First, a little history. I grew up in a fairly small town in the Southwest suburbs of Chicago. The interesting thing about the Chicago suburbs is the 'diversity'. You can be on one street in any given town or part of the city, and see a baggy clothes wearing "gangster" wanna be. There is no shortage of those around here. On the next street you could find a camouflage hat, flannel shirt wearing "cowboy" in a truck with tires taller than me. Just a bit down the road you could find a tight pants, ripped shirt, eyeliner wearing 'musician' or 'artist'.
I use the terms like cowboy, musician, artist, and gangster pretty loosely. While I'm definitely aware of the gang situation in Chicago, anywhere outside of the west and south sides of Chicago, real gangs are virtually no existent. I can almost guarantee that the gangster you see in Evanston or Naperville has no clue what a real gang member actually does. Same with the "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" blasting, big truck driving dudes. The closest thing they do to being an actual cowboy is picking up a dozen hamburger patties for their barbecue next weekend.
I don't like to judge people, but I find it very hard to stay away from the almost visceral, subconscious, and primal instinct of laying out judgement on people. After a few seconds, however, I end up reminding myself that I could truly care less what someone wears or does in the privacy of their own home, or in their giant pick up trucks. They are so high up you can't see whats going on in there anyway.
My point is that for how diverse and "hip" people are, they end up actually being sheltered and closed of individuals. Our ever changing and almost perfect social landscape some how eludes them. Yoga, which is extremely beneficial to any human being is seen as something a woman does, and not for a man. Carrying my yoga mat around, I've heard many a people call me a "fag" or "gay". Its crazy.
My awareness and understanding of this odd hive mind is always there, but it definitely came to a head just the other day.
When I'm back in the wonderful Chicago suburb of Lockport, IL, which is not something I try to do very often, does have it's benefits and draw backs. One of those draw backs is the weather. The winters here can be pretty brutal, which just makes me appreciate awesome weather even more. I skate as much as possible. Why? Because I love skateboarding and nice weather.
Unfortunately, most people don't see it the same way.
Lucky for me, my local coffee place and tobacco store are about a half mile away, and the ground is fairly level with smooth asphalt the whole way. Skating up to get cigarettes or coffee is almost a sublime experience. Except when people open their mouths.
Being a small town, you bump into people quite a bit, especially in the morning. I always get odd looks when I'm on my skateboard, but when someone recognizes me it is even worse. They typically ask what I'm doing, and it is a pretty automated response.
"Just getting some coffee ans cigarettes, and enjoying the awesome weather and my skateboard", I usually say.
Their reaction is if I spit in their face. They ask "Why don't you just drive" so many times it is exhausting. Responses are pretty much the same.
"Why don't you drive up here? Don't you have a car?"
"Why are you still pushing that little piece of wood around, get a ride or something you loser!"
That last one happened to me the other day. A somewhat "friend" from high school was the origin of that base level stupid comment.
First and most logically, driving would probably almost take me longer. There are two stop lights and three one way cross traffic stop signs. On a good day you can make it there in two minutes and thirty seconds flat in car, but generally it clocks in at around five minutes. Skateboarding there takes three minutes and twenty eight seconds, almost every time.
I hate to wax intellectually about the subject, but with time it takes to get in, start the car, drive, get out, and do it all over again probably raises the time to about seven minutes. I could get back and forth twice on my skateboard in that time.
If I completely ignored the fact that skateboarding can be attributed to my happiest moments, it would just make sense to find alternate modes of transportation to destinations within a two mile radius of my home.
Generally, I skate up to our local skate park. It is a bit farther, and definitely quicker by car, but why not skate up there? It seems silly to DRIVE somewhere to pull my skateboard out and push it around. I enjoy skateboarding, so why not do it as much as possible, right?
I will never understand peoples reactions when they see me out and about on my skateboard. It is what I love doing, and since it can only really be done seven months out of the year, I'm gonna soak up every opportunity I have.
That is why I love California, no one gives me dirty looks while I'm skating, unless I'm holding onto their bumper and hitching a ride!
The only time I'll quit skateboarding is when my body gives out. I plan to do it as long as possible.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Almost 600 (unique!) Visitors!
So yeah, that is pretty exciting.
I've been pretty voided on things to write about. I'm currently thinking of ways to refresh my travel entries. While the stories were great when the happened, I feel like the are coming out...wrong. Just not the way I wanted them to happen.
It has become apparent it is time re-evaluate my goals and objectives of this blog. I'm still not sure the exact direction I want this to take.
What I do know is I would love a dedicated group of readers, and although I hope one day it will eventually grow out of the blogger community, I need small beginnings.
I've always had big goals and dreams when it has come to my websites. Problem is there is never much, if any, content to fill it.
The end goal is for my personal website to display my personal portfolio, as well as providing some kind of forum and discussion on the current topics in the worlds of photography and design, while occasionally dipping into some of my other interests as well.
The problem is that is a pretty narrow field. If I catered to the photography/skateboarding/design/gaming crowd, I would severely limit my audience. The problem with separate websites for each is I become too scatter brained and lose interest fairly quickly. I know, I've tried it before.
Happy Birthday to me! And hopefully my birthday wish will give me some new found clarity on the subject.
I've been pretty voided on things to write about. I'm currently thinking of ways to refresh my travel entries. While the stories were great when the happened, I feel like the are coming out...wrong. Just not the way I wanted them to happen.
It has become apparent it is time re-evaluate my goals and objectives of this blog. I'm still not sure the exact direction I want this to take.
What I do know is I would love a dedicated group of readers, and although I hope one day it will eventually grow out of the blogger community, I need small beginnings.
I've always had big goals and dreams when it has come to my websites. Problem is there is never much, if any, content to fill it.
The end goal is for my personal website to display my personal portfolio, as well as providing some kind of forum and discussion on the current topics in the worlds of photography and design, while occasionally dipping into some of my other interests as well.
The problem is that is a pretty narrow field. If I catered to the photography/skateboarding/design/gaming crowd, I would severely limit my audience. The problem with separate websites for each is I become too scatter brained and lose interest fairly quickly. I know, I've tried it before.
Happy Birthday to me! And hopefully my birthday wish will give me some new found clarity on the subject.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
I Am an Awful Writer.
Writing is one of the few things I still enjoy doing.
If I'm awful at it, I apologize, but it gives some indication into how well I do other activities in my life. I have never particularly enjoyed reading other peoples work, either. It often makes me want to give up on life all together.
It's not just the random people I met in college and their grandiose way of writing, but the big names too. I have maybe, three writers I actually enjoy reading on a regular basis. So where does this odd fondness of the written word come from? I have no idea, but I'm going to indulge it for as long as possible, because it is the only thing I have left.
If I'm awful at it, I apologize, but it gives some indication into how well I do other activities in my life. I have never particularly enjoyed reading other peoples work, either. It often makes me want to give up on life all together.
It's not just the random people I met in college and their grandiose way of writing, but the big names too. I have maybe, three writers I actually enjoy reading on a regular basis. So where does this odd fondness of the written word come from? I have no idea, but I'm going to indulge it for as long as possible, because it is the only thing I have left.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Fishermans Wharf and Some Crazy Dude... (San Francisco)
One of my first days spent in San Francisco was on Fisherman's Wharf. It is defiantly a cool place, but totally has that tourist vibe. Oh well, it was my first week there, I'm allowed to act like a tourist, right? defiantly
Well the following story will definitely show how much I wasn't paying attention.
Fisherman's Wharf is like Navy Pier on crack, except everyone is either trying to sell you something, or asking for change. It is important to keep your guard up, although no one really bothers you, except for the bums.
At the north part of the Wharf, right by some chocolate factory, is a beach. Even in the summer, San Francisco is pretty chilly especially in the morning. Well it just so happened to be 9am and foggy. People are still out swimming, but they wear wet suits. Except for one guy. One crazy, crazy guy.
He climbed from the water wearing nothing but shorts and sun glasses. I should have noticed right away, but my guard was so high I completely ignored the actual thing I was looking for. He stopped by one of the beach showers and someone with a camera nicer than mine was shooting photos of him. I figured it was some kind of event, something like the Polar Plunge, except in June. Well it wasn't, and this guy was crazy. He murmured something to the guy, and he left. He then saw me walking past, and asked if I wanted to shoot some photos of his freezing ass.
"Sure", I said .
After we were done, he said he would give me his info so I could send the pictures along. I just so happened to have a card with me, so I offered it to him. He mentioned that he was obviously soaking wet, and he didn't bring a towel, so to give him a minute and he would grab his clothes. He motioned to right over by a concrete wall, and we began to chat.
"Yeah, I'm an airline pilot on vacation, I'm waiting for this girl from San Diego to meet me here", he said.
I asked him why the hell he didn't bring a towel, and he said that he left everything in his car. Except that when he walked over to his "clothes", it was clear he had all his stuff with him. In a stroller. This guy not only wasn't a pilot, but he was definitely a bum. I began to see the signs. Right after he mentioned he was also a boat captain.
He made his was to his stroller, and started pulling out several shirts, and pairs of pants. One by one, he struggled to put them on. It was almost painful to watch. After he was finished, I thought he looked crazy enough. I was wrong.
I forget if even told me his name, but I was so baffled I would have forgotten it anyhow. This guy was Egyptian, and had a pretty decent beard. I'm not the type of person to judge people by their looks, but if he WAS a pilot, chances are he would get searched every time he was on a plane, if you catch my drift. Then the dumbest possible thing he could do, he did. He took a tattered shit and started wrapping it around his head, not unlike a turban. He looked like a homeless Osama Bin Laden.
"People think I have a bomb in here", he said as he shook the box.
"Oh shit, this guy totally has a bomb", I thought.
As soon as I figured out he was crazy, I tried to ditch him. I didn't have much luck, until we started to cruise the piers, and I noticed there was an arcade museum, filled with maze like rows of old arcade machines. This was my chance. He was smoking a cigarette, and couldn't go in.
"Hey, man, I'm going to check this out real quick", I said.
"Okay, let me finish this", he said.
Before he could finish his sentence, I was in the door. I looked back, and noticed he was smoking in a hurry. I had to be quick. I ducked and dodged through the aisles looking for somewhere to hide. Then I noticed my miracle. A door on the opposite side.
Knowing he would be in there, I had to carefully plan my exit. Ducking and hiding behind the cabinets like a Terminator movie, I felt a rush of adrenaline. I ducked out, and hopped on my skateboard. I pushed as hard as I could.
A few piers later, it was pretty clear he wasn't catching up. I started noticing signs for Alcatraz tours, so I slowed down. I made my way down a little bit farther when something caught my eye.
Somewhere near where they docked the boats, some seals have taken over a few of the docks. Apparently they just hang out there, and they have never left. It is a pretty big tourist attratction, but I had to check this out. I only spent a few minutes there, and started making my way down the long hallway the connects the docks to the main pier. Then I heard an echo.
"SEAAAAAANNN"
I tried to ignore it, and hopped on my board, but it wasn't coming from behind me, it was coming from in front.
"SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNN"
I had no choice but to look, and sure enough, he was running TOWARDS me, with his stroller full of his "pilot tools and booze". Resistance was futile, so I figured I would have to legitimately part ways with this goofball.
As we walked more down the wharf, he started pointing out restaurants where he mentioned how "nice" the waitresses were, and how they would toss him free food from the back alley. Was this guy serious? Did he not realize how crazy he sounded? He just went from being a pilot to hanging out in back alleys waiting for people to toss him food. It didn't make any sense. I wanted to ditch him, but the Wharf is pretty much a straight shot down to The Embarcadero, so my only option was to drive deeper into the city. As San Francisco is pretty much all uphill, I decided I must do what I need to do.
After a while, I just decided to wander off, and made it uphill. He followed, but it was clear he couldn't make it up the hills with his stroller full of shit. He began to follow me down the parallel roads until we caught up again at Embarcadero.
Okay, that was it. The final straw. I had to use something I knew he didn't have. Money.
I made my way to the BART. BART stands for Bay Area Rapid Transit, which is almost like New York's subway, or my hometown Chicago's El. It's pretty shitty, but it would have to do.
The BART's esclators are almost always broken. I figured this would get him. It didn't. He pushed his cart down the stairs so gracefully it was clear he had done this before. He assumed we were going down there to get loaded. He was wrong.
The BART has gates that open and close as soon as each individual swipes their card. You can scam a ride, but you have to be quick. Really quick. Something this guy wasn't.
It was pretty clear he was going to try and follow me, so I had to time it pretty perfect. I had to stay outside long enough so that right as I passed through, the gate closed. Wait to long, and I screw myself.
I made it through almost perfectly, thinking he wouldn't even try it. Once again, I was wrong.
He was skinny, so he almost made it through, until the gate clamped down on his leg. Ouch. I almost felt sorry for him. Then I remembered all his lies and crazy shit, and I felt sorry for him no longer.
"Hey Sean", he squirmed. "Toss me your card"
"WHAT?!", I pretended not to hear him.
I could see this disappointment in his eyes. There was a train just about to leave, so I hopped on it. I didn't care where it was going. As the train left the station, I could see him standing there, looking like a confused puppy.
Still, thinking about that look makes me sad.
Well the following story will definitely show how much I wasn't paying attention.
Fisherman's Wharf is like Navy Pier on crack, except everyone is either trying to sell you something, or asking for change. It is important to keep your guard up, although no one really bothers you, except for the bums.
At the north part of the Wharf, right by some chocolate factory, is a beach. Even in the summer, San Francisco is pretty chilly especially in the morning. Well it just so happened to be 9am and foggy. People are still out swimming, but they wear wet suits. Except for one guy. One crazy, crazy guy.
He climbed from the water wearing nothing but shorts and sun glasses. I should have noticed right away, but my guard was so high I completely ignored the actual thing I was looking for. He stopped by one of the beach showers and someone with a camera nicer than mine was shooting photos of him. I figured it was some kind of event, something like the Polar Plunge, except in June. Well it wasn't, and this guy was crazy. He murmured something to the guy, and he left. He then saw me walking past, and asked if I wanted to shoot some photos of his freezing ass.
"Sure", I said .
After we were done, he said he would give me his info so I could send the pictures along. I just so happened to have a card with me, so I offered it to him. He mentioned that he was obviously soaking wet, and he didn't bring a towel, so to give him a minute and he would grab his clothes. He motioned to right over by a concrete wall, and we began to chat.
"Yeah, I'm an airline pilot on vacation, I'm waiting for this girl from San Diego to meet me here", he said.
I asked him why the hell he didn't bring a towel, and he said that he left everything in his car. Except that when he walked over to his "clothes", it was clear he had all his stuff with him. In a stroller. This guy not only wasn't a pilot, but he was definitely a bum. I began to see the signs. Right after he mentioned he was also a boat captain.
He made his was to his stroller, and started pulling out several shirts, and pairs of pants. One by one, he struggled to put them on. It was almost painful to watch. After he was finished, I thought he looked crazy enough. I was wrong.
I forget if even told me his name, but I was so baffled I would have forgotten it anyhow. This guy was Egyptian, and had a pretty decent beard. I'm not the type of person to judge people by their looks, but if he WAS a pilot, chances are he would get searched every time he was on a plane, if you catch my drift. Then the dumbest possible thing he could do, he did. He took a tattered shit and started wrapping it around his head, not unlike a turban. He looked like a homeless Osama Bin Laden.
"People think I have a bomb in here", he said as he shook the box.
"Oh shit, this guy totally has a bomb", I thought.
As soon as I figured out he was crazy, I tried to ditch him. I didn't have much luck, until we started to cruise the piers, and I noticed there was an arcade museum, filled with maze like rows of old arcade machines. This was my chance. He was smoking a cigarette, and couldn't go in.
"Hey, man, I'm going to check this out real quick", I said.
"Okay, let me finish this", he said.
Before he could finish his sentence, I was in the door. I looked back, and noticed he was smoking in a hurry. I had to be quick. I ducked and dodged through the aisles looking for somewhere to hide. Then I noticed my miracle. A door on the opposite side.
Knowing he would be in there, I had to carefully plan my exit. Ducking and hiding behind the cabinets like a Terminator movie, I felt a rush of adrenaline. I ducked out, and hopped on my skateboard. I pushed as hard as I could.
A few piers later, it was pretty clear he wasn't catching up. I started noticing signs for Alcatraz tours, so I slowed down. I made my way down a little bit farther when something caught my eye.
Somewhere near where they docked the boats, some seals have taken over a few of the docks. Apparently they just hang out there, and they have never left. It is a pretty big tourist attratction, but I had to check this out. I only spent a few minutes there, and started making my way down the long hallway the connects the docks to the main pier. Then I heard an echo.
"SEAAAAAANNN"
I tried to ignore it, and hopped on my board, but it wasn't coming from behind me, it was coming from in front.
"SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNN"
I had no choice but to look, and sure enough, he was running TOWARDS me, with his stroller full of his "pilot tools and booze". Resistance was futile, so I figured I would have to legitimately part ways with this goofball.
As we walked more down the wharf, he started pointing out restaurants where he mentioned how "nice" the waitresses were, and how they would toss him free food from the back alley. Was this guy serious? Did he not realize how crazy he sounded? He just went from being a pilot to hanging out in back alleys waiting for people to toss him food. It didn't make any sense. I wanted to ditch him, but the Wharf is pretty much a straight shot down to The Embarcadero, so my only option was to drive deeper into the city. As San Francisco is pretty much all uphill, I decided I must do what I need to do.
After a while, I just decided to wander off, and made it uphill. He followed, but it was clear he couldn't make it up the hills with his stroller full of shit. He began to follow me down the parallel roads until we caught up again at Embarcadero.
Okay, that was it. The final straw. I had to use something I knew he didn't have. Money.
I made my way to the BART. BART stands for Bay Area Rapid Transit, which is almost like New York's subway, or my hometown Chicago's El. It's pretty shitty, but it would have to do.
The BART's esclators are almost always broken. I figured this would get him. It didn't. He pushed his cart down the stairs so gracefully it was clear he had done this before. He assumed we were going down there to get loaded. He was wrong.
The BART has gates that open and close as soon as each individual swipes their card. You can scam a ride, but you have to be quick. Really quick. Something this guy wasn't.
It was pretty clear he was going to try and follow me, so I had to time it pretty perfect. I had to stay outside long enough so that right as I passed through, the gate closed. Wait to long, and I screw myself.
I made it through almost perfectly, thinking he wouldn't even try it. Once again, I was wrong.
He was skinny, so he almost made it through, until the gate clamped down on his leg. Ouch. I almost felt sorry for him. Then I remembered all his lies and crazy shit, and I felt sorry for him no longer.
"Hey Sean", he squirmed. "Toss me your card"
"WHAT?!", I pretended not to hear him.
I could see this disappointment in his eyes. There was a train just about to leave, so I hopped on it. I didn't care where it was going. As the train left the station, I could see him standing there, looking like a confused puppy.
Still, thinking about that look makes me sad.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
There Is Nothing In the World Like A Southern California Night (Great American Road Trip Part Something)
As soon as we hit California, something in my changed. I knew this is what I had been waiting for, and I was excited. If for some reason I had to turn around and go back home, I still would have left happy.
Passing the boarder made Neil a bit worried, but I assured him we wouldn't even be stopped. We weren't, and we made out way into the Coachella Valley. I've had friends who live in Indio and Palm Desert, and it seemed like a blast. They have often invited me to Coachella Music Festivel but I never took them up on the offer. But fuck did I want to.
The pure bliss I experienced in Arizona was almost completely forgotten by the time we hit San Bernadino. It was once again time for us to stop for a Chicago Blackhawks game, but this time it was important. They were playing the LA Kings.
We were in enemy territory.
I didn't think to bring a shirt or a jersey, but we figured that Neil's Blackhawk's tattoo was enough. We were ready. Although not for disappointment, which is exactly what happened.
The first place we stopped was an Applebees. I'm not partial to them, in fact, I think they suck. But I was willing to make an exception. They were watching baseball, on every screen. Given that both of Southern Cali's teams suck, they couldn't be watching the Dodgers on EVERY screen, right? They were. They didn't even know what hockey was. Seriously.
Given that there team had won the Stanley Cup the year prior, certainly somewhere close had to be playing it. We asked, and the locals couldn't even think of a place. This wouldn't happen in Chicago. I used to give shit to fair weather fans, but I have a new grown appreciation for them. At least in Chicago, people are willing to support their teams even when they are losing. The Kings were doing rather well, and not one person gave a shit.
We couldn't find our default, Buffalo Wild Wings, anywhere, so we decided to take a chance on a TGI Friday's. We got lucky, they said, as there were some Kings fans already there. Well, one fan, as it were.
In Chicago, places like that would be packed. Every single one of them. Even a place like Friday's, you would see husbands pigeon necking around to watch the game and ignore their wives, if only for a second. Apparently not in LA.
We had some fun rapport with the ONE (lady) fan at Friday's, but no one else gave a shit. When we cheered, people stared at us. At least in Texas people knew why we were being ignorant. Not here. At least the bartender was nice enough to not cut us off for being crazy.
The game was pretty uneventful, the Hawks one, but our celebration was not as gnarly as we had hoped. We were hoping to get dirty looks from Kings fans, but we ended up just getting dirty looks from the random people enjoying their meal.
At least we had the drive up the coast and our destination within reach to look forward to.
We never did get the sweet girl we made friends with at Friday's name, but if she every reads this...
Haha, we won!
Passing the boarder made Neil a bit worried, but I assured him we wouldn't even be stopped. We weren't, and we made out way into the Coachella Valley. I've had friends who live in Indio and Palm Desert, and it seemed like a blast. They have often invited me to Coachella Music Festivel but I never took them up on the offer. But fuck did I want to.
The pure bliss I experienced in Arizona was almost completely forgotten by the time we hit San Bernadino. It was once again time for us to stop for a Chicago Blackhawks game, but this time it was important. They were playing the LA Kings.
We were in enemy territory.
I didn't think to bring a shirt or a jersey, but we figured that Neil's Blackhawk's tattoo was enough. We were ready. Although not for disappointment, which is exactly what happened.
The first place we stopped was an Applebees. I'm not partial to them, in fact, I think they suck. But I was willing to make an exception. They were watching baseball, on every screen. Given that both of Southern Cali's teams suck, they couldn't be watching the Dodgers on EVERY screen, right? They were. They didn't even know what hockey was. Seriously.
Given that there team had won the Stanley Cup the year prior, certainly somewhere close had to be playing it. We asked, and the locals couldn't even think of a place. This wouldn't happen in Chicago. I used to give shit to fair weather fans, but I have a new grown appreciation for them. At least in Chicago, people are willing to support their teams even when they are losing. The Kings were doing rather well, and not one person gave a shit.
We couldn't find our default, Buffalo Wild Wings, anywhere, so we decided to take a chance on a TGI Friday's. We got lucky, they said, as there were some Kings fans already there. Well, one fan, as it were.
In Chicago, places like that would be packed. Every single one of them. Even a place like Friday's, you would see husbands pigeon necking around to watch the game and ignore their wives, if only for a second. Apparently not in LA.
We had some fun rapport with the ONE (lady) fan at Friday's, but no one else gave a shit. When we cheered, people stared at us. At least in Texas people knew why we were being ignorant. Not here. At least the bartender was nice enough to not cut us off for being crazy.
The game was pretty uneventful, the Hawks one, but our celebration was not as gnarly as we had hoped. We were hoping to get dirty looks from Kings fans, but we ended up just getting dirty looks from the random people enjoying their meal.
At least we had the drive up the coast and our destination within reach to look forward to.
We never did get the sweet girl we made friends with at Friday's name, but if she every reads this...
Haha, we won!
California! We Made It!
The southwest is one of my favorite places in this country. I have family in the Pheonix area, and although I haven't been there in 10 years, I was really looking forward to it.
That was until we hit the coast.
From Pheonix to LA it was about 100 degrees. In a car with no air condition, it definately tested our limits. The drive was so beautiful, I almost didn't notice it. But when I did, holy shit. It was hot.
Really hot.
I had always heard two things about southern California. The weather and the traffic. My co-pilot had never seen LA, I thought it was pretty impaitive he saw a few sights LA had to offer. The Whiskey, The Roxy, and the Capitol Records tower are a must. The Hollywood is a sight to be seen.
We didn't have much time, so we had to just hit the 101 to make sure we saw as much as possible. I knew that we would see the Hollywood sign and the Capitol Records building, I just hoped we didn't hit traffic.
Through Coachella valley we hit some problems, but it was due to a rather nasty accident. After that it was smooth sailing. Although I'm sure a few people got pissed at the speed I was driving. Oh well, fuck em. They saw the license plates.
It was still hot as we drove through LA, but as soon as we hit Ventura it was like a breath of fresh air. Literally. The temprature dropped about 15 degrees, and as soon as we hit the coast we knew it was going to be a slow ride.
We made the decision to take the Pacific Coast Highway all the way up to the Bay Area. We knew it was going to take us a little longer. Fuck it, it was worth it.
We had timed it so we would hit the coast right as the sunset. It was blinding for a few minutes, but fuck it was worth it. This was what I was waiting for. Physically and spiritually. I had often dreamed about this moment. And now it was finally reality.
Unlike a band you love or a girl you had been wooing, the California coast did not disappoint. It was everything I had hoped it would be. I had thought my spiritual journey was over. Little did I know it was just beginning.
Holy fuck was it just beginning.
(From here on out, I will be switching between stories of emotional growth and spiritual enlightenment. I realize now the stories I've told aren't the greatest, although they felt like that at the time. The time I spent in southern California will forever remain one of the greatest experiences of my life, and I have plenty of stories to tell. This is just the beginning.)
That was until we hit the coast.
From Pheonix to LA it was about 100 degrees. In a car with no air condition, it definately tested our limits. The drive was so beautiful, I almost didn't notice it. But when I did, holy shit. It was hot.
Really hot.
I had always heard two things about southern California. The weather and the traffic. My co-pilot had never seen LA, I thought it was pretty impaitive he saw a few sights LA had to offer. The Whiskey, The Roxy, and the Capitol Records tower are a must. The Hollywood is a sight to be seen.
We didn't have much time, so we had to just hit the 101 to make sure we saw as much as possible. I knew that we would see the Hollywood sign and the Capitol Records building, I just hoped we didn't hit traffic.
Through Coachella valley we hit some problems, but it was due to a rather nasty accident. After that it was smooth sailing. Although I'm sure a few people got pissed at the speed I was driving. Oh well, fuck em. They saw the license plates.
It was still hot as we drove through LA, but as soon as we hit Ventura it was like a breath of fresh air. Literally. The temprature dropped about 15 degrees, and as soon as we hit the coast we knew it was going to be a slow ride.
We made the decision to take the Pacific Coast Highway all the way up to the Bay Area. We knew it was going to take us a little longer. Fuck it, it was worth it.
We had timed it so we would hit the coast right as the sunset. It was blinding for a few minutes, but fuck it was worth it. This was what I was waiting for. Physically and spiritually. I had often dreamed about this moment. And now it was finally reality.
Unlike a band you love or a girl you had been wooing, the California coast did not disappoint. It was everything I had hoped it would be. I had thought my spiritual journey was over. Little did I know it was just beginning.
Holy fuck was it just beginning.
(From here on out, I will be switching between stories of emotional growth and spiritual enlightenment. I realize now the stories I've told aren't the greatest, although they felt like that at the time. The time I spent in southern California will forever remain one of the greatest experiences of my life, and I have plenty of stories to tell. This is just the beginning.)
The Half Way Point
So I've been getting a lot of good responses for this blog. I'm happy about that.
I'll be writing more of the story shortly. In the mean time, I've been stranded here in Ashland, Oregon having a great time.
The mountains here are amazing. Only a short five minute walk brings me to one of the most amazing places I've ever been in my life. Streams so clean you can drink from them. Paths that aren't really paths, but more rock climbing expeditions.
San Francisco is fun, and I cannot wait to live there however, for the time being I am enjoying submerging myself into nature and climbing mountains.
For now, perhaps I'll go raging down the zip line a time or two.
I'll be writing more of the story shortly. In the mean time, I've been stranded here in Ashland, Oregon having a great time.
The mountains here are amazing. Only a short five minute walk brings me to one of the most amazing places I've ever been in my life. Streams so clean you can drink from them. Paths that aren't really paths, but more rock climbing expeditions.
San Francisco is fun, and I cannot wait to live there however, for the time being I am enjoying submerging myself into nature and climbing mountains.
For now, perhaps I'll go raging down the zip line a time or two.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)