My foot is still with us.

So the other day, I had written a short perspective about my foot and hospitals, but briefly removed it because I was concerned that I was manifesting negativity, which would inadvertently delay the healing of my foot, and work against my will to pull through. Upon removing my original rant, I immediately decided that my foot would be fine, and I'd power through whatever attitude it was going to give me. That being said, now that my foot is feeling much better, I believe that I can retell the story. So here it is: a first account of the skate adventure that brought me to it all: enjoy.

On Wednesday afternoon, I had called a friend up to go skateboarding. We had talked about scheduling this skate date over the weekend, and that basically meant I had been looking forward to it for at least 3 days to the day. Well, Wednesday came around, and boy was it a busy day. I woke up late, meaning I was supposed to be at my friends house a half hour before to help her move. I leaned over the left side of my bed to grab my phone, still plugged in to the wall jack, and from the prone position I called my friend and explained that I just woke up, was throwing clothes on, and heading right over. I swooped my roommate on the way out and we shot over to my friends house where throughout the day we accomplished to move her things completely out of her house and into her storage unit. After that swelteringly hot operation, we headed back to my house to swim and get lost in some sauce. Basically I busted out the cold 30 pack from the fridge threw em in the pool cooler, and went to town on a few of them whilst floating about the pool with my friends.


A few beers down it dawned on me...skate date. I called up my skate-date partner and she said she had some work to finish up, although adding that it was still a bit hot, and we should wait for it to cool down, at which point I chimed in that she should come swimming and bring her girlfriend, who is also a dear friend of mine. An hour or so went by and by this time I was assuming that skating may not happen, and so here I am just swimming and throwin' em back. Well, my skate partner called up and was headed over. When she got to the gate, I opened it up all dripping in my swim clothes, and she says "let's go skating." My excited expression changed to a very "uh-oh" look to which I said, "oh, I thought we were just going to swim." And she was like "no, I thought we were going skating." So all that dialogue said and done, and I being a jack of my word, I said, "ok, let's do this!" In a matter of mach speed minutes according to a drunk person, I ran to my room and changed out of my wet clothes, and then ran out to the car, board in hand, sandwich in mouth. After-all I had to sober up.


When we got to the skate park, I barely remember someone referring to some elbow and knee pads sitting in the trunk, but I was like, "woooooooo!" and skated off toward the transitions. I paused in a shaded corner to slurp down a couple Otter Pops while I surveyed the terrain. My friend was well into the action on the ramp, doing cool maneuvers on the coping that I couldn't even begin to attempt. I watched in awe of her abilities. I skated closer.
Most of the time I drop into a ramp right off, but being in the state of mind that I was, I decided to just feel the ramp first and play from flat to transition, pumping back and forth and trying to revive my skate legs. This is usually where I find myself, when I don't skate for months/years at a time, and then spiral myself back on it as if I might have the same agility and trick memory as the last. Bottom line, I just don't. So here I was a few attempts at rock'n'rolls, and my fave which is fakie-180 rock'n'roll over the lip, then 180 that rock'n'roll back off the lip and roll front ways back down the ramp. I almost had it, too. Then, whabam!!! The board slid out, my arm went out for the slide catch diversion, and my right foot rolled over in a north right direction toward its pinky region. And as I lay there precariously at the floor of the ramp, I said to myself "see Jack? see? I told you so." Gosh darn it. If I ever listened to myself, I may...well...never have fun. So here I am, sore arm, sore foot, and running after my board.


Maybe it was the Otter Pop sugar high, or alcohol in my beer, or the adrenaline rush of embarrassment, but I shook it off and kept rolling around the park, but really just to find my way back to the shaded corner where I could only hope to find someone just chillin with a big blanket and a warm bottle of milk to offer me. Alas there was none. Whatever.


The sun had sunken lower into the Pasadena hills, and my friend was pretty tuckered out from her rad skate sesh. Seeing as I wasn't looking as if I was gonna hit those banks anymore, I'm pretty sure beside her being ready to go, she knew I was done for the evening as well. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked at a fella sitting in a wheelchair in the back of a van, parked in the shade, sliding door wide opened, no good view of the skatepark or batting cages, but a few dingy cars in the parking lot. And I was like "gee, think they could have given the guy a better parking spot?" And then I just went back to feeling drunk.


I repeatedly thanked my friend for such a great time at the skatepark, looking forward to our next opportunity, and we bid adieu as I ran...well, actually limped by this time, inside the house. I can't really remember what I did that evening other than get back in the pool, pop open another cold one, and complain about my foot.


I fell asleep with a fat bag of bone chilling ice strapped to my foot.

A New Review of My Woerk.

The Brentwood Lifestyle: Woertz Designs

The Breeze.

I absolutely love the breeze that is blowing lightly through my front door right now. It carries familiar scents of the surrounding foliage, and heat, and sounds of LA, reminiscent of that which I used to smell, feel, and hear as a young child playing at my grandparents house in Altadena. Ah, the good old days. And because they feel just like yesterday with these smells, heat, and sounds, I am in love with right now, right here, and this breeze.

June 21st. That was nice.

So, today is June 22nd, and yesterday was Tuesday. You're probably saying "yeah, so what?" Well, let me tell ya. On Tuesday morning I woke up on the visitors cushion in my friends livingroom. I drank a few glasses of water while gathering my sanity and headed slowly to Los Angeles after a nice relaxing weekend of Fathers Day tractor fair festivities beginning on Saturday and the extra large final breakfast before family members departed Sunday morning. On Sunday however, it feeling time for me to also depart, I was faced with the whole "do I head north to Los Angeles now? Or I'm so close to San Diego, I should just go the rest of the way." Well, it was either 98 miles or 56 miles, and I had that nice bald tire that I wanted to change out. On top of that exhausting dilemma a few jobs that I'd had lined up the next day or two, had both been pushed back meaning I didn't even have any need to be back up in LA, soooo.....I rode on down to San Diego from Fallbrook to see some old friends and to get some bike tinkering done.

Sunday afternoon I arrived at my buddy Matteo's place, which also happens to be the location of Cereberus Motorcycle Garage. But before I got to any bike stuff which comes later, Matteo and I hopped on our two wheelers and we rolled around town popping our faces into one neighborhood bar after another before we called it quits. I slept like I'd been knocked the heck out. Motionless.
Monday morning I was up with the dawn, and ready to get on some tire changing. Matteo and I drove up north to a small shop where we picked up my brand new tire. A real long distance performer. It felt good to know that I'd get more miles out of this new tire than just doing my usual trying to save some small change. #cheapbastard

When I returned home with the new tire, I rolled Boss back onto some blocks in order to get the bike lift under her short chassy, then (pft-pft-pft-pft) up she went. I started anxiously disassembling the rear end, taking the fender off, on which I would hammer out some major dents the trash truck left me. I then took off part of my rear brake, pulled the axel out and unhooked the sprocket from the belt drive to wiggle the wheel out of its housing and freely into my hands. I put the wheel in the car and drove it to the recommended tire changing spot near by. While there, I ended up running into a long lost friend and we did some catching up, and re-acquainting contact info.

Before long, my tire was ready to go. So I ran home and threw the wheel on. Yep, just threw it on. Easy as that. Well, this called for a test ride. Break in periods are always fun. Nice and easy. Drum roll please....I rolled as far as a whole 2 miles from Matteo's over to Adria and Randy's for an evening of movies and visiting, whilst falling asleep on the visitors mat. And the story comes full circle to this point.

The next morning (cups of water and all) before I rode out, I had wrapped my black zip-up hoodie to my front handlebars as I always do, but this time I couldn't really see the fuel warning light area of my side mounted speedometer thingy. This ultimately meant, that I'd hit the road up the Pacific Coast Highway from San Diego, and didn't realize that my light had been on for quite some time, until I felt some power sputtering, which then I scooted the fabric of my sweatshirt aside and I could see the bright yellow gas light. What I originally thought was something clogging my fuel line, was a classic case of idiot. Alas it was none other than low fuel. And by the time I realized this, and was panicking driving around Encinitas trying to figure out which right turn would take me to a gas station, I ran out of gas...in an intersection...and coasted through while paddling the asphalt to get me just a little further. I found a safe little spot on the side of the main drag in free 2 hour parking spot. Where most people would freak out about now, and think that their lives were ruined, I said, finally a real reason, other than starvation, to pull over for some breakfast. Thus making the most of any situation as I always do, I took this opportunity to locate a diner where I could grab some breakfast, and then I called some roadside assistance to come out and bring me some gas since I didn't exactly feel like hoofing it to a gas station. Instead, I sat and ate a good meal until the personnel came with some fuel, and then I went right back to finishing my meal. It was as easy as that. Like life didn't even skip a beat.
An hour later, and two full bellies, Boss and I finished motoring up the Pacific Coast Highway to LA.

The end.

It's something else, I tell ya.

heartbreak

#plasticsurgeryfund

(perfect time to catch up on some light reading)

knucks

Early morning bed times.

I have noticed, that lately, I'm finding myself going to bed when the sun is coming up. And I have also discovered that I am super awake and my voice gets loud between 4-5am. As if this is "my hour" or something. So if I could just always stay up till this time of morning, then I'd be set. Well, set for destruction is more like it. I actually think it's just the whole, "kid is about to crash" moment, where they get super rambunctious right before they run out of steam and pass out cold. Like the body is desperately grasping for any remaining energies and sucks the spirit dry before it realizes there is nothing feeding the source and so it collapses. (sputter-sputter-dead).
Now, these events are tolerable if they aren't followed by 1 hour of sleep, and a 9 hour work day. After all I'm not in the Marine Corps anymore, and I don't have the same psychotic drive that once inspired me to masochistically volunteer for 24/7 discipline (#blood/sweat/tears). Nowadays I just do these things to myself, minus the input of shaven heads and machine guns.

Cruising Down The Boulevard. A tale of this years first desert campout.

     And so it was written...that it was about ripe time I got my ass on a road trip. This time I even had to request time off from work, haha, yep, I have a job now. Well, on Friday I was hungover as hell from partying the night before with a friend for her birthday, and all 3 hours of sleep after the sun came up just had me in a haze, so I postponed any daytime activities such as packing or riding in exchange for a very comatose sleep.
     I woke up around 6:30, dug my poncho out of a sac where I'd stuffed it last fall, rolled my blanket up inside my poncho, bungee-corded it to my handlebars, replaced the harnessing pin on my kickstand, pulled my boots on, and was out of the house by 8pm.

It was such a nice warm evening, and the ride to San Diego was amazing. I could smell beach bonfires from about Dana Point on down the coast. A nice long 2 hour ride, some harrowing lane splitting stunts thrown in, and one fuel stop, and I arrived at Adria and Randy's for some cartoons and burgers. What a reception. It's always rad to see these folks. They live in the neatest little house, complete with Randy's ever so awesome homemade tiki's.


     Friday we took our time getting around and having coffee, making last minute tie-downs. Randy and I hit the road around 11, making a stop at the military surplus store, and then off to the meeting spot at a brewery in Escondido. We wound our way down pathways and diners, to a cozy little lounge area with wood benches, a huge stone slab table, and flowering vines enveloping the overhead trellis.

 At 1pm we all anxiously ran out to our bikes, saddled up, and headed out the 2 laned roads for Julian, CA. There we met up with another group or riders, and our formation doubled in size.

    We took off heading south-ish and then jumped off on a left shoot to wind over the river and through the woods to grandmas house (aka. Blue Jay Lodge). This was hands down the most awesome place I've been...maybe ever...but I can't commit that honor quite yet, just cause my memory is a little foggy of a few adventures, and I may have been somewhere cooler before, but this place is sure in the top somewhere. We sat round on, get this...tractor seats. Yep! Tractor seats for bar stools! So rad! Hydration was in order. Most of us walked around and admired the decor, wealthily stocked with taxidermy such as bears of all ages, rabbits, buffalo, deer, and Bullwinkle.

It was a bit cooler up on that pass, but it was totally worth the sweet little ride through the forest, and the visit to that cozy little oasis.

A couple miles down the road and we dropped off onto hwy 8 and headed east towards our last meeting spot at a casino, for camp beer and fuel, where I managed to find a .50 cent mustache, and a .25 cent golden ring. Golden finds indeed. After we were all together and loaded up, the cooler trucks and supplies carriers, we headed down the road a couple o' miles to a po-dunk little town. I happened to notice they had a thrift store...just peeked my interest, that's all. N.E.Way...we made a left past the HP giving a poor little old lady a ticket, and rode mobishly under an 8 overpass. Went past a few chopped power structures, somewhat resembling an American version of the Eiffel Tower (probably those darn UFO's been slicing em down, they fly so fast through those deserts, ya know?)

We finally left the pavement for the glory that be an old dirt road carved through the desert. We scurried as fast as our bald little tires would let us on that sifty little road. We even had one guy take one for the team. Nothing like breaking in a new bike, eh? A little looky-loo once over, and some dusting off, and he was back on the bike, and we were motoring on into the high desert like a bunch o' rally racers. The view up top those ridges were epic.

     We rode over, scratch that, we rode through a river, and into a thicket of tall dry oaks where we called home for the night. First thing I found was the 6 pack of beer that I donated to the party. Second thing I found was the bonfire. And the 3rd thing I drunkenly found by the time they were done was the BBQ hotdogs. Someone brought a battery powered amplifier and an electric guitar, and they were keeping the troops entertained for sure. Someone even came up with a camp song...I was trying so hard to remember the lyrics, but at least the tune was for certain still in my head when I was leaving the next morning. I managed to make a stealth exit to make something of my measly accommodations, of a small fleece blanket, a donated mexican blanket, and my poncho. It was pretty darn breezy up there in those hills, and the temperature was about 42 and dropping. But that fire sure kept us warm, otherwise you just had to keep drinking.

where the magic happened

     I woke up and was out of camp by 8am, in order to make it to work by 1pm in Glendale.  Up on those ridges the sun was beaming down, and it was just me, the open dirt road, and the birds chirping all along...until I realized that chirping was coming from my front end somewhere.  I could see that my direction of westerly travel would be leading me into some loomily evil thunderheads and wind chill was getting much cooler than it was on those sun crisped ridges. Basically, I was losing feeling in my fingers and toes...always fun. So the morning trip was a little rough, and the weather was right up there with a few fall trips I'd taken. Being that I had to thaw out I stopped at the casino for coffee, gas, and spent some time sitting on the bathroom counter rotating frozen limbs under the hand dryer. But time was a wasting, and I just kept quantifying mileage with time frame, and well, the physics tells me that the faster you ride, the sooner you arrive.   

I stopped for breakfast, and this is what my hot sauce told me...