"Man I gotta pee! Can you pull over soon?" I'm snapped out of the steady drum of Bettys engine, back into reality. A reality that consists of a certain crow friend of mine, a car that took 20 minutes and a prayer to start at the last gas stop, and a half finished 18 pack of Coores Light that this particular crow picked up at said gas stop. He's been whittling through it for the last couple hours and it's finally made it to the other side of his digestive system.
I ponder the options. One is to keep driving, tell him to forget it and see what happens. Two is to mention the idea that he could piss out the window of the car as we drive down through the fine city of Oxnard. Option three, convince him that urinating back into an empty beer can or one of the water bottles is logical. Visualizing all this I realize that all three options will in fact result in piss all over the car and probably myself. Considering the fact that showing up at Malibu smelling like piss is just a little too style free for me... I pull over. I leave the car running as he jumps out of the car and slinks over to a darkened area of the parking lot that we just pulled into. I knock the dash for good luck and start counting backward from 60.
14...13... "Dude you know what I was thinking? We could probably...." I rev the engine a little to pick up his pace as he comes hopping out of the darkness. Betty is always ready to get back on the road, in fact she seems to fight every time I put the brakes on, pulling on the reins like a wild horse that doesn't want to be broken. I pat the steering wheel slightly and we pull out, back onto the PCH en route to Malibu.
Waylon's already there. He's sitting on the tailgate of his truck with his girlfriend next to him as we pull up, his camp is already set up. Welzie falls out of the car, empty cans clanging on the ground. It's midnight and the parking lot at Malibu is quiet, with only a few campers daring to sit out the parking lot for the night. Not knowing if they're ticketing the lot for camping is part of the game. Malibu roulette, either way it's still cheaper than a hotel room. I fish around for a beer out of what's left of the 18ner and start dreaming about bed.
Waking up in the parking lot is always the same story. Car alarms going off, nonstop chatter of anxious competitors preparing for battle, old guys talking story and the clatter of groms skateboarding up and down the length of the lot. This morning though, Nick rips the door open, yells "WAKE UP CARL!" and then slams it shut again. I should have left him at that Oxnard pee stop. If only he didn't move so quick. Like usual he's all fired up. I wonder if he ever sleeps. It's Friday morning, the sky is grey & the waves are total crap. 1 foot and gutless. We don't care. Being surrounded by friends from all over the state and other parts of the country is more than enough of a blessing to kick our spirits in high gear. By noon Welzie has liberated 2 30 packs of CL from the local shopping center and they're on ice. I realize arguing with him about bringing the cooler was a good idea, he's filled it to the brim, probably just to spite me. Most of the team advances through their first round heats and realizes with work over, hanging out in the parking lot and on the beach is the most of their problems.
Pedro Point has tequila up at their base and it's only a a shouting distance away from our Camp. The smack talking picks up with the alcohol consumption. These are seasoned competitors, they can take it just as well as they put it out. The younger ones are the most vulnerable targets. Women can be harsher than the men, and any insecurity you have is in the cross hairs. It toughens you, builds camaraderie and is fuel for a steady stream of laughs.
Welzie can't stop talking about skateboard contests. There's going to be one in the parking lot tomorrow. He gets ideas and focuses on them until the world caves and does his bidding. Relentless. We're walking our way back from dinner at La Salsa and I'm thinking about the day, my stomach filled with way too much Mexican food. Sometimes it's the simple days with nothing to do that brings you the most in touch with life. The clouds parting to reveal the sun, endless free snacks, cold beer and impromptu skate offs. Surfing in 2 foot mush but the waters warm and you're surrounded by old friends. Life is grand.
Alpine star has parked their lame RV overlooking the parking lot. And locked the doors... Welzie wants in. He mentioned something to Donnie about wanting to park it out in the lineup. We're watching from a distance while he paces around it like a hungry Racoon. The driver appears. There will be no RV in the line up at Malibu in the morning. Everyone boos loudly. The Racoon slinks away, reappearing next to the beer cooler.
Saturday starts with rain drops threatening us. Plopping loudly against the window of the car, I respond by wrapping the covers around myself tightly and pretend that I don't have to get up. I don't have to get in my wetsuit. I don't have to put on a jersey and surf in 6" windblown slop, with a panel of 6 judges determining if I'm surfing better or worse than the other 5 suckers in the water with me. Damn it. I make a crack decision and decide to ride Waylons 12' paddle surfer. He rips on it. I don't. With its massive rail line and low profile fin, I can barley keep it going in a straight line. But it will catch a 6" wave. My noserider won't.
3 minutes into my heat the first set comes. The 12'er was a bad call. The other guys in the water begin shredding me to pieces. I'm done for by the first 5 minutes. I'm laughing... wins are just a good as looses when you're a freestyler. 100 dollar T-shirt, thank you very much. The crew doesn't hold back as I walk up the beach. Loose in 6 place, loose with grace. Bloody Marys are waiting at the car.
Welzie's got a full blown skateboard competition going in the parking lot. Probably 20 kids. There's yellow tape up, an impromptu judging stand. In his world he's the only judge. I'm not sure if he's building an army out of the groms or if it's just a harmless contest. Either way- everyone is stoked. As long as he doesn't give away that 5 hundy cash I have stashed away for emergencies we'll be fine. Telling him about that was foolish. It's enough to at least get him to the border. Probably his exit strategy. Shit.
The suits were Welzies idea. I feel stiff in mind. He wears his with the same attitude he wears his board shorts in Hawaii. Clanking his way down the Kam highway on his beat ass cruiser with a 10' gun under his arm. Screw it.
The party is happening, for some reason I have a tab going. The waiter is very attentive, I realize around the 5th beer that it's the suit. In L.A. they take this stuff seriously, I like it. People are impressed by the attire.
I'm talking to everyone about everything. At some point I see Welzies Sunglasses hanging on a pretty blond. His Jacket's at another's table. He's nowhere to be found. I flash back to the five hundy and do a quick audit of all car keys. I find him dancing. With a blond. He's on a roll, I smile in approval.
Alone, I close out my tab. Everyone has slipped off to their respective sleeping areas. Jack in the Box is along the way. It's bad but so good. I make my way back to the lot. Nick's there. No jacket, no sunglasses. No blond. He's smashed, and cratering. The crew in the lot grows to 12 loud people around the car. Silently I apologize to our neighbors... it's how it goes though. I feel no remorse as we tackle the remaining beers and a bit of vodka left over from the morning. The wrestling match is my cue to join my girlfriend in her SUV. Luckily it's parked in falling distance from Betty, Nicks' already asleep.
Hungover, we stay just long enough to watch our Queen Bee, Cathy Mayerhofer take the win in the Senior Womens final. She never looses, not by my judging. Packing up the car, we sell our logs to members of the Hawaiian team. Sad to see my board go, it was a good one. After picking up the 40 or so beer cans littered under the car and a little wrenching on the starter motor we hit the road. Welzie rolls a joint for one. It's twice the size that one for two would be. RVs, skate contests and Hawaii fill the conversation home.
I smile. Welzie might be a pain in the ass... but he never gets boring. -Carl
