Nicks hands are shaking. It's either because of the two cop cars that are parked along the side alley we just swerved down, the lack of registration stickers on the van that we are riding in, or the 3 cups of coffee he apparently decided to ingest before picking me up from the airport this morning.
Probably a combination of all three.
We're now driving by the cops as inconspicuously as possible. The van has its wheels spray painted black and two giant crows painted on the sides. Super stealth.
A guy owes us 280 bucks, we sold him a board back at the last Malibu contest, he told us to pick up the balance from him in Hawaii. Luckily I had his business card stuffed into a crack in the dash of old Bets back at home. Now Nick is intent on recovering the money.
"Man we are running through the gauntlet right now..."
He's trying his hardest to keep a car following us in order to obstruct the view our plates from curious police officers. I'm fumbling with google maps on my phone, trying to hone in on our destination.
Freestyle.
Just an hour before, I was leisurely sitting on a plane as an aspiring business owner, chatting with Carol, an engineer from Lockheed Martin discussing everything from the meaning of life to the hydrodynamics of surfboard fins. Now I'm apparently on the lam with Nick. How life has its twists.
After cutting down some side streets, we make it to our destination. Nick pulls over and directs me to hop out and find our guy. There's another cop car parked about 50 feet up from where I get out.
"If I'm gone when you come out, I'm circling the block!" Nick mouths through the window of the van as he points a shaky finger at the cop car in front of us.
Running through the rain I scurry from shop to shop until I find the guy. Sitting in his thatch hut, Dave smiles when he sees me. "How'd you find me..." Are the first words out of his mouth. But he's got the money, awesome.
I say a fast thanks and run back out to the van. I've been in Hawaii for a total of an hour.
...
A couple hours later and we're standing around talking to Andy. We'd give him employee of the year if we ran Fiber Glass Hawaii. This time, not only does he help us out with the normal blanks & materials, but comes out and gives us some tips on how to make the van run better. Quickly, we're assembling a cardboard and masking tape contraption to replace a missing part. He also makes a recommendation about the aesthetics of the grill on the van. A can of black spray paint is procured.
As soon as we get on the road, we notice an increase in horsepower coming from the engine. Awesome.
...
After a stop at the shop to assess the next batch, we head down to Pupukea for a surf. I end up passing out on the beach. 2 hours of sleep the night before didn't keep me going all day. We've got a dinner party to head to, so it's great to get the rest.
...
I'm spacing out on the upcoming evening when the van sputters.
"Come on..."
Nick's got that steadfast look he gets when the going gets tough. Like he's trying to will old Betsy just 100 more feet, up the hill and to the gas station.
We coast onto the side of the road within plain sight of the gas station. No way we're going to push her up the hill. Luckily we keep a gallon of gas on board for this scenario.
I hop out and pour the gas into the tank.
The van doesn't start. Crap.
"Run up and grab another gallon of gas..." I figure this is a good idea, there's nothing else to try anyway.
I return and pour another gallon in. Still doesn't start. It's getting dark. The van's also hanging into the road. I doubt Nick has triple A. Dammit.
Under the van, I'm searching for the fuel filter with a flash light. Pulling off the hoses I notice that there is no gas getting to the filter. Must be an obstruction in the line... probably in the rusty old tank. I relay this revelation to Nick as I crawl out from under the van.
"ROCK THE VAN!" We both say this out loud together as we realize that it's our only chance of shaking whatever it is in the line, loose.
Nicks turning the engine over as we are shaking the van as hard as we can. Literally hopping up and down on the running board. Betsy sputters a little and gives us the hope we need. We're hopping as if our lives depend on it. The engine catches and comes back to life. High fives and hoots all around.
...
We make it to the dinner party with stories to tell. The food is amazing. Our friends are awesome. Life is good. -Carl
...
After a stop at the shop to assess the next batch, we head down to Pupukea for a surf. I end up passing out on the beach. 2 hours of sleep the night before didn't keep me going all day. We've got a dinner party to head to, so it's great to get the rest.
...
I'm spacing out on the upcoming evening when the van sputters.
"Come on..."
Nick's got that steadfast look he gets when the going gets tough. Like he's trying to will old Betsy just 100 more feet, up the hill and to the gas station.
We coast onto the side of the road within plain sight of the gas station. No way we're going to push her up the hill. Luckily we keep a gallon of gas on board for this scenario.
I hop out and pour the gas into the tank.
The van doesn't start. Crap.
"Run up and grab another gallon of gas..." I figure this is a good idea, there's nothing else to try anyway.
I return and pour another gallon in. Still doesn't start. It's getting dark. The van's also hanging into the road. I doubt Nick has triple A. Dammit.
Under the van, I'm searching for the fuel filter with a flash light. Pulling off the hoses I notice that there is no gas getting to the filter. Must be an obstruction in the line... probably in the rusty old tank. I relay this revelation to Nick as I crawl out from under the van.
"ROCK THE VAN!" We both say this out loud together as we realize that it's our only chance of shaking whatever it is in the line, loose.
Nicks turning the engine over as we are shaking the van as hard as we can. Literally hopping up and down on the running board. Betsy sputters a little and gives us the hope we need. We're hopping as if our lives depend on it. The engine catches and comes back to life. High fives and hoots all around.
...
We make it to the dinner party with stories to tell. The food is amazing. Our friends are awesome. Life is good. -Carl
