerpoint wielding, mid level whites. The kind of people that belong in an Apple commercial. I hated them, so, so much.
Buzz 'We have Bibi, Zach, Scott, and Chrissy. They are our crew here today, here to help." Buzz
I started to understand, shuttling people back and forth was something very exciting for this sad man.
Buzz "Let me tell you a little bit about our vessel here today." Buzz
Please don't, I know intercoms are fun, but please shut the fuck up so I can get some rest. I wanted to die. Why oh why did I feel the need to get so wrecked. I debated jumping over board for a moment, where the fuck was Christoph? I looked up to see a Cruising Christoph at the front of the ship, bouncing along.
I pulled out my phone, I wanted to reply to HDR, but I didn't want to lift my head, I needed sleep. I was certain I would lose signal when on the islands. Guess I am more of a tech head than I care to admit.
I fell in and out of sleep, interrupted by the captains urge to share stupid shit, like sea lions, and whales, But finally.
Buzz "Ok folks, we've arrived here at the islands, we're gonna go ahead and unload, day hikers first, campers second." Buzz
We unloaded in bucket formation or whatever, I don't know what it was called. But it was the style in which they used to unload ships. I can imagine the captain thinking it was the greatest thing in the world.
'We can give them the real life crew member experience!' he would jauntily cheer to his underpaid lackeys.
But this fucking sucked. I had no urge to unload someone else's shit. These people were ridiculous too, they brought booze, and radio's and chairs. It was like they were moving out here. I'm not sure what the point of going out to the channel islands to hang out at home was. But these yuppie douchebags were ready to roll. I guess this was there one vacation of the year, when they all get together and shoot the demo reel for the new iMovie.
I booked the tickets for the boat the day prior when I was crashing with Rich. I'm glad I did, the island was incredible, utterly breath taking, and shit loads of fun.
I should probably go into a little history about the islands though, as much fun as reading a bunch of consecutive dick jokes is. When one visits the visitor center on the main island Santa Cruz, you get a brief history.
To be clear it's white history, meaning there seems to be a gap in the story about how the native brown people just magically disappeared, and the white people came to own the island. I am guessing the same way we got America, with genocide and violence. But hey, that's not really important. What is important is what happened next.
As is the way with all white people, once genocide is committed amongst the natives, we start in on the wildlife. Once home to an array of beautiful people and artifacts, a enormous farm was set. A farm with the sole purpose of profit, what kind of profit you ask? Sheep shearing. Their main export was wool, and their main import, was habitat raping pigs, sheep, and cowboys.
Thankfully, a few marijuana powered, tie-dye designed concerts later, and they realized they were killing off some of the most exotic species in the world, that only existed on the islands. You read that right, there are species that only exist on the Channel Islands, nowhere else. So after a few pow-wows and drum circles, plans were formed and measures taken on the behalf of the wildlife. They, quite remarkable, began to rebuild the island.
The problem, was the sheep and pigs. The sheep and pigs were eating all of the grass species and utterly destroying all of the rare and exotic plant life. With them flourishing it changed the predator landscape, birds like the golden eagle came. They fed on pigs, sheep, and of course the island fox. The island fox had no predator and was king bee on the island. But they made easy pickings for the golden eagle, and soon enough they were close to extinct. With the golden eagle around the bald eagle bounced. The plant species on the island were already in complete disarray from the farmers and introduction of new species like fennel, that really didn't belong. Utter hell broke lose, complete ecological anarchy.
But, thanks to Jon Lennon, and a few motley friends, the environment movement started to gain traction. Acid was dropped, sex was had, and all of a sudden, the people started to care. They removed the pigs and sheep from the island. That in turn saved the plant life and vegetation. They removed the golden eagle, so the cute baby foxes were able to mate and flourish. The bald eagle came back began to hunt once more. They set up high priced tours to the island so no more brown people could rejoice in their native, rightfully owned land. Yes all is perfect now on the channel islands.
So Kimmy, Kristen, Matt, & Zach can play frisbee, talk about their Audi's and Roth RIA's. Walk to see the sunset after grilling over a gas powered stove. I'm so glad we saved these precious islands, the world is clearly a much better place.
I could hear Christoph downshifting rapid fire. The engine revved up, as he motioned from, fifth, fourth, third.
"What the fuck man? It's 2AM how can there be traffic on the freeway?" I was trying to sleep off the booze and didn't feel like sitting up.
"Think we're in the shit bro." he said.
"How can we be in the shit?!" I snapped, I raised my seat up — nothing.
"Smoke." he said, pointing to black smoke rising in the distance.
"Truck," I said. "I'm glad we're naming things."
"Stay here." he replied. Before I could say anything the e-brake was yoked and he was running into traffic.
I pulled out the only camera we had available. At this point I started to get genuinely concerned. We had to make it to the coast of California within 7 hours or the boat to the Channel Islands was leaving without us.
He came back shortly after. "I'm about to try something very sketchy."
"Go nuts." I replied, Christoph, is for the most part, a mamma's boy, and anything sketchy to him, was day to day activity for most.
But the moment he whipped around the tractor trailer in front of us, unveiling an exploding tractor trailer on the side of the road. That is when I grew concerned. I was certain at the offset he didn't have the balls to drive near it. . . right? I didn't have the balls to drive near the thing, surely he wouldn't.
He pulled up to the cars waiting in the road, clearly they had no urge to try and skate past.
"Yea bro. . . don't do it man." I was tired, hung over, the last thing I wanted to do was go stampeding through an exploding mac track. I made my last plea, surely it was what he wanted to hear.
"I think the reason nobody is going is because of the emergency service." I tried my best to rationalize with him. Fuck the channel islands, I didn't want to die!
"I can get around that dude." he replied. My internal dialogue went something like 'DAMMIT!' but I did my best to remain cool.
"That's on fire bro." I said reluctantly.
"What?" he replied. He wasn't evening listening, he was too busy timing the mini explosions in the truck.
"That's on fire bro." I said again reluctantly.
"I'm going for it." he said coolly.
I knew there was no convincing him otherwise, I rolled up the window and strapped myself in. This was going to be fucking sketchy as hell. There was a line of people waiting patiently, flashes of us driving by just as the truck explodes went through my mind. I did not want to die, at least not hung over next to Christoph.
"Go nuts." I said weakly.
He slammed down the throttle and the car launched off, we still weren't getting enough speed. At the last moment I could see fire engulfing the lane we were about to drive through.
"Fast!" I urged him.
He left it in first, milking the highest RPM's before changing down, launching us through the flames and back into safety. Within moment the flames were a thing of the past in our rearview mirror and I was still alive.
"That was awesome bro!." I said with a sigh of relief, and we were off, to the Channel Islands.
A group of basketball players from a rival school surrounded Richie, he was trapped. Back at his high school, the bleachers were packed with cheering fans.
'Richie!'
'Richie!'
'Richie!'
But he couldn't answer their call. Try as he did, the basketball players, four on one, had him caged in, their school was going to win the game, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"This is great," said Rich. "Watch this part, this part right here."
'The Fonz' steps into scene, shooting off one of his clever lines, like only 'The Fonz' can do.
"That's you!" said Rich, slapping me on the back. "That's you man, you're 'The Fonz'. Bang your fist on the table and turn the ceiling fan off man! Go ahead, I know you can."
Rich was on his fourth or fifth drink of the night. On the way over my business partner suggested I stop off to pick up a container of diet cranberry juice and a bottle of vodka, it was a solid tip. Within a few hours him and I were both bombed, with clever Christoph in the corner laughing at our drunken stupor.
"Bro look," I began. "It's just an innate ability, I don't know how I do what I do, it's like magic." I usually try to avoid my playboy reputation like the church does it's pedophile reputation. But, as is the way with these things, after one too many dark closets and muffled moans, word gets around.
"Yea?" said Rich. "I think it's skill."
"It is," added Christoph. "I've seen him do it, the man is a wizard."
"Look," I said. "When I get to Hawaii I am gonna make all the revisions to 'Rants From The Mountain' and I'll send you a hardcover copy."
"I look forward to reading it man." Rich cracked a smile and took another sip, he wasn't Leonardo DiCaprio cool, or Hugh Jackman handsome, no none of that. You would never catch Rich waxing his chest or getting a manicure. In fact, put Rich up against anyone famous and he would look and utter mess.
Rich was more like Frank Sinatra. You could drop him in the rat pack and nobody would blink an eye. Even the way he holds his glass oozes sophistication. He has Dean Martin swagger, but James Dean looks. Rich was cooler than 'The Fonz', because Rich came before 'The Fonz'. He wasn't from his time, he was before it.
This is probably why he made such a great mentor. Rich didn't have to hit the jukebox for his favorite song to come on. He could simply walk into a room and mother fuckers turn his favorite song on for him.
It was a shame Rich wasn't my mentor, no I had a Rich of my own. This Rich was my business partner's mentor. I arrived the night prior, after going through an indescribable hell of driving from Iowa, to Arizona in two and a half days. I was met with a cool bed, and a hot shower.
Christoph and I spent the day in Rich's McMansion, sliding down his water slide, and plotting our next stop underneath his private waterfall.
It was a welcome break from the hard life of the road. I would like to think that the same courtesy would be extended to HDR, if ever she was confronted with the need to stay at my mentors. Unfortunately MY Rich, who will with dub RichB, would likely be far less courteous. Instead of vodka and cranberry juice she would be better suited bringing a bag of cocaine, comfortable clothes, and a first aid kit.
Unlike HDR and Rich's mutually assured success, when RichB and I are together it's mutually assured destruction. I am glad we no longer see each other on a day to day basis. As much as I love him, our idea of fun is seeing who can get closer to death, without actually finishing the job. There were too many times when, just another snort, drag, or drink would have been lethal.
When RichB and I get together, it's like 'The Joker' and 'Lex Luther'. With my creativity and his financial backing there is nothing we can't vandalize, fuck, or destroy. No, while RichB, was a hell of a stand up guy, I'm pretty sure he would never be as considerate as Rich. I can only imagine the awkward silences between HDR and him, struggling to find common ground.
"I don't know man, I didn't buy your wrap when HDR first told me about you." said Rich.
"Few do." I replied.
"Yea, but I looked you up, you're an alright dude." said Rich.
What 'looked me up' meant, I have no clue, I am guessing he dug pretty deep because he was confident I was on the level.
I could see Christoph beginning to wane. It was good he was getting sleep, in a few hours we would be leaving.
Our conversation carried on about how much we both trusted HDR.
"Never called out, never let me down. I trust her completely." said Rich.
"She's the best." I replied. I can remember giving her the email test. One that countless partners have failed before. (Leave your secondary email account open, to see if they go through it.) Something RichB taught me early on. "Let them see what they want to see bra, they gonna try to fuck you? Let them do it early on. Just make sure not to give them your real email address until you know you can trust them."
I checked time and time again, HDR never looked. I would leave financial statements on the counter, potentially embarrassing notes flipped upside down, not a peak, nothing.
Rich did good work, HDR was a hell of a woman.
Our conversation died down and he retired to bed. A few hours later I woke up to a snoring Christoph and a drunk stupor. I was painfully exhausted, but thankfully Christoph wasn't. I packed up our gear, woke up Christoph and we were off.
Our biggest fear was facing carmageddon. Apparently LA is closing it's most used freeway (405) this weekend, and it was the direct route we had to take to get to where we were going. Thankfully, we just missed it, it's a problem we will have to face tomorrow night when we return from the Channel Islands.
But for now, we're safe. I am writing this up from a little seaside shanty off the coast of California, moments before my boat leaves. After cramming down a full breakfast and two cups of seltzer water I'm feeling a little better. I survived another Rich, and I am pretty happy about that.
The cool water felt so good on my body.
"Can I pee in here?" I asked Christoph.
He stared at me. There are few genuine moments from Christoph, this was one of them. "I . . . I would prefer if you didn't. . ."
"No," I said. As he quickly swam away from me. "I mean, nothing is going to swim up my pee hole and eat my dick right?"
"You're thinking of the amazon." he stared at me again with a vacant expression.
"Dude, I don't know, we're swimming in some crazy country river, I don't know what monsters are in here." I said.
"So. . . so we're in Iowa, not really that crazy of a place dude." he swam ahead up stream.
"Hey!" I yelled behind. "Hold up, don't leave me!"
"It's IOWA!" he retorted. "Fucking Iowa, not the amazon!"
Christoph and I washed out of Wisconsin and Illinois without getting the shots I needed for my longboarding video. We were neck deep in a river in Iowa. I'm not sure of the county or the name of the park. Despite seeing signs for it several times and even making fun of the name with Christoph. I could kind of sound it out, but Iowa is so insignificant, why bother?
"Should we get out?" asked Christoph. A minivan pulled up and a few local fisherman emptied out, casting their lines into the river.
"I think so," I whispered. "Hey there!" I greeted them warmly.
"Why, Hello there," replied one of the men. "How's the water?"
"Feels good," said Christoph. "Been at it all day, just trying to cool off."
"Where you comin' from?" said one of the fisherman.
"New York." I said.
"New Yorkers!" the fisherman seemed to be delighted by this. I can't imagine there is much to do in Iowa though. I have never seen a Panera Bread so crowded. Aside from look at their beautiful clouds it's a pretty boring state.
"Hey, there's nothing really in there, is there?"I asked one of the fisherman.
Christoph shot me a guilty look.
"Nah, except for Alligator gars." said the fisherman.
"What's an alligator gar?" I asked.
"Nasty suckers, don't want to run into one of them." began the fisherman.
"Thanks so much." Interrupted Christoph.
We hurried away to the car.
"What the fuck is an alligator gar Chris??!!" I asked.
"Ah, it's nothing don't worry about it.
The two of us spent the night lost in nature. It was a late night of mythology, literature, and plotting the next days adventure. I eventually learned what an alligator gar was, and holy shit, fuck that. . . seriously. . .
It will be a utility day, yesterday was a crawl day. On utility days, we feed, water, do laundry, and work out at whatever planet fitness is closest. The black card membership is really paying off.
We're headed to Des Moines Iowa, for some late afternoon carving and chores. Hopefully we'll be able to make camp outside of Kansas City. We're headed to a place called Swope Park. Camping there is cheap, and there is also a swimming hole for us too cool down in.
More soon.
-Allan
The Subaru roared around a corner, tires screeching.
"Here!" I yelled.
"Here?" asked Christoph.
"Yes motherfucker, what are you fucking retarded? Stop the fucking car." I demanded.
As usual with Christoph's elongated stops, I was out of the car, longboard in hand, before the car came to a full stop. I slammed the door hard.
Christoph knew doubting me would make me flip out, but out of genuine concern he did anyway. "You sure about this dude?"
"Don't fucking talk to me," I snapped, I was anxious.
This was it, this was the big one. The second I saw the curve I knew this had to be, my hill, my moment. The reason I got into longboarding was for hills like this. To be able to grab my board and just bomb them, no slide gloves, no pacing, no prep, just go. All morning I was having mini panic attacks. It was going to be a shit scary ride and I had to have my wits about me. Unfortunately, from the start I've always been a weak, sort of pathetic grunt.
My father was a 2D prop, more a vessel for his vices than a significant human. There are no stories of grandeur, no back alley beat downs, that he came out on top of. The few stories he shared, which were supposed to express his extraordinary physical prowess, were weak over exaggerated tales of bickering, and tom foolery.
But I wasn't raised by my father, I was raised by my mother. A wonderful woman in every way, if parents got report cards, she would get a solid A (an A+ if she got me that Porsche Turbo 911 GT3 for my 16th birthday like I had asked). But sadly the traits of a 120 pound, sherry blonde Australian woman don't transfer well to a 5'11 220 pound wannabe, a faux crushing machine that exploits every opportunity to exert a would be dominance.
I am, to the core, a geek. I get motion sickness; roller coaster rides make me vomit; I'm scared of being in water; I get a rush of fear before I spar someone I know is going to be tough; I crumble in front of authority figures; I lock my doors when in bad neighborhoods.
I have absolutely no courage, bravery, physical strength, or agility. I am not a hero. So every chance I have to prove myself wrong I take.
This is one of those times. With no pacing or prep I was about to tackle a hill, with no idea of how it ended. I cranked up Arcade Fire on my iPhone, plugged in my headphones, and made my peace with my idea of God.
"Ready?!" I yelled.
Christoph turned on our dashboard mounted camera and gave me the thumbs up. I launched off with extreme trepidation and the following is what ensued. Clearly it all worked out for the best as I am sitting in a Panera bread in Milwaukee writing this.
Every mili second I was bombing this hill, I was in pure bliss. Grateful every second that went by, in which I was still alive and riding out the board. I am confident I cleared 35mph, although there was no official pacing. A testament to the speed is how long it took to slow down while going uphill.
Hope you enjoy.
Founder StickerFu.com
Part Time Sociopath
Full Time Geek
@AllanSaro
facebook.com/allan.saro
blip.fm/allansaro
