Surf Writers

STOP!

2010-08-20T19:50:00.000-07:00

Above photo was taken from Desolation Sound in British Columbia, small little dock with a caretaker family of three. The five year old little girl (who on this given day was going by the name of Lily the Fairy Princess) and her parents live there year round. An hour boat ride to the nearest store and much farther to any town of substance. In summer they have visitors daily but come winter time, barely a sole visits the place. No roads lead in or out. Their water supply comes from the falls we hiked too, picture below. I know many people whose minds race when they are alone for 5 minutes (including me sometimes) so it's a unique individual that can deal with that solitude.

Anyway, I love acronyms, and I just came up with another while talking to a good friend. This friend's mind runs with thoughts, ideas and anxieties often. I have been giving him the advice to say, "Stop!" to himself, and give himself permission to have a break from the hyper active mind.

Well, I thought, what can we do with this word, "stop".

S. Sit and listen. Often when we are anxiouse or in a panic state, we don't allow ourselves to listen. To the sounds around us...and to other people. When wanting to rush into monologues or diatribes, take a breath, and listen to somebody else or to nature.

T. Take it all in. Look around, see things, hear things, feel things (pick up a blade of grass and feel the texture, pick up a flower and smell it, eat a piece of fruit and really taste it). Get your senses focusing outward while your mind races to go inward.

O. Outside. If at all possible, go outside, being stuck indoors is the worst place to let the mind run wild which oftentimes skews thoughts of reality.

P. Persevere. Training and controlling the mind takes time. If years of habitual worrying and over thinking have been taking place, it's a habit, it'll take time to create new habits of positive thinking and peace...persevere!

Well, I may modify this, but I wanted to write it down before it slipped away...when the mind starts racing into overdrive, just say, "Stop!"

Lily the fairies water falls

Feel your way to a better life!

2010-01-18T12:15:00.000-08:00

Feelings, nothing more than feelings...

While a classic song about love these key words underplay the truth of the reality we live; feelings drive most people and often to their demise. Feel we do and strongly.

That's why after much thought and discussion with my partners Mega Mel and Danny Ray about the plight of Everyman's Insanity; we've created the acronym; F.E.E.L. for dealing with the varying and turbulent emotions life in a broken world brings.

F - Find it
E - Embrace it
E - Emote it
L - Let it go

In reality we can't change the world or anything else. That's God's job. We are only conduits in which God does his work. But with God's initiation we can partake in dynamic changes within ourselves. The key word here is within. The temptation for everyone is to fix people, at least everyone but themselves. As bares repeating we can't change the world or anything else and that includes other people. We can only change how we react to people. And how we react always starts with how we feel in a given situation.

External and internal forces drive us to feel; sadness, anger, rage, frustration, hurt, pain, embarrassment, joy, etc. The list goes on. And the first word in our acronym helps us to identify exactly what force is driving our feelings.

F. Find it.

As the saying goes denial is not just a river in Egypt. Usually our first reaction to feeling is either denial or a misplacement of the cause. So when we recognize a state of emotion we need to ask ourselves, "Why am I feeling this way?" It may take repeated "self talk" questions, "What is causing this?", "Who is making me feel this way?" "Why does that action upset me?", "Why am I feeling this way?" Come up with your own, do whatever it takes to peel back the onion, to find the true reason for why you are feeling the way you do.

E. Embrace it.

Once you find the one or many reasons for the emotions you are experiencing, embrace them. Shame, guilt, hurt, grief are some of the hardest to accept; but for some it's praise, responsibility, anger...whatever it is embrace it, own it, feel it. Not just at a surface level but really allow yourself to go through the emotion.

E. Emote it.

As you are finding and embracing the feelings, emote them! Write down what you are feeling, shout it out in the shower, tell a friend, cry, rant, laugh! Youtube it or blog it--you might wait a day or two to post it :)--sing it while you run or ride through the trails or streets of your city. It is critical in the processing to emote what you are feeling.

L. Let it go.

It may take many cycles through the above steps before this final step occurs, so don't rush it. But whether the emotions and feelings you're having are the highest of highs or the lowest of lows, at some point we must let them go. Life is full of feelings and feelings are a huge part of getting the most out of this wonderful journey called life. So let go of the old so you can enjoy the new.

Feelings, we all have them, they drive us and sometimes wreck us...don't run or hide, just F.E.E.L.

Mega Mel, master of the youtube, did a video on this topic over Christmas break while we were out playing disc golf, check it out.

Mega Mel on F.E.E.L.

2009-08-10T12:05:00.001-07:00

Roxy Chewbacca at the wheel in Santa Cruz.

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2009-08-09T14:22:00.000-07:00

Escape from Alcatraz! Timing was right and we ended up on Alcatraz on the day of the 75th anniversary....meeting endmate was pretty cool.

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2009-08-07T15:50:00.001-07:00

On the road through the Red Woods again, this time with friends and disc golf. Epic beach campfire last night. My Thea makes me smile, she's still in Oregon surfing the machine!

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2009-08-05T10:03:00.001-07:00

A river runs through it.

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2009-08-03T11:26:00.001-07:00

Great ride, nothing like belting out "How Majestic is His Name..." while blasting down a trail.

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2009-08-01T16:53:00.001-07:00

Blow outs and gun fight...Welcome to central Oregon. Falcon lost a tire and some shield panneling then we hit a ghost town and had some fun...next up Sunriver.

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2009-07-31T08:00:00.000-07:00

God's work abounds out here in the North West, with otherworldly looking fish like Bullnose and Lincod (we caught several too small to keep) and beautiful sunsets that perfectly compliment the suns morning rise. And my thankfulness abounds to get to be on a trip like this.
Thank you Al for your great hospitality.
Now to Sunriver, Oregon.

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2009-07-29T20:15:00.001-07:00

Another fun day....six fish, no keepers but weird looking...a nice walk on the shore chasing crabs...rowing lessons...now down time.

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2009-07-29T06:41:00.000-07:00

It's a beautiful morning!

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2009-07-28T15:37:00.001-07:00

Captain Al Warden and the Wasabi.

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2009-07-28T15:33:00.000-07:00

I could get use to this...it's the higher end marine version of the Falcon. Three days on this should be prrreeeeettttyyyy goooood.

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2009-07-25T10:01:00.001-07:00

more skate

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2009-07-25T10:00:00.001-07:00

skating Forks with DAYNE HOUSE and JOSH GRAY.

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End of the World!

2009-07-25T09:14:00.000-07:00

Fishing the temperate rain forests.

World's Larges Spruce in Rain Forest.

Maia, Thea, Roxy and me at the end of the North West...Colin on camera.

The adventure continues!

2009-07-24T15:07:00.001-07:00

Killer skate session with some locals in Forks WA...I guess they film some movie...Twilight here....no interest in vamps....but the local skaters rip....1st shot old man trev...2nd local shredder Dayne House...

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2009-07-23T23:01:00.000-07:00

Trip is going great, seems the go till you find a place is working with every night finding fun filled adventures. As I write this we are nearing the North West point of mainland USA and camping on a lake with Eagles soaring.

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2009-07-21T23:12:00.001-07:00

Into Oregon we go with epic bonfires friends.
Redwoods were very cool and big...no bigfoot yet...yet...I'm planning a more intense on return down the coast.

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2009-07-21T10:18:00.001-07:00

Horse back riding, Jellybelly factory, slepping rubber tramp style just off the road in Bigfoot Country and playing in the Redwoods. The stars last night were def. declaring the Glory of the King!

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2009-07-19T20:39:00.001-07:00

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2009-07-19T20:37:00.001-07:00

After fun recon mission for surf and fish on return flight through Morrow bay, we eased our way up the coast, then shot the gap through San Francisco, steering wheel in one hand camera in the other, navigating the downtown madness and across the Bay Bridge to Mais's dads in Fairfield...tomorrow, Sonoma.

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Salvang Olive Grove

2009-07-19T07:49:00.001-07:00

Good times so far, staying on the coast for while.

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2009-07-19T07:38:00.001-07:00

Salvang after fun first night of biking and fishing.

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2009-07-18T09:59:00.001-07:00

The falcon is ready but Princess Lea is not...lol...as Solo says of the Falcon...she may not look like much but she's got it were it counts kid.

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2009-07-17T21:45:00.001-07:00

The Falcon is ready

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High Adventure!

2009-04-17T08:52:00.000-07:00

CLICK ON IMAGES FOR LARGE VERSIONS

Over spring break, we decided to take a quick trip to the mountains, and thanks to the expertise of Mountain Man Sean, and a bunch of Stay Positive, Stay Motivated kids, it was a huge success.

The destination was locked in early, but who would be coming along for the trip, was in flux till the last minute, but as usual, it all came together as a crew of seven boys, two girls, three dogs, me and Sean stormed the mountains.

The boys had the camp dialed in when we arrived in the Millennium Falcon.

Some things never change, when I was a kid, all we needed was a dirt mound as a jump, and the hours flew by like minutes, the same thing happened here, as the boys spent much of the time, "getting air". Guys and girls, click on any pictures, for much bigger images.

Tristan takes flight...

Nathan soars...

C.T. takes off...

Jacob with a smooth landing...

Matt on the green machine...

Colton tucks in mid flight for distance....

The girls were not to be denied, and charged the jump over and over, with shouts of, "You got air!".

Here's Ashley...

And Thea...

Colton, wanted a picture of the bike, he wants to buy...good luck buddy!

After a chilly night, with hot dogs and marshmallows over the fire, it was time for breakfast.

Sean is the master of campfire cooking, with custon tools of the trade, and a servant's heart, he worked the fire for over an hour, making sure we were all plenty full before he finally made up his own.

Eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, we had it all...it was awesome! Thanks, Buddy!

After breakfast and more jumps, it was off on an adventure bike ride.

Alex and Jacob, tree climbing experts extraordinaire!

The pack...

Thea and Ashley doing some rock climbing.

Some mountain biking.

More rock climbing, notice spider man Sean, and his dog, wondering, "Should he be doing this with a cast on his arm?"

We started a club a while back, called the Butcher Boyz (and girlz), we started as a skate club, but, it has evolved into a club for kids who love adventure, and are committed to Staying Positive, Staying Motivated...good job to all of you on this trip, you are all in the club!

The line-up from left to right. Ashley, Colton, Matt, Thea, Jacob, Nathan, Tristan, Colin, Alex.

Have a great day everybody,

Love God--Live Large!

Trevor

It's been a fun fall.

2008-11-14T07:45:00.000-08:00

Fall has been fun. Coaching soccer, surfing and running small groups at the school I teach; it has kept me busy and a bit drained.

Here's a recent surf pic, check the other blog I run for a surf group I'm part of, for more of what I've been up to. Harbour Owner Society

We also had some fun at the Ray household recently;

I hope all is well, and don't forget to...

Love God--Live Large!

My son's school project...

2008-10-21T21:10:00.000-07:00

My son did a little video, that I helped with, for an art project at school...you can check the link here:

42 days to the hour...

2008-08-06T07:33:00.000-07:00

And we're back.

The Millennium Falcon (now referred to as Millie by Maia) didn't disappoint, with no major problems, she took Solo and family across boiling hot deserts, 12k peaks and 2200 miles safe and sound.

A microcosm of how God works, taking seemingly broken down vessels and bringing forth great fruits, thank you Lord!

It's been a fun filled adventure, with God adding unplanned adventures, new friends and fantastic memories at every turn.

I hope you enjoyed following along, here are the final pictures on the final stages and the trip home.

Thanks to my dad, MegaMel, for hosting us across the mid-west journey.

Princess Maia arrives to big hugs...we missed her terribly!

Downs...Colin Downs. C.T. looked dashing in his tux for my sisters wedding.

Maia gets her first taste of co-piloting the Falcon.

Fort Collins is a very well put together town, this is the local water park, situated within the city park which included a fishing lake and train. That's Colin and his cousin Summer.

Maia and my Dad during the tour of the local "New Belgium" brewery.

A little river running in Fort Collins.

Taken from over 12k in the sky, in Estes Park...I'm amazed the Falcon made it, not too many 2o year old RV's making that run.

Dakotah, Jordyn, Maia, Colin and Thea before the wedding.

The full family!

My little sister Tracy and I. I took a little flack for wearing brown to a black and white wedding.

On the road back, we stopped for a little disc golf in Glenwood Springs.

This is the Hot Springs Park I was going to go to, before I found out it was a fortune. I asked the gardner if he knew of a smaller spot. He told us about the Hippi-Springs. "But, the people down there are a little shakey."

I said, "Perfect".

So we took a secret trail, down under the highway, where the hippi-pools were. And we were not disappointed. The excess hot springs water, before even entering the public pools, gets diverted down the pipe and back into the river. Locals have built up rock baths amidst the overflow, and it was perfect.

Thea is a natural climber, with her super human strength and ripped up the climbing wall.

And she's a pretty good fisher-girl too. Here she is in Telluride.

A main theme of the trip was fishing, and Colin decided to upgrade to Fly-Fishing, he took to it like a natural, and we caught some trout first try. It's super fun. He got his new pole for his birthday, which we celebrated on the road and in Glenwood Springs! Happy 10th Birthday Colin! I love you buddy!

WOW!!!!! THAT WAS FUN!

I can't wait to do it again...maybe next year, the North West!

God Bless you all!

Water skiing in the Ozarks, back to the Springs.

2008-07-27T14:20:00.000-07:00

We had a blast at my Uncle Lyle's lake house in the Ozarks.

I learned how to water ski there as a kid, so it was really fun to see Colin skiing and Thea tubing on the same waters.

Kyle (from earlier skate fame) was with us for the three days and let us use his jet bike, thanks Kyle.

Water skiing isn't all fun and games, as I demonstrate here.

C.T. got up quick, but the knee board (as seen on video below) became his board of choice.

It was great to see Uncle Ken again, on his 70 acre horse ranch...very nice!

Megamel show Uncle Ron how to use the Meg Motivator cards in the small town of Warsaw.

Fun times...next up, my sisters wedding, Princess Maia arrives today, and I've fully cleaned and prepped up the Falcon.

Check out the first of MegaMel's youtube tip videos.

Graceland and the Asselins = Big Post!

2008-07-19T19:55:00.000-07:00

Taking Care of Business...in a Flash!

We caught a glimpse of the famous archway to the West, but no time to stop...

Tennessee, the Asselins and a gun store were waiting for us.

What better place to start our weekend with my good buddy Marco, than a gun store. The purchase of a gun for Colin for his 10th birthday was just a bonus...
...3 2 1...Maia's calling, and she's not happy!

Then it was off to a family style dinner in Franklin, and a fun filled couple of days at the Asselins; including the legendary hospitality of Lisa with her superb breakfasts of French toast, fruit platters and veggie filled omelets.

We also met many of their friends at Olivia's birthday party.

Marco's state of the art Movie/Video game room...AWESOME!

It was super fun getting to be part of Olivia's birthday party.

Here's Josh, proud to be an American; gun and woman in hand.

While we were having fun around Franklin, Mega Mel took his dirtbike down to Lynchburg for a visit at Jack Daniels Distillery.

God has blessed Marco and his family, with a great life.

Here's Big Trevor and Little Trevor.

Then it was off to a very nice campground between Nashville and Memphis for fishing and shooting...this is life in Tennessee...

We were trusting Olivia, when she said, "This snake isn't poisonous."

Good family fun, girls working on the art, boys playing with guns.

Nothing like boat fishing.

Colin and Marco came through, late the last night, pulling in a couple of nice sized bass. You can check the video at bottom to view fish and get some knife sharpening tips.

Nothing like a Tenn swimming hole to cool off from the HEAT of the day.

Josh and I were both pretty sad, saying good-bye.

Well, with the primary destination--and our farthest point East complete, it was time for the second destination point...Graceland.

Colin quickly set the ground rule, as I broke out in Elvis songs, "Dad, don't embarrass me."

"Sorry son, not really an option on this tour...'T.C.B.', 'Suspicious minds', 'That's alright mama', etc." Pretty much poured from me the whole time but Colin was very patient with me.

Turns out, Elvis used the Mega Motivator cards...

I thought the tour was really cool. It's amazing, that the guy who had a two bathroom, three room jet, lived in a "Mansion" that is about the size of your above average home in West.

Colin was like, "Dad, what are you doing? Who are you waving at?" "My fans son, just my fans..."

Colin's favorite part of the tour...the gift shops.

Rest in Peace E, T.C.B.

Sk8 or Die in Saint Louis, MO

2008-07-15T06:13:00.001-07:00

The great times and blessed trip continues.

My eyes lit up when I found out my second Cousin Kyle likes to skate, so it was off for the usual epic day; with fishing, biking, kayaking, promoting the Mega Mel Motivator and my favorite, skateparks! Here's a short vid...Kyle rips!

Now it's off to Nashville with the Asselin Clan...

Missouri boy homecoming....

2008-07-11T15:09:00.000-07:00

Just an average day in MO...feeding babies and shooting guns.

Back home to the Big MO!!! I was born in Rolla, so I guess this is sort of a homecoming. We've been fishing, and swimming in the rivers and lakes, and having a great time!

Here's Colin with his first Bass, and first fish caught of the trip, we're cooking it up soon, and as you can see from second picture, they call these Large Mouth Bass.

Before we hit MO, we finished up on the ranch, that's CT on his bike down the farm road, and there's a video of him below.

Colin and Chase, with their Royal's Baseball gear, they had a great time at the game...free cowboy hat day!

Here's my dad and Colin on the Kayak, cruising one of the many lakes, Colin's cousin Chase and I went next. Colin and Chase pretty much took over for Tom and Huck; fishing, hunting frogs, swimming rivers, and chasing snakes through the backwoods.

That bass must of been the ice breaker, because we've caught about a hundred blue-gill since then; of course, after cleaning the Bass, we've decided to become catch and release fishermen unless we catch something really nice.

I'm pretty sure these signs are outlawed in California--which is why I live there--No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service...NO DICE!

On one of our rides, we saw a fly-fisherman, he was nice enough to give us some local knowledge, and teach us some fly-fishing.

Colin rippin it on the dirtbike!

Phase two....

2008-07-07T21:28:00.000-07:00

Here is Thea in her new boots. Super Girl Thea has proven once again, why I call her Super...she's joined the RTAA with her classic CHARGE attitude, as you will see below.

Randy and I after a great Harley ride to Woodland park for breakfast with my dad. I road my dad's V-Strom on the way up, and his Wide Glid Harley on the way down, I'm now planning on owning a Harley at some point.

Thea, Colin, Ian and my Mom, dropped us at the top, and hiked down some of the trail.

Brent, my dad, and I had a blast riding down Pikes Peak. It's my kind of Mountain Biking, getting dropped off on top of a 14k peak, then blasting down for 12 miles with a coffee stop at Bar Camp on the way.

Brent, Trevor, Rocky, Warren, Randy and Pat at the OC...a mini High School Reunion.

Then it was up to my sister, Traci's for a fun Fourth of July in Fort Collins.

The Black Hills in South Dakota are amazing, rolling hills of pine snuggling up to open prairie, with a plethora of lakes and streams. Buffalo roam free with the antelope and prairie dogs are abundant. We also explored a mile of the over 100 miles of the Wind Cave.

Of course, the Black Hills are also home to Mount Rushmore and The Crazy Horse Monument. Both are brilliant examples of the ingenuity and determination of man.

A lone sculptor began work on Crazy Horse in the 1940's, and for the first few years he worked alone, Man vs Mountain. It's a great story, of his life, and of the life he was working to honor, Crazy Horse. The Native American History Museum on the site is very educational and I look forward to visiting in the many years to come. Although Crazy Horse's head is the size of Mount Rushmore, it's probably not quite half complete.

My mom with Thea and Colin cruising down the South Dakota roads.

Nothing like stopping at a 90 degree hot springs river to do some swimming. I'll be submitting this photo to the Big Foot Research Organization, I'm pretty sure that's one on the left.

A long visit at Wall Drug, brought great results, we met with the third generation owner, Fred Husted about the MegaMel products. Then Thea and Colin found some cool supplies; boots for Thea, and Six Shooter and Bull Whip for Colin (MegaMel's right ear is red from his demonstration of the Bull Whip).

Finally, our camping destination, "The Babcock Ranch".

It was only for one night, but ranch living sure was fun.

We miss you all, I miss the waves, but we're having a blast...super fun...stay tuned....here's a video of Thea riding a quad on the ranch, and she's calling on me right now, to ride it again...off to fun!

Last leg...Durango to Springs.

2008-07-03T03:41:00.000-07:00

After our Mountain bike rides and the boyz camps, it was over to the Womacks, where Colin and Ian found their new mentor for hunting, river running, tracking, coal walking, fire breathing and stalking prey. They had a blast with Dale, Lori and Little Johnny.

We even finished up the night with a little "Sweet Home Old Durango".

The boyz try out their new blowguns.

This alligator farm was a blast, Ian and I show off our new hats!

The Great Sand Dunes were fantastic, def. a tough climb to the top, but Ian and Colin made it like champs.

Final clean-out...RVing ain't all glamorous!

The final fishing hole, no luck catching any, but sitting out there, deer crossing stream, was a great way to finish. We made it to my parents in time for dinner, the Butcher Boyz segment of trip is over, that was a great 8 days...now Colin and I join Thea and my parents, and it's off to Mount Rushmore!

The fun continues through days 4-5...

2008-06-30T13:56:00.000-07:00

Hello, this is not in order, it's a quick update from a coffee shop in Durango; I hope you like it, we're having a blast!!!

After loading the boys up on some strange bus with stranger people, Brent and Trev hit the trails.

The Butcher Boyz at 4 Corners.

The beauty of Monument valley, with it's crimson spires and massive shapes of ships and mythical creatures jutting from the earth, were lost on Brent, Ian, and Colin, as Murph taught them the finer skills of blackjack.

Nothing like firing off some BB rounds while blazing across the painted desert in the Millenium Falcon..."To the turrets, target in site, fire at will!" Was the call for this event.

This is my child hood friend Brian's backyard, it's AMAZING! We met a guy, whose grandfather ran cattle on this land 50 years ago, he and his cousin, at 10 years old, were roaming the land doing cowboy work.

The boys ran the prairie, and threw sticks for Brian's dogs.

Definitely a blessed land.

This was an epic Disc Golf course. We did all 18 holes, up and down, from 9000 ft start poin, about 1500 ft of climbing by the time it was done, not a complaint from Butcher Boyz Ian and Colin. Although, super host Brian was talking Budweiser by hole 3.

As usual, the Butcher Boyz follow all rules and regulations of the park. Shortly after this, Brian recommended Brent read the book, "Over the Edge, Death in the Grand Canyon".

The wildlife at the Canyon was well tamed, this guy jumped up on my back pack, nearly leaping onto my chest. He was nice enough to pose with CT, after some forbidden granola bar.

The Grand Canyon was very cool, but, we decided, we need to do the Rim to Rim, and run the river through it for full affect...the planning has begun.

Day 3

2008-06-26T22:12:00.000-07:00

The fun continues; Colin, Ian, and I were up at Dawn for fishing, no luck, but still fun, then it was skate park and slide rock park; before riding our Mountain bikes into town for dinner, and finally a night fishing session. Colin's favorite activity is def. fishing, you can see mine on the video...I love 40 foot cliffs!

Throughout Sedona, there are shops that, for a 100 bucks, will make you feel like you felt something in the vortexes...don't know about that...but the second day, Magic, and summed up on a 2 min. video.

Day 1....

2008-06-25T18:19:00.000-07:00

It's been less than 24 hours, and the fun is so intense, I only have time to post pics...what an adventure!!!

First night, our camp site, was a flat piece of dirt in the expanse of desert between Palm Springs and Phoenix.

We were too excited to sleep, so after picking up Ian and Brent, we drove till 2:30, slept in the desert till 6 a.m., grabbed a coffee, and continued the drive into Sedona; who needs a night's sleep when you're on vacation!!!

Mnt. Biking, Crawdad hunting, fishing, rope swings and fire pits...this is fun! Now we're in a stellar full amenities camp, fishing holes and rope swings, Brent is cooking up fajitas...dinner time!

RTAA for the M3C in the Millennium Falcon

2008-06-21T10:26:00.000-07:00

Hello all, summer is here and I hope you all have grand plans for staying positive, staying motivated, helping others and having grand adventures.

For the Down's clan, it's a Road Trip Across America to promote the "Mega Mel Motivator Card" (M3C). For those of you who need a break from the PDA, or have not been set free by the power of setting goals, scheduling and writing your ideas down...the MegaMotivator Card is for you!

Check it out at Megamel.com

Just for kicks, we'll attempt to live off the funds we make selling the hottest product on the market. We'll gladly stand on corners, talk to the owners of the famous Wall Drug, and exchange packages for food (or the $20 asking price for a year's supply).

Worse case scenario, when sales are slow we can always put on a mean drum show with MegaMel's portable percussion set.

I'll be blogging along the way, can't promise anything special (or grammatically correct) but for those who want to keep up, I'll post some vids and pics when Wi-Fi allows.

For the first leg, we'll be taking the Millennium Falcon, a $3500 RV I bought for this trip. Crossing the Mojave without air-con, in a vehicle held together by clips and duck tape, should be worthy of Han Solo and Chewbacca;, and if it survives, the RV will have proven worthy of the name, "Millennium Falcon".

Hit play for a reminder, about the Falcon.

Brent, Ian, and Colin will be the crew on the Falcon for the light speed run through Sedona, Grand Canyon, Four Corners, Durango, The Great Sand Dunes and Colorado Springs.

After a couple of days and a Mountain Bike down Pikes Peak, my Super Hero Thea will join us, and load up in the Mega Mel's Star Destroyer for the trip across the Mid-West.

The trip's finale will be my sister Traci's wedding in Fort Collins.

Of course, that's all before Princess Lea (Maia) arrives...gives Han Solo his long awaited kiss, and quickly questions whether this, "bucket of bolts" will get her home.

The Millennium Falcon is ready.

So...to light speed!

Here's the plan...

Tuesday, June 24th
Colin and I head across the desert to Palm Springs, where we pick-up Brent and Ian.

Wednesday, June 25th

Leave Dawn Patrol to beat the heat and get to Sedona early.

------------
Thursday, June 26th

sk8, swim, and bike in Sedona

Up to Flagstaff for sleep over at my friend Brian's place.
------------
Friday, June 27th

Sk8 and Disc golf in Flagstaff.

-------------
Saturday, June 28th

Full day of hiking, biking, exploring, relaxing around the Canyon.
Stay in Canyon Campground.
----------------
Sunday, June 29th

Early take-off

4 corners, Navajo tacos, and into Durango

Camp in someone's driveway or find a spot in mountains.
-------------
Monday, June 30th.

Full day of mountain biking for Brent and Trev

Ian and Colin in Mountain Camp for kids.

Camp in driveway or find a spot.
-------------
Tuesday, June 31st

Early take-off, to Sand Dunes, or an easy 14'er with the boys.
Find a camp spot around Dunes.
-------------
Wed, 2nd.

Early take-off.

Into the Springs.
-------------
Thursday, 3rd

Pikes Peak on Mountain bikes.
---------------------
Thea arrives.
---------------
7/4 - PM to Traci's and camp in her driveway

7/5 - . Rapid City - 352 Mi./5-1/2 Hr. - In 7/5 - Out 7/7 -

Mt. Rushmore - Deadwood - 2 nights

Ride Mickelson Trail or Single-track/Lot's of tourist attractions

7/6 - Rapid City

7/7 - Wall Drug and Babcock Ranch - 60 Mi./1 Hr. - Camp at ranch

7/8 - Omaha - 470 Mi./6-1/2 Hr.
Visit Omaha Zoo next morning and drive to Watkins Woolen Mill

Camp - Walnut Creek Lake and Recreation Area

7/9 - Watkins Woolen Mill - 185 Mi./3 Hr. - In 7/9 - Out 7/11 - Kayak/ Bike/ Museum
Camp - Watkins Woolen Mill booked two nights

7/11 - Connie's - 25 Mi./1/2 Hr. - In 7/11 - Out 7/13 - Camp at Connies
Visit Gary/ Mtn. Bike

7/12 - Connie's

7/13 - StL - 220 Mi./3-1/2 Hr. - In 7/13 - Out 7/15 - Camp at Kendall's or Lyles
Visit Kendall on way to St. Charles
Katy Trail

7/14 - StL

7/15 - Nashville - 308 Mi./5 Hr. - In 7/15 - Out 7/17 - Camp at Marco's
Marco visit

7/16 - Nashville

7/17 - Wildersville - 105 Mi./2 Hr. - In 7/17 - Out 7/19 - Natchez Trace State Park
Kayak/Bike

7/18 - Natchez Trace S.P.

7/19 - Memphis -

Memphis-Graceland RV Park and Campground

7/20 - Memphis--TCB at Graceland

7/21 - Leave Memphis -

Drive to Lake of the Ozarks (360 Mi./7 Hr.) and stay two days for water-ski/lake fun. Wait until we go thru StL and see if Lyle invites us down there. If we do this, we'd have the following schedule:
7/21 - Drive to Lake
7/22 - Lake
7/23 - Lake
7/24 - Drive 1/2 way to Colorado Springs
7/25 - Drive to Colorado Springs

Super Girl Thea and a Grand adventure.

2008-05-19T09:11:00.000-07:00

I just came off an epic weekend with the Butcher Boyz' & Butcher Girl Thea. She is a trooper, this post is dedicated to her tough as nails determination and strength.

Usually, my wife is in town, when Brent, Ian, Colin and I do epic skate adventures, but Maia was out of town, for her Mother's Day Present. So Thea was along for the ride.

I gave her the option, to go to a friends house, but she said she was ready to hang with the, Butcher Boyz.

Saturday morning, after French Toast, Waffles and coffee, it was the first event of the day, Colin's baseball game.

Colin got the nod from his coach, and he'd open up the day and game as pitcher. He quickly mimicked the building heat of the day, and rifled in three strikes in a row.

About mid way through the game, Brent and Ian showed up, and watched the second half from the comfort of the RV, codenamed the Millennium Falcon.

After the game, we loaded the Falcon up with Brent and Ian's gear, and it was off to play nine holes of Disc Golf in the blistering heat of Azuza.

Thea played her first round of Disc golf like a pro, and Brent and Trev went to overtime, coming out of extra holes all tied up.

Then, despite reservations due to fires, heat waves, and a plethora of Cops, Fire Fighters, Rescue workers and Rangers; we decided to make the legendary Baldy Pipeline run.

Brent and I had done the top half--pipe only--once before, and I had done the whole thing once...but this would be the first run for the boyz, and for Super Girl Thea. If you look closely, you can see all the vehicles, and several choppers, which were using the damn as a staging area.

But with no keep-out signs to be seen, we assumed the Pipeline had reached National Treasure status for Law Abiding American citizens to enjoy, so after a recon of the lake above (making sure it wasn't full and ready for release) we charged in.

I admit, I was a bit nervous, that Thea would not handle the tough climb down, the scary elements of pipe, and the heat of the day, but I should of known, it wouldn't be a problem, and Brent said many times, "She's a trooper, not a negative word out of her."

I had attempted several times to identify Vehicle Support for the bottom of the run, with no luck.

To do the complete Baldy run, you usually take two cars, because you park at the top, then skate down about two miles before climbing out, to the main street. With no Vehicle support available, we were leaning heavily toward Pipe Only.

When I asked Thea what part of the weekend she liked the best, it was the "Big Pipe". We went way up into the darkness, and she was the last to turn back. It's spooky in there, with every sound echoing through the darkness...and strange eye's glowing at the farthest depths. She scootered her way down the whole thing, her last run is caught on the shaky phone footage below.

So with no vehicle support, and no foreseeable way up from the bottom, the best move was to call it a day...but...this is the Butcher squad, carving it up one pool, one pipe, one wave at a time.

So we went for it, I figured, I'd run the two miles back--despite 100 degree heat--and pick up RV, then drive back for the gang.

It's the longest skate I've ever done, you keep thinking, you're near the end, but the channel just keeps going.

The wash is a death trap for local animals, three dead rattlers, tons of lizards, the remains of a bird, and a million Beatles; all scattered the corners of the channel. One rattler had only recently met his demise and made for fun scientific observation for Colin and Ian. We cut-off the rattler as a keep-sake.

About a third of the way down, Colin spotted a cute little lizard, which without help, would of been a cute dead lizard. So we rescued the little guy, and he rode shotgun on my shoulder until we climbed out. Just a nice little bonus, to set the guy free after the ride.

At the bottom of the run, there's a crude rope climb out, and it's a good 12 feet to the top, so I climbed out first. Once again, Thea used her iron grip to easily scramble up and over with little help. Colin and Ian powered up with ease, but I thought I was going to die, with fence post through the groin, pulling up Brent.

Then it was decision time; all of us walk the quarter mile out to street, and try to find a ride, or split up.

After seeing the angle of the road, and the extra mile I'd have to run if I couldn't find a ride, we decided to part ways. Brent would take the kids the short downhill hike to a shaded park, and I'd begin the death march back up the hill.

With no water, choppers overhead, a skateboard to carry and already parched, I started the wolf trot across the desert landscape. The sun was beating down hard, my eyes were keen on the path for rattlers and I'd say it was in the high 90's. I wanted to make good time, so the kids and Brent didn't have long to wait.

The timing was near perfect, and I received the call from Brent as I climbed the last dirt hill to the Millennium Falcon. I was near dehydrated and went straight for the fridge for a cold Club Soda.

Moments later, like Han Solo picking up a one-handed Skywalker underneath Cloud City, the Millennium falcon pulled up to find the gang. Appropriately, Brent sat in the shade, while Thea, Colin and Ian had thumbs up on the hot side of the road.

It was home to a refreshing swim in the pool, and a relaxing evening of darts, BB-guns and movies.

The next day, as an encore, we played 18 holes in the blistering heat of Sylmar, once again Thea charged along, without a complaint.

Another fun weekend, with the Butcher Boyz Ian and Colin, charging hard as usual, but this was highlighted for me, by the Stay Positive, Stay Motivated...Love God, Live Large attitude of my little, SUPER GIRL THEA!

Here's a 2 min clip of phone footage of the Baldy Pipeline run.

Some hoops, bikes and Fun!

2008-03-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

Classic Board.

2007-09-05T13:34:00.000-07:00

Hello all, just using the blog here, to post some pics of my friend's Classic Dewey Weber Surf Board. It's for sale. Highest Bidder.

Pretty cool huh? Anybody have any info on how much it is worth, let me know.

That's my daughter Thea in the pics...my pride and joy!

The board is
9'3
21 wide
Nose 15.5
Tail 13.5
Fin approx. 10 deep and 15 long
serial number 7283

Have a great day!

Bridge 2 Nowhere

2007-06-21T09:22:00.000-07:00

Photos by Roger,
Story by Trevor,
Fun by all!
CLICK ON THE PHOTOS FOR BIGGER VIEW

There are fun times to be had, on land…yes it’s true!

I sometimes forget that, seeing as my favorite five hours of recreation a week are Saturday morning on the waves, and to me, that is the sacred time of pure fun, riding the God sent swells of Southern California, hanging with some good friends. But, recently, an epic hike into the San Gabriel Mountains, reminded me, fun can be found on land. Sometimes it’s hard to break routine, to escape the rut, even a fantastically fun rut like surfing.

It’s so easy to do the usual, stay on the same trail, run the same course, but, I believe, we always need to be aware, of an adventure waiting to happen, and although we can’t do them all, we should keep our eyes open, for that adventure, opportunity to serve, job opening, or relationship, that we are tempted to turn down, because they don’t fit the comfortableness of the mindset we’re in at the time. So this is one time, I broke the surf routine, and did something different, and I’m thankful for it. But, having said that…I can’t wait to get back in that water!!!!!!!!

Well, I was in the water, but no waves to surf!

The second profound lesson I learned on the trip…I need some good hiking boots. Trekking across boulders large and small for seven hours can be hard on the feet when wearing trail runners. So although I may only need them a few times a year, I’m picking up some quality, hiking boots soon. The folks at REI have been very helpful, saving me the other day from picking up some heavy duty, snowshoe/hiker boots…lol…they were on sale, so I thought, it’s cheap, I’ll take ‘em…but I’ve been persuaded, to wait for the right boot for me.

Jeff, who is a caver, canyon explorer, and pretty much a wilderness expert, advised the same. Hiking foot wear, is not something to go cheap on. So get some advice, if, like me, you decide you need some boots.

Now to the hike; it was a Father’s day hike of sorts, on the Sat. before the 07 dad’s day, a group of us decided to hike to the famous Bridge to Nowhere. The team included my dad, MegaMel (64), me (Trevor); Terry (64, Jeff’s dad), Jeff, Stephan, Connor (7, Stephan’s son), and Roger with his camera. All of these great photos are his. Hopefully, next year, Roger and I will have our boys with us as well.

We hit the trail at 7 a.m. and scrambled our way across the stream more times than needed, up and down the mountain (once again more times than needed), and along ravines. The morning hours were crisp and clear, the shadow of the hills gave us an extended dawn, and it was a perfect temperature for hiking. Later, as we baked in the sun on the return, we would remember it fondly.

Hey Connor, don't show this one to your mom.

The hike to the bridge itself, took a little over 2.5 hours, and we were not disappointed on arrival. The bridge, on first approach, doesn’t look like much, but once on it, looking over its side, and seeing it from the different angles, it’s awesome. A product of post world war funding, the bridge was part of a failed attempt at building a road to connect the Los Angeles Basin, to the High Desert beyond…basically, they wanted a quicker route to Vegas.

But a one hundred year rain, washed out all the roads, and put a stop to the project, but not before the bridge was complete. So now this wondrous piece of architecture stands as a perfect destination for day hikers and bungee jumpers.

But just reaching the Bridge to Nowhere was not enough for this band of adventure seekers, and we charged on after a short snack time on the bridge. And we were glad we did; massive walls, crystal clear swimming holes (which we took advantage of), and prospectors seeking nuggets of gold were there waiting for those willing to go the extra mile (or two, or three...).

It’s quite amazing to see what these men of old do to find their gold. Some use their old fashioned pans, others pick at crevices, and others painstakingly dig out boulders, granite, and slate, to depths of over ten feet, attempting to reach bedrock, and find gold that was missed by the 3,000 miners that once filled the canyon in the late 1800’s. Once bedrock is reached, the miners run their piles through a slulce. This separates the gold, which drops into the bottom, while the rock and sand flows back into the stream. Some of these men stay up in the mountains, for weeks at a time, living on minimal supplies and sleeping under the stars. But if you see the Ranger, you didn’t see them.;)
It is a throwback to a different time, and many know their history, and are proud caretakers of the heritage they follow.

Our final destination, turn around point, and great place to take a power nap, was an old settlement called Stone Table. A family lived there for 30 years. We explored a bit, sat at the tables of stone, and Jeff, placed a geocache, for some other hiker to find in the future. He had also found one himself near the Bridge to Nowhere.

You would think, the youngest hiker on our trip, Connor, at eight years old, would be complaining after eight miles of rugged hiking, but he is no ordinary young man, he has some kind of mutant gene, that allows him to cover miles like a wolf, charging up mountains sides with ease. By the end of the hike, my feet were hurting, and I know his must have been as well, but I never heard a complaint, and he was as positive about the hike after, as he was before.

Of course, we all know that 40 is the new 17, and 50 is the new 30, but Mega Mel, and Terry showed, that 64 is the new “ageless”, and tackled the 16 mile hike with ease.

We finished the day up with a nice little dinner at a Tai restaurant, a well deserved shared meal.

I love my surfing, but after this hike, I guess, I’ll sacrifice a couple surf sessions a year for some inland adventures…but only a couple. ☺

By
Trevor Downs

The Salton Sea, Slab City and Salvation Mountain!

2007-04-04T11:47:00.000-07:00

Colin and Ian in front of Salvation Mountain

Tale by Trevor Downs
Photos by Brent Murphy (except two wide shots...off the net.)

There’s a world of quirkiness and adventure amidst the desert expanse of Southern California; where you can find a modern day bard sitting on a torn out, ripped to shreds church pew, where words of hope and encouragement spew forth from the mouth of a pessimistic hermit, and where a message from God is proclaimed from a mountain of clay.

I don’t know what it is about my weekends with my high-school buddy, Brent, but they always seem to be memorable; what we like to call, “Classic.” And last weekend, when my son Colin and I, set off on our bi-annual trek to the Palm Springs area for skateboarding with Brent and his son Ian, it proved to be no exception.

Our plan was to make a return trip to the famed Salton Sea, a surreal mass of inland salt water surrounded by dust bowls, red canyons, immigrants, rare white pelicans, and of course run down hotels with skate able swimming pools.

It is also home to people who’ve made the choice (or had society make it for them) to live for something other than the break-neck, stress inducing, life shortening pace that the masses partake in to earn the all mighty buck.

The Salton Sea is a treasure, which sadly may soon go the way of many once hidden gems. Like the Eagle’s song says, “Call it Paradise, and kiss it good-bye…” Plans are in the works to clean up the fifty-mile stretch of salt water, splitting it in half, creating two “cleaned-up” smaller lakes. For those that live along its waters, it will be the end of an era.

The Sea stretches fifty miles in length, at some points it is fifteen miles wide, and at its deepest it is a mere 40 feet deep. It is the result of a break in a Colorado River dike, 101 years ago as of this writing, and the rivers waters filled the old Indian salt mines, creating saltine content 25% higher than the oceans.

The beginning of our session started per the norm, we cleaned up the pool behind the old yacht club, “The Aces and Spades”. The “Aces and Spades”, was once frequented by Frank Sinatra, John Wayne and other legends of that time, but is now a rundown heap. From inside the dung covered club, eerie sounds are a constant. It would be easy to let the imagination run wild, especially on a night visit, and credit the noises to the super natural, but it is only the music of hundreds of pigeons that serenade the desert.

The swimming pool is the best I’ve ever skated, a perfect bowl with nice transitions; it has been the backdrop for several skate videos.

It’s fun to imagine John Wayne doing a cannonball into the same deep end that we are now carving on our boards, fifty years later. The edge of the pool sits a mere 20 feet from the Salton Sea, rare white pelicans glide across the waters, and the distant mountains stand tall across the bay as a perfect backdrop to a skate session.

After cleaning the pool, we went across the street to another abandoned building, an old Hotel, now boarded up, with it’s own small swimming pool. This pool is tougher to skate, but still fun, and our time there allows the bottom of the “Aces and Spades” bowl to dry. We’ve been kicked out of this swimming pool before, but today we skated without threat of arrest.

Back at the “Aces and Spades”, some of the kids that lived out in this wasteland were skating; it’s always fun to gain some local knowledge while skating. These kids were daredevils, snagging coping off the oververt deep end, and pulling ollies off staircases into two feet of cement and a gravel landing strip.

Seeing the kids enjoy the freedom of living in the open desert, going where they please, and living large, reminded me of my child hood days in the far outskirts of Mesa Arizona, back when dirt roads, orange groves and canals were our playgrounds. Now, those same acres are jammed full of houses and strip malls; I fear one day these young kids’ playgrounds will be the same.

A couple of San Diego skaters were there as well and it was a fantastic skate fest. My son Colin took it next level this trip, carving higher and faster than ever before, the Salton Sea brought out his best.

And Brent’s son, Ian, despite taking a hard fall, kept charging.

Up till this point, the trip had gone as planned, but when a young lady from Los Angeles, wearing a white dress, asked if she could take our picture, new adventures opened up. She told us about Salvation Mountain, Slab City and that it was the biggest night of the year on the desert…Prom Night—we knew we had to check it out.

Before we hit the road in search of these infamous desert hideaways, we had to find a bathroom. Pulling into the RV campsite at the end of the cul-de-sac, we figured we’d find some stalls. Before the wheels stopped moving, we were greeted by a grouchy, bearded, middle-aged man, who stalked toward us, barking out in very aggressive tones, “This ain’t no public restroom. Says right on the sign, not for public use.”

Brent and I exchanged glances; amused at the over the top display the man was demonstrating. I’m sure, Brent, like myself, was tempted to give back what he received, something along the lines of, “Don’t be jerk!” But, he didn’t, he just said, calmly, “I know, I saw the sign, but I thought I’d ask, my son needs to use a bathroom.”

The man continued on, somewhat irrationally. “It’s not a public restroom…yep, hmmm…people come in hear, not even asking…mmmm…yep...messing the place up…not asking…hmmm, yep...”

Brent and I exchanged a smile, like, this guy is nuts. Then Brent said again, “Well that’s why were asking.”

The man kept mumbling and babbling about something, but said, “It’ll cost you a dollar…mmmm, yeah...give me a dollar.”

Brent said fine, and gave him the dollar, all the while staying pleasant. I got out of the car, and said something about it being a beautiful place. Next thing you know, this man who seemed ready to chase us away with a shotgun, turned into Mr. Hospitality. Soon he was telling us fishing stories, giving us the history of the Sea, directions to Salvation Mountain (painted mountain he called it), and actually going into his house to get us a free post card. With a few, “Mmmmm...yeps...”, thrown in of course.

As it was, he and his father had run that RV Park for over 14 years, and he gave us the history of some of the people who’d lived there over 50 years. He informed us that in three months, the place would be bulldozed, and his beachfront property and life of pleasant isolation from the worries of civilization were about to expire. He said they’d be fine, and they already had an RV park to run across the sea, but it was busier over on the other side, with an Indian Casino already in the works. But he seemed optimistic, and pleasant at this point, and all right with this life’s turn of events.

It turned out to be our first unexpected, but classic exchange of the trip, and a great reminder, that when faced with anger and rage, sometimes a gentle and kind word can turn the tide, as Brent and I said to one another on departure, “Perfect example of Stay Positive, Stay Motivated!”

So we were off on the longer than expected drive to unknown lands, hoping we were not wasting our time on something boring. Ian and Colin were not thrilled with the extended drive, and made sure Brent and I were well informed of their boredom.

But soon enough, we were taking a left in the middle of the tiny town Of Niland, heading toward Salvation Mountain, which we could soon see in the distance.

Being a Christian, and well aware of my sinful nature, I have a strong understanding of the need for salvation at the core of my being, so I loved the name of the mountain from the start, but you just never really know what you’ll find till you get there.

As we pulled in, and I saw the scriptures painstakingly painted across the adobe mountain, and the God is Love boldly proclaimed beneath the wooden cross, my excitement grew.

Getting out of the car, the boys quickly began to explore the phantasmagorical mountain, and Brent and I followed. Down the yellow brick road, over the ocean and up through the waterfall we went, to the top of the three story labor of love. The top provided great views, and Colin and Ian were stoked to find a dog napping in the shade of the cross, shouting down about five times, “Dad, there’s a dog up here!”

Soon they were exploring the inside caverns of the mountain; domes decorated with old car glass, pillars of painted scrap and trees made of hay, adobe and sticks.

Making our way back down, we met the architect and builder of Salvation Mountain, Leonard Knight.

The bible says if no one proclaims the Glory of the Lord, then the rocks will cry out. Well, out there in the desert, the Rocks do cry out the Love of God, but if they didn’t, Leonard would. Leonard is one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met, with a very gentle spirit, and a passion for sharing the love of God.

Leonard told us the story of how he found himself in this desert over twenty-four years ago, with a malfunctioning hot-air balloon, and a broken down dump truck. Leonard decided to stay the week, and build a small eight foot adobe dome to declare the love of God…twenty-four years later, thousands of gallons of paint, untold hours of labor, he’s still at work. Now, at seventy-four years young, he works for three hours in the morning, and then spends the rest of the day giving tours. He gave us the video, and puzzles for the boys, and never even asked for a donation.

For a fun video tour, send him a letter to the P.O. box on the link; I’m sure he’d be glad to send you a copy. If you do, after you watch it, make sure to drop it off at a retirement home, that’s why he did the video tour, for those who could not make the trip. I was blessed by my brief meeting with Leonard, and we said, if we didn’t meet again, we’d see each other in heaven.

From the top of Salvation Mountain, we saw our next destination, Slab City.

Across the shrub filled desert landscape, there were scattered a kaleidoscope of recreational vehicles, trailers and hodgepodge campsites. As we pulled in to the haphazard display of campsites, we felt we were entering Mad Max’ territory.

Homemade signs pointed to different locals, camouflage netting sprung up from brush to create shaded areas, a few high dollar RV’s sat amidst the ancient trailers and campers, and soon we pulled up to an elaborate stage; the home of Saturday night’s talent show, and on this particular night, Prom Night.

During WWII, a military base was created on the acreage where Slab City exists today; when it was deconstructed, all that remained were the cement slabs, hence the name. Those slabs made perfect resting spots for motor homes and trailers, and soon a desert city of sorts was born. In the summer months the 100-150 hard-core with nowhere else to go, stay through the brutal heat; but in the winter months, snowbirds increase the masses to upwards of 3000. There is definitely an allure to the free spirited lifestyle these people live and we felt right at home.

Pulling up to the homemade amphitheater, we were greeted with smiles. “You guys’ here for the talent show?” One of the ringleaders said as he prepared the stage. “It’s Prom Night you know?’

“Oh yeah, we know.” We replied, “We heard it’s a big night.”
“Yep, might get 150 people here.”

As the preparations continued, and the sun fell in the distance, a few people began to show, Budweiser in one hand, a smoke in the other. We sat with Mike for a few minutes, and he shared with us stories of the desert, and said, “I’m kind of the MC, I do a few jokes, and once a year on Prom Night, I recite, “Casey at Bat”, all 54 lines of it.”

Soon a young guitar player was warming up, and a banjo was in another mans hand, in between riffs, jokes were told, and the performers loosened up.

One man, showed up in sport coat and corduroys, ready for the night. As Brent and I talked with the different people, we mentioned we were out skate boarding, and Mike said, “Well there’s an Olympic sized pool, right over there.”

This was music to our ears, our drive had already been well worth the while, and Brent and I had already started making plans for a return trip, but to hear of a new pool to skate was golden.

We made our way over to the swimming pool, telling the gang at the Talent Show, we probably wouldn’t make it for Prom Night, but we’d return another day.

Around the corner and down the bend, we came upon Frank’s trailer, and the Olympic sized pool. Although the best section was far too full of water from recent rains to skate, we still had fun, playing with Frank’s puppy Bandit, and hearing more tales from the desert from Frank. “I drank fourteen beers last night,” he said in a slow drawl, eyes glazed, “And boy did I have a hangover this morning.” He paused, taking a drag from his cigarette, “I don’t like to do that. You don’t have a beer do you?”

Frank was a classic; he lived in a $2000 trailer he was still paying off, and said he enjoyed it when people skated his pool, because it got lonely out there. He said he preferred “Johnny’s Place”, instead of the Talent Show. Johnny’s was another makeshift concert hall just down the dusty road from Frank’s trailer, Johnny and his band play every Friday and Saturday night. Frank said he planned on staying through the summer, “I like the heat”, he said. Seeing Colin walk near a bush, heading toward the truck, he slurred out, “Watch out around them bushes, lots of rattle snakes and scorpions out here.” Frank might live a life on the outskirts of humanities norm, but he is one heck of a nice person, and it was a pleasure to meet him.

A little while later, after we sadly departed “Slab City”, and made our way home, taking a break along the Salton Sea, Brent and I sat on a cement jetty covered in salt. We watched the sun go down, our boys were skipping rocks across the glassy surface of the waters, and white pelicans soared in perfect harmony passed us; Brent mused, “This place is amazing, too bad it’ll soon be gone.”

“Yeah,” I said, “A shame, maybe all their plans will fall through, like before?”

Murph chuckled, “Stay Positive, Stay Motivated.”

A rare update.

2007-03-05T10:05:00.000-08:00

Hello all, amazing it's been this long since I've updated the blog. Danny and I are still hard at work, spending time playing with the kids, surfing, biking and sk8boarding. We continue to pursue representation, and have an Agent reviewing the novel, "Quixotic", now. We also found a contact to get the screenplay version of that novel to as well. So pray for us. We continue to edit our work, and a couple of short stories are in the works, and will be posted here when finished.

I surfed Hawaii this winter, which was a blast, and Danny has been putting miles in on bike and running.

God bless, I hope all is well with you all.

Harbour Stokes the Stoke

2005-12-07T10:48:00.000-08:00

First a few pictures from the recent "Harbour Surf Day", on Dec. 10, 2005 at Bolsa Chica State Beach, then a short story about my history with Harbour and the "Harbour Surf Day."

Also check out the Awefoto link to the right for Fine Art Photography, and some sweeeeet surf shots.
More shots from the day can be found here: "http://www.awefoto.com/surf/events/hsd-121005/index3.html"

And an article on the day in Orange County Register found here:
"http://www.ocregister.com/ocregister/sports/ocoutdoors/article_888678.php"
You might need to register, but it's free and a very good, short article.

Christmas in California, gotta' love it!

The next morning a big swell hit, and I saw this guy take a huge one; he's fun to watch.

Boardhound surfs then passes out the shirts he helped design with Rich Harbour.

Jeff finds a fun one.

Classic!

TDRevolver lives the dream...loving it!

Bobby J. as Surfing Santa.

Rich Harbour and friends.

Jeff finds the glide.

NReilly shares the stoke.

Small, but Sweeeeeet!

TDRevolver does the Zombie Slide.

Surfing--it'll put a smile on your face every time.

____________________________________________________________________

"Harbour Stokes the Stoke."
by TDRevolver

Dark clouds threatened to dump their load as Jeff and I turned off Seal Beach Boulevard and drove down our familiar route to Bolsa Chica State Beach early February last year. The Pacific Coast Highway was near empty as we crossed the bridge into the small town of Sunset Beach, heading for the first annual “Harbour Surf Day”.

A large white heron glided across the ghostly waters while the hull of a small boat sliced through the mist that shrouded the marsh below us. The lone fisherman braved the pre-dawn cold temperatures, trolling through the channel leading to open waters.

Reaching the highpoint of the bridge, I slowed the car for three reasons; to avoid the often-present speed trap, to pay homage to the service men as we passed the Destroyer that sat docked in the small bay, and to catch a glimpse of the morning swell. Despite a sky-line that seemed to be changing daily as classic two story beach houses sprang forth three story skeletons that exploded into completed luxury condos, we could still scout the waves via the Northern corner of beach left open near the jetty, and the waves were breaking.

“Some size out there.” Jeff said.
I nodded. “Only the core will show on a day like today.”

Moments later, as we passed Jack in the box, excitement growing as the day we’d talked about for months on the chat room grew closer, the air was let out of our sails. Orange barriers ran across PCH just past the Warner intersection. The road was closed, washed out by the rains.

“Dang’ it.” I growled as I took a right into the cul-de-sac behind Jack in the Box, and pulled to the curb. “Well, that’s going to cut down on the numbers.”

Not to be thwarted that easily, we pulled up to the exit, staring down at the jagged faded orange spikes that stuck up like talons from the black top, threatening to rip my tires to shreds.

“What do you think?” I said, turning to my co-pilot.
Jeff smiled, “I say we try it.”
***
Several years earlier, as a new surfer who had tried several boards, and had finally developed the skills to ride a face, I was wanting to learn more about surfboard design, surf history, and all that related to surf. I’d yet to subscribe to, or even read a surf magazine, and so I went to the one place where I knew I could ask my kook questions and be received with open arms…the Internet.

I soon realized that asking a question on most internet chat rooms that related to surf was like rolling around in beef and jumping into a pool of piranhas. The following months would not only teach me much about surfing the waves, but also about surfing the chat rooms.

One day, as I perused another shaper’s cyber room, I was asking about the appropriate size board for my size and weight, and whether or not I should be transitioning from my 8-foot beater board to a 10’ cruiser, 9’2 performance long board or 6’8 short board?

Many friendly and not so friendly surfers of the cyber waves put forth their input, and at one point a pleasant poster pointed out that www.Harboursurfboards.com had a great size chart, and it would be great place to start (of course this guy was reamed for even mentioning another shaper’s name on someone else’s site, and the lurking Trolls leapt from their dark holes and several pages of senseless banter ensued). Never the less, I ignored the barrage and went in search of these size charts.
What I found I could honestly say changed the course of my life as a surfer.

Rightly so the Troll had tried to protect the unnamed surf shop’s web site from competition, for once I visited Harbour’s site, I rarely stopped by another. The well laid out web pages not only were easy to use, but the information was superb. The photos of the surfboards were awesome; with front, back and profile shots of the boards. Although it would be over a year before I would own a Harbour Surfboard, I quickly had several dancing across my laptop’s screen. A yellow Simms (now known as a Diamond Tail), a Trestles Special with its aggressive ‘show me a point break’ outline, and of course, what would be my first Harbour, The Spherical Revolver, a retro style single fin.

I quickly read through all the site had to offer. The history of Harbour Surfboards, where I learned that the Seal Beach location is the oldest running surf shop in the country, that Rich Harbour worked with legends like Chew, August, Martinson. That Rich himself had been inducted into the surfer’s hall of fame. I read about tail design, rocker, outline, and shape—later I would watch videos on these very concepts, on the web site, videos of a board being shaped, and the art that it is.

All this I took in with zeal, eagerly checking the “New Arrivals” section, just to get a peak at a new board.

I began to read the message boards on the site, and I noticed, that outside of the occasional Troll that attempted—and failed—at hijacking a thread, the conversation was mature, informative, and most importantly, it stoked the stoke. Stories from surfing in Hawaii in the sixties, posts after morning sessions in England or Australia, talk of a retro board being restored, decisions on the next board to buy being discussed, theorizing on how the rise of Starbucks corresponded with the lost soul of surfing, Awe f’shore’s stellar photos and of course the general chatter about surfing.

Then I saw what truly amazed me, answers to questions by non other than Rich Harbour. Not one word answers, but well thought out, years of experience, want to help answers. He answered questions about everything from the right board for a given break to board repair.

It was through discussions with Rich on-line—as well as input from posters with the nicknames; Boardhound, Slider (Jeff), PacSlim, Bobby J, NReilly, Sunbums, 5over and Awe f’shore (to name a few)—that I came to call up Robbie at the shop and place my first order for a 7’4 Spherical Revolver with 2 plus 1 option.

One of the amazing things about this virtual world we live in, is that I had talked with Rich, become friends with countless Harbour owners, and knew more than most about Harbour History—and I’d only been in the shop one time. I first entered the shop not knowing it from any other, when I had bought my first quality (used) long board at another shop years before and the guy had not included the screw and nut for the fin, I had stopped at Harbour on the way to surf Seal, and Robbie was as nice selling me a $1 item then as he was when I bought a $800 board later.

Well, when I went in to pick up my board I wasn’t disappointed, as the web site is 1st class in the virtual world; the shop is 1st class in this dimension.

Robbie helped me that day, and was polite and informative, willing to answer all my questions. As I came to visit the shop more often, I met the owner Robert, who’s always willing to share his ideas on board design, riding style and the best board for me. It is always a pleasure to stop by the shop. The same thing that drew me to the Harbour web site and kept me there, was what appealed to me at the shop, they treated you like family.

A prime example of this is the occasional “Classic Film Night” that Rich has hosted over the years; Robert, Robbie and staff lay-out the goodies, Rich answers questions, and we watch original footage shot by Rich from the golden era of surfing.

Now the Harbour shop is a regular part of my routine, I surf some waves, grab the best burrito I’ve ever tasted at Nicks, stop by Harbour and say hi; gazing at boards I hope to own soon. Bottom line, when you go by the shop, the stoke gets stoked.

So there I was, my first day on my new board, appreciating what great craftsmanship means to riding a wave, getting the best rides of my life on my new Spherical Revolver with canary deck and one-drop grey rails, and I see a guy on the shore raise his hand to say hi. After a few more rides I decided to catch one in to see who watched from the beach, camera in hand.

It was an inconsistent day, with occasional peaks rising up here and there, and a small off shore breeze to keep them high. One such peak rose up just South of me, I paddled for it, the wide outline of the SR allowing me to cover the ground easily, turning into the wave, that same outline gave me the early entry I needed at that stage of my surf life—and still do on bigger days.

Dropping in, the wide rounded pin drew a perfect arc for a nice left down the face of the wave. Being a goofy-foot, I was able to caress the glass with my left hand. The flattened out bottom and hard rails at the tail gave me the speed I needed to race down the face. Tucking low, and enjoying the chest high face that rose before me, I laughed, this board rocked! Just as the wave broke, I drove the board into the surf, ricocheting of the break and letting the wave propel the surprisingly agile SR out of the closeout, gliding to the safety in front of the pounding surf.
I rode the wash in, a fist in the air that was matched by the man on shore.

As I walked up the sandy beach smiling, my buddy who I now know as Ron (Awe F’shore), who I probably would have never met outside of the Harbour Web Site, said, “Nice ride. How ya’ doing man?” Ron had shown up to snap a few shots of me on the SR because I’d been talking it up on the message boards.

Now when I say snap a few shots, I mean create art (of course when I’m the subject, the only art you’ll find is in lighting, composer, etc.) Ron is now a professional photographer, and his photos are Awe-inspiring. His photo accompanies this story and you can view his work at www.awefshorephotography.com.

I always look forward to a beer with Ron and tapping into his knowledge about swell direction, board shapes and general surf lore. Ron is just one example of the quality people that become part of the Harbour family, people who love the history of surfing, love to surf, and love to stoke the stoke.

So after meeting Ron, I got to thinking, I’d like to meet more of the guys from the message boards. So I threw it out there with something like, “Harbour Surf Day” as a topic line. The members jumped on the idea, and the chat increased on the topic. Soon the master planner Mr. W. was on the ball for food, Awe f’shore had volunteered to chronicle the event in pictures, and Rich and Robert said they’d stop by to say hi. The date was set, the pre-event banter was high, and all were excited for the first big, “Harbour Surf Day”…and then it rained all week.
***
“Dude, I’m not blowing out my tires. We could walk.” I said as we sat staring at the exit claws of death.
Jeff’s smile faded. “This sucks.”

I thought aloud. “One time I camped here, got back after it closed, and these guys used some wood to hold the spikes down while they crossed. Let’s see if we can find something.” I opened the door and we both searched around, finding two small pieces of wood.

Jeff lined them up as I pulled my car forward, looking out the window. “This looks sketchy, they are barely covering a wheel’s worth of spikes.”

“You’ll make it.” Jeff said. It wasn’t his car.
I slowly accelerated, Jeff adjusted as I got closer, and CRUNCH…the first tires were over, but one of the boards had smashed in half.

“Dang it!”
“Now what do we do?”
“Find something else.”
“Oh Crap.”
“What?”
“A beach cop’s coming.”
“Dang it!”

“Quick, use what you have, I’ll angle it so use the same one for both. I want to be in when he gets here.” I cried out in a panic as I pulled up so that the back tire was almost on to the pointed metal. “Hurry up.”
Jeff worked quick and said, “Go for it.”
I put the gas down, and the left rear cleared, Jeff moved the board, and the right tire crunched over. “Jump in, let’s start driving like nothings wrong.”

Jeff hopped in and we made are way North toward tower 20, at least until the Dodge Ram with the pretty lights on its roof pulled sideways across the road to block us.

The beach-cop walked up to my window, and said with agitation. “What do you think you’re doing?”
We proceeded to explain that a Harbour Surf Day was taking place and we needed to meet people, and the road was closed, and we had a pass, etc. Finally, after much cajoling, he let us go.

From that point on it was smooth sailing; the resilient were there and kept arriving. Mr. W had set us up huge with burgers, dogs, and all the fixings. Coffee was brewing and the tent was up. People were surfing the cold winter peaks then hiking the mile back after a couple of rides with intense riptide conditions, and the Bolsa B#### was in full effect. Rich was discussing board design and the day was everything we hoped it would be. Although the crowd was small due to weather conditions and road closures, the core were there, and the stoke was stoked.

It wasn’t long after that first “Harbour Surf Day” that we decided to have another. This one was slated for spring, and the turn out was bigger. A warm sunny day saw Rich and his wife cooking up breakfast burritos that would compete with the best. Once again, the vibe was good, Awe captured a plethora of shots that he graciously posted on his site, and we all had a great time.

And the third annual “Harbour Surf Day”, just happened on December 10th, 2005. It was our best turn out yet, and fun times were had by all. A clear brisk day with clean small waves made for perfect surfing conditions with the crowd size. Several of us were out early and reaped the benefits of few people in the water and the best waves of the morning. It was great to hang with people who I hadn't seen since the last gathering. For one or two Saturdays a year it might make for crowded surfing conditions, but I think well worth it for the stoke that is shared. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves, more can be found at this link.

So a couple of years ago I went on to a web site to get an idea of what size long board I should be looking for, and what did I get? A surfing buddy in Boardhound who’d drive you to Cabo and not ask for a dime in gas, a brethren bard philosopher who happens to be a pro photographer in Awe F’shore, and a good friendship with guys like Bobby J., who I can call to share the stoke with anytime…oh, and I found out I should ride a 9’6 long board, 7’2 SR, and a 6’ fish.

“Harbour Surf Days”, not too organized, nothing fancy, just a bunch of surfers who appreciate the soul of surfing, want to ride some waves, share a tale, and most importantly, follow in the steps of Rich Harbour, who for years has been stoking the stoke.

By
Trevor Downs
a.k.a. TDRevolver

Updates and "There are no waves in Colorado!"

2005-11-23T08:52:00.000-08:00

Here are some updates and then some pics from a recent trip to Colorado for Trevor's 20 year reunion.

Writing updates: We just finished the rough draft of our novel, "Quixotic". It is the origins story for our characters Rip and Tide. The first three chapters are off to publishers and agents. Our elite team of product research specialists (our middle school students) have given it a thumbs up.
We heard back from an agent about our latest rewrite for our action/adventure film, "Coyote", and he gave it the green light.
Please keep us in your prayers that the New Year will bring us success with our projects, and that we will be diligent on the promotional front.

Surf and Skate updates:
Trevor has finally mastered the "drop-in" at the skate board parks and is feeling more and more comfortable gliding his fish upon the emerald glass, and Danny is carving the waves like never before, performing text book bottom turns, and tucking into the curl whenever possible.

Thanks for your support.
Trevor and Danny
Surf Writers

Now to the pics...

In between seeing old friends at the Reunion, Brent and I were able to skate some sweet skateparks (no pictures) and get an epic downhill Mnt. bike ride in, and my dad and I were able to do a nice 10 mile bush hike across the mountains.

Brent, Dad, Sister, John, and Me at the start of our descent down Pikes Peak. Brent was pumped, because he was going to attempt the epic downhill on a 5 year old bike three sizes too small for him, and John was excited his wife hadn't killed him yet for making her drive down Pikes Peak alone.

Pikes Peak is impressive from any view point, but when you're riding down it--spectacular!!!

A very cool log cabin for sleep overs, half way down Pikes Peak. Great stop for coffee and a snickers. The Bar Camp.

Always fun to spend time with my daughter Jordyn and sister Traci. Don't ask what that sparkling thing is in Jordyn's cheek.

Family time and Mega Mel's birthday!

Fun in Mega Mel's tractor with my beautiful and super cool daughter Dakotah at the wheel....yikes!!!

Mega Mel all geared up for epic hike. Would you want to run into this guy on the trails?

Start of hike took us up massive boulder field, My dad almost killed me once on one of these, so this time I stayed above him.

Mid-hike we came across one of the many WWII plane crashes scattered across the Rockies, God Bless the Armed Forces.

The Punch Bowls above The Navigators are fun and very cold if you slip.

Some nice falls.

A nice cup of coffee at the end of the day...great hike!

There might not be any waves in Colorado, but it's a great place, and full of people I love.

Have a Great Day!

Blessed to Surf

2005-09-20T09:12:00.000-07:00

Pristine shoulder I slide...

Tranquility comes, I glide flawless face...

Dreams of syncronicity, in the green room I hide...

Seeking trim before the ivory trail of grace...

...and the Spirit of God moved over the surface of the waters.

A tribute to Dale Velzy by Bobby Johnson

2005-08-12T06:31:00.000-07:00

Guest writer Bobby Johnson pays tribute to a legend by surfing five Southern California spots, including the Velzy paddle out at Doheny. In the telling, Bobby opens a window into the soul of surfing.

Check out more photos from the tribute at Awe's link to the right.

My Tribute to Dale Velzy
By Bobby Johnson
I never personally met Mr. Dale Velzy, but with everything I’ve heard and read about him, it seems like I knew him just the same. When I heard of his passing, a few different thoughts went through my head, but I knew I wanted to show my respects to him if possible, especially if there would be a paddle out I could attend. I learned from Tom at the Longboard Grotto that there would be one on June 14th at Doheny State beach. He said that if you mentioned Mr. Velzy, the parking was free and talk of a Luau afterward. My work schedule had recently changed so I would have this particular Tuesday off. And with a deal like that I figured the event would be packed beyond belief and I would need to be there early. Things were definitely looking like I was supposed to be there. While we were talking, my wife Lia found a black “Surfboards by Velzy” T-shirt in my size (just came in that morning).
Since I would be making my way back down to Oceanside from Westlake Village, I could leave early enough to catch a few waves at Malibu as well. This thought quickly turned to thinking I could make this a personal tribute to Mr. Dale Velzy.
Lately I have been watching the first series of films Bruce Brown made, borrowed from my friend Munger. Bruce Brown’s movies have really been instrumental in shaping my life. “Endless Summer I” and “On Any Sunday” hit me hard when growing up-as a kid I was nuts about surfing and motocross racing. Later “Endless Summer II” would determine my very first “new” board, the Robert August Wingnut I model. In the intro on his first movie from 1958, “Slippery When Wet”, Bruce mentions that he used to work at night in Velzy’s shop, and how he and Dale used to talk about Bruce making a surf movie. Turns out Dale funded the project which gave Bruce his start in the movie business. Dale and his shop were featured in Slippery When Wet, as were several exceptional Southern California surf spots like Trestles and Malibu. Bruce’s second movie (1959),”Surf Crazy” opens by showing several more spots-Swami’s, Dana Point, and Rincon. The seed for my journey has now been planted-I blame (thank) Munger.
Next question is: How long does one stay at any spot? I determined that since Dale had been shaping for nearly 60 years, I would surf one wave for each decade (6), and one additional wave for a total of seven- in the Bible, the number 7 represents completeness. So now my journey was mapped out. I would surf Rincon, Malibu, Doheny (Dana Point), Trestles, and Swami’s, surfing seven waves at each.
Monday night the 13th, I read LongBoard Magazine, Volume 10, Number 6, In Trim section on Velzy by Paul Holmes. I revisit Velzy the man and remember the stories about his business dealings and generosity. Problem now is: I’m so stoked and worried about getting in the parking lot on time for the main event, I can hardly fall asleep.

4:20AM Alarm goes off. Get up quickly because I haven’t slept much anyway.

4:45AM Leave the house. Turn on the radio to get the traffic and weather report. Unfortunately, they are interviewing someone who is a friend of a cousin to someone who once saw Michael Jackson from 3 miles away and thinks they know how Michael feels about the trial outcome. Arghh!!! I turn on the CD player not knowing, or caring what disk is in. Peter Mayer’s “Stirring up the Water” comes on. Perfect. The music matches the mood of the morning. Besides, the weather doesn’t really matter for this trip, and there isn’t any traffic at this hour anyway.

5:30AM Arrive at Rincon (35miles). There’s not one car in sight. Should I check it out first, or just suit up and go? I’m going anyway so I put on my board shorts and dawn patrol top. I left my full suit down south, but I rode waves at Rincon in January before I ever had a suit- days of the inflatable canvas raft. Besides, it has more of the feel during Velzy’s days. Just as I finish getting dressed, a VW bus rolls up and parks next to me. We exchange “Good Mornings” and introduce ourselves. John is from Santa Barbara and tells me how good the surf was over the weekend. Shoulder high+ and only a dozen guys out. Wow, I don’t think the surf will be like that today. I tell him about my trip and he tells me to look for a display with some Velzy boards and an Indian blanket with a custom flathead V8 manifold/carb. set-up on top. He said it was from the guy who used to have the surf museum in Santa Barbara.

5:45AM I enter the water. It’s barely light out and I’m the only one out. It’s an eerie feeling being out here alone. I keep thinking about the scene in Bruce’s “Surfing Hollow Waves”. Reny Yater catches a wave at Rincon, looks over his shoulder, and sees a shark cruise through the lineup. Waves this morning are knee to waist high with a couple around chest high. I catch a couple of waves before another guy comes out. He’s got a Robert August “What I ride” model. It kind of looks like a scene from the movie ”Endless Summer II”, only darker and a lot colder. Air and water temperature are 59, not the 80’s they had in Costa Rica. On wave number 5, out of the corner of my eye I see some black things, pop up just before the trough of the next wave. Just as I kicked out over the top of my wave and turned to adjust my eyes I make out two seal heads. At the same time they turned and saw me. Apparently they hadn’t noticed me before and got pretty startled. I got two more waves and paddle in.

6:30AM Get out of the water. Think to myself, “That’s for your Mr. Velzy”.

6:45AM Back on the road, heading south on the 101 Freeway. Passing by La Conchita I can now see the slide area and what looks like water still coming out of the side of the hill. I offer up a prayer for those affected. I drive passed Hobbson’s beach and see a small pod of dolphins having breakfast. One was so excited he jumped out, did a quarter turn to the left in the air, and then landing on his side. I called Lia on the way back to give some ideas how to fix our computer/printer issues so she can turn in her school project tomorrow. I tell her I’m going stop by the house on my way to Malibu. I could always use another hug and a kiss from her.

7:15AM Arrive home, get my hug and a kiss. Look at the computer-printer issue but unfortunately I’m a computer moron, so she’s going to try and fix it her way. Steal another kiss on my way out the door.

7:30AM On the road again.

7:55AM Arrive at the ‘Bu (105miles). Parking is full on the beach side so I turn around and find a spot on the other side at the end. Another guy pulls up behind me, changes and unloads quickly. The crowd’s not too bad, for Malibu anyway. The guy who pulled up behind me is getting some great rides. I get my waves in, and my left shoulder’s starting to hurt. Last wave is the best. I take off, angle the board and climb towards the nose reaching the front third of the board. Crouch down and stretch my left foot to the nose for a cheater 5. I’m just dialed in and working this wave for everything it’s worth. The wave starts to close out on the beach and I bury the nose, the tail breaks out and swings around in a Hawaiian pullout. I can’t contain the stoke and shout out loud “That ones for you Dale”. The guy who parked behind me was paddling back out nearby and overheard me. He looked over with a big smile on his face. I got out, rinsed off and headed back to the truck. As I was packing up, the guy parked behind me shows up and is getting ready to leave. We chat and he tells me that he works for Jacobs surfboards (another Velzy link), and everyone at the shop is going to the paddle out except him. Someone has to hold down the fort. He confirms what Tom told me about directions and parking at Doheny.

9:00AM Leave Malibu. I hope I’ve timed it right and most of the traffic is done. 5 minutes later I’m slammed into construction traffic going at a crawl. Breaks loose after Big Rock and we’re off.

10:45AM Arrive at Doheny State beach (190miles). Just as Tom said the parking was free and there were still plenty of spots available. I see a few familiar faces milling around, George from Malibu was there. I met him at the paddle out for Ray “The Enforcer”. That was when I met Big Wave Dave Sweet. I had Lia’s Dave Sweet board with me that time and never knew the connection to Ray until then. Funny how things can work out sometimes. Walk out to check the surf. Water is an amazing green, with a little bit of texture on it. Looks like the south wind may start to build, so better get on it while I can. There are two main groups of people out, the one south of the rock has about 6 people who look like they might be learning, and the group towards the river mouth that has about 20. I pick to go between these groups so as not to get in their way. I’m just a visitor after all. I drift down a bit and a couple of guys move up from the pack. I’m now within ear shot and eves drop to hear their stories about Mr. Velzy and boards he made for them. Great stuff, and some gorgeous boards. The best was when one guy said he asked Dale to make him a more progressive board. He said what he ended up with was not what he considered a progressive design, and he said so to Dale. Mr. Velzy said “That’s the only way I make boards.” Kind of says it all doesn’t it? I took a few waves alone and then I started sharing waves with these other guys. Good group with a great vibe. Told them about the journey and they thought it was pretty cool. I got my seven waves and got out. Walked up to the sidewalk area to rinse off. Looked over to see Mr. Robert August himself chatting with someone. He saw me half staring and waved. After I showered and was walking passed he motioned me over to look at my board. I still get star struck whenever I try to talk to him or Wingnut-I swear I don’t know why, they’re such cool, easy going guys. Anyway, I try to tell him about the board, how I had it specially made by Mike Minchinton, and how well it works for me. I think he was stoked and proud just seeing how happy I was with it. As I walk away I pass by Donald Takayama. I’m getting pretty tired now so I go back to the truck to take a quick nap.

12:45 PM I call Lia to ask her to give me a call around 2 PM to wake me up. After about a 1/2 hour it gets really quiet, which wakes me up wondering if I’m missing something. The ceremony and paddle-out isn’t supposed to start until 3:00PM. Get out and head back to the picnic area.

1:30PM So many legends are arriving here and it feels like a reunion. There’s Greg Noll, Bing Copeland, LJ Richards, David Nuuhiwa , and so many others. I see a friend of ours, Mike N., and he introduces me to a lady who goes by the name Gidgit, yes the original. She introduces me to Jim (?). This just amazing, I’m getting sensory overload. I feel like I’m experiencing history in the making. The boards are starting to pile up as well. I see the display John from Santa Barbara was referring to, and a whole bunch of boards that were incredible works of art. The wood colors and grain, the shape and the finish are just awesome. Some representations of the various board and fin shapes Dale did were there as well. He was so innovative. I wonder how the V-fin really works. There were hot rods and woodies there in their own parking lot. There were pictures of him with horses and motorcycles and folks wandering around dressed like they were from each of these walks of life. Now I really wished I could have spent some time talking to Mr. Velzy since I have grown to appreciate all these things. I think back to how a guy named Todd wrote in the Harbour surf talk bb that he got the opportunity to do just that, and even better, got Dale to shape a board for him. Todd described the board on the site, but I haven’t seen one that matches the description yet. I meant to write that I was going, and see if we could meet, but I never got the chance. About this time I hear my name called out and I turn to see Ron (Awe F’shore). Man, he shoots some great pictures. We get to chatting and then I get to watch him work. I point out a few faces I knew. He got a picture of the Master, LeRoy Grannis. There was an area where the “other” boards were being gathered, and I noticed a Robert August “What I Ride” that was shaped by Mike laying there with a space next to it. I figured I should get its younger cousin to place next to it.

3:00PM The ceremony starts with Dale’s cousin singing the Eagles “Desperado”. Perfect song for this occasion. Other speakers from each of Mr. Velzy’s worlds get up to say something, but the sound system makes it difficult to hear what they have to say. Too bad, I know they all had a great Velzy experience to share with us all. The most amazing thing about this moment is there is such an upbeat feeling here. This wasn’t a memorial where people were sad or grieving, but a true celebration of life, a full one at that, and appreciation of someone who touched many lives in many ways. I will treasure this moment for the rest of my life. As I was walking back away from the crowd, I ran into Ron again and asked him if he knew Todd and where his board might be. He walked me over to a cool looking Harley orange and white board that I must have walked passed a couple of times earlier.

4:00PM There seems to be about 2000 people here, as this portion of the festivities were winding down. They asked everyone who was joining the paddle-out to go get ready and meet at the beach. I go to the truck and suit up, go to get my board and notice that Todd’s board is already gone. Shoot, I missed him. Grab my board and head to the water. There were approximately 700 of us trying to get to the water, as well as most of the other folks, making the trek across the sand difficult. There is standing water on the beach making a moat so there is only one spot where everyone can cross. Ron is standing there snapping shots of folks. He even got one of me. There were some people handing out flowers to take out, and one guy handing out packets made from tea leaves containing sand that actually came from Velzyland, in Hawaii. How cool is that. Funny how the first time I get to touch Hawaiian sand, I’m in California. I stuff the packet in my top and head to the waters edge. I wait for the incoming wave to settle, then dash out, launch with board outstretched in front, and land to catch the out-going backwash. All in one smooth movement. I paddle out towards the south east portion of the ever growing circle. My shoulder is really starting to hurt now, but I can’t slow down or stop. As I reach the far end I see a board I now recognize-Harley orange and white. “Are you Todd?” He says yes and I introduce myself. I see this as another Velzy day moment. The one person I was looking for in this lineup of 700, and I happen to go to the same spot he is. As the circle forms with people sitting rail to rail, it must be at least ¼ mile wide. You could feel magic in the air and how everyone is amazed at the size of the turnout. A couple of outrigger canoes paddle around in the middle, and there’s a guy on what looks like an old wood Velzy board piled high with flowers. Then we hear the roar of a propeller driven air plane getting louder. A WWII P51 Mustang comes flying close by, banks very hard and flies away-or so we thought. He came by once more. It was awesome. Everyone was asked to raise their hands in the air, and then we cupped and splashed water into the middle. I pull out the packet of sand and pour it into the water. Now there’s some of his namesake beach where he used to surf. Afterwards, we started to break up the circle and I headed towards the guy with flowers on his board. I hand the ones I had to him and say goodbye to Mr. Velzy. We all start to head for the beach. Todd and I are a little concerned how we’re all going to get out without some serious crashes occurring. We head towards the river mouth away from the pack. I loose sight of Todd, but I see Linda Benson about 50 feet to my left. Second Gidget sighting of the day (I believe she was Sandra Dee’s stunt double in the original movie). I catch the same wave as her and about 20 other people, including the girl who fell right in front of me. I make it to the beach and out of the water unscathed. Todd hits the beach at the same time and we run into Ron again. I think he said he took so many pictures he ran out of memory for his digital camera. Todd and Ron headed towards the luau, and I say my goodbyes so I can get to the next destination. When I get to the truck, the guy parked next to me is all smiles and stoked about the experience(we all were!). We had quickly chatted earlier, but now I introduced myself and told him about my tribute. He was impressed and told me about his Velzy experiences. David said Dale used to call him “The Bolsa Chica Kid” and that’s what Dale wrote on the board he shaped for him. He showed it to me and it certainly was something to be very proud of. What a beautiful board. I finish loading up and pull out.

5:10PM Leave Doheny heading for Trestles. The little bit of traffic there is, is really moving.

5:20PM Arrive at parking lot near Trestles(198 miles). Quickly pack up my suit into my board bag for the long hike down to Lowers. I arrive to find a group of kids packed at Uppers and what looks like a contest taking place at Lowers. There’s a drift wood structure where an older gentleman is changing after his session. He says that with the in coming tide, things are getting better and there is a good vibe in the water. The reason Lowers looked so crowded was there was some sort of school surf team practice thing going on. He also says that the kids with the short boards out in front of us are staying on the inside and being pretty cool, and that with my 9’6” I should have no problem catching the waves I needed. He wishes he could stay longer, but it’s his anniversary and he has to get home for a special dinner. I get the feeling he’s grateful that he has that as a reason he has to leave, and I wish him a happy anniversary.

5:50PM In water. I opt for the area just below Uppers where there are only a couple of guys on it. Good choice, the Velzy spirit is here as well. There are four of us on this peak and it’s just awesome. This is the best surf so far on this journey. Water is clear, slight evening glass, peak coming through and we’re taking turns without much needing to be said. I get three clean rides and my shoulder is now really starting to hurt. At this point in the game it’s becoming a goal just to get the 7 count in and move on. I paddle out to the outside and sit for a moment to rest. A California brown pelican flies solo just in front of me, inches above the water. They are so cool to watch as they adjust their altitude to fly just above the surface of the water. Ride number 4 comes along and it’s pretty cool. On number 5, I take off and it starts to section in front of me. As I was starting to make the section, one of the guys takes off in front of me, but there was enough room for the two of us. He apologized anyway, but I said “No worries, there was enough room. Besides, I only need two more for my goal anyway.” He looked puzzled at my remark, so I told him about the journey. I said I had started out in Thousand Oaks (most people know where Thousand Oaks is, but not Westlake Village which is right next door) and which spots I had planned to surf in Mr. Velzy’s honor. This young man was so stoked, I can still see the look in his eyes and the smile on his face. One other guy was giving me a hard time saying he didn’t believe I was really doing what I said. But when the next set came in, I told them to go ahead and take it. The first guy said “NO, you take it. We’ve got to get you to Swami’s.”. I thank them, get that wave and then the last one required. I rode number 7 in almost all the way in.

6:40PM Out of water. After I changed and packed up the board bag, I started walking back and another young man approached me and said he overheard I was from Thousand Oaks. He said he was from Westlake Village, and that he and his family were vacationing at the San-O campgrounds for the week. It was cool to talk to him as well, and I hope to surf with him again soon.

7:15PM Leave parking lot. Again, traffic’s not too bad and I can make good time.

7:40PM Arrive at Swami’s parking lot (231miles). Quickly change and head down the stairs to the beach. The water looks horrible due to the red tide. As the water washes over the front of my board it turns completely orange. Yuk. Within 10 minutes I’m getting a headache. The waves aren’t very good either. Peaky, disorganized wind swell. My shoulder is killing me and all I can think about is getting the wave count. Waves 2 and 3 pass. Wave 4 will put me over the hump. I look to the left to see a couple of dolphins strolling through the lineup. Seeing them takes my mind off my shoulder. Wave 4 comes and I take off, bottom turn, angle off and get dropped in on. Luckily this only happens once and the guy apologized. Oh well, it’s all good. It’s getting mighty dark, but I still get waves five, six and seven.

8:15PM Out of the water. As I exit the water I say out loud, “Thanks for a phenomenal day Mr. Velzy.” Head over to the shower, and spend what seems like forever rinsing off. Getting the dawn patrol top, and rash guard off is challenging due to my shoulder. Then drag myself up the stairs.

8:30PM Leave the parking lot. As I’m pulling out of the lot, listening to the radio, and replaying the events of the day in my mind, there is a strange, yet familiar sound coming through the middle of the song. It sounds like the emergency distress signal. But it’s not really registering in my mind because they usually test that on its own, not in the middle of a broadcast. Sure enough, it’s an emergency broadcast and they’re announcing a tsunami warning for San Diego county! Never thought I would cap the day off with that. Then I thought about the kid from Westlake and wondered how he and his family were affected by this.

9:15PM Arrive home (270miles). Grabbed a bite to eat enroute. Collapse on the couch and let dinner settle. I’m going to sleep well tonight.

Riding the wave you're given!

2005-06-27T10:44:00.000-07:00

This shot is from a pretty good day of surf down in Huntington Beach California. This particular wave was nothing special, but very fun. Although mushy, and not large, it provided me with ample carve room and I enjoyed it greatly. Like life's situations, we can't control what wave will come our way, but we can make the best of them.

Stay positive, compliment somebody, and enjoy the blessing of life today; whether your day is like a sweeeeeet head-high barrel, or a knarly close-out...only you control your attitude about the wave--or circumstance--you've been put in. Have a great day!

Trev

Rip and Tide--Super Hero Surfers!!!!

2005-05-17T09:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Story Analyst,

We’ve developed a concept that captures the heart of adventure and the liver of laughter. Rip and Tide—Super Hero Surfers.

Spending hours mesmerized by animated characters as kids—and now as fathers—we knew there was one medium that could adequately bring our stories to life…cartoons. The following will give you a small window into the fun and fantastic world of two geeks who, when summoned, transform into heroic bodies, battling evil throughout the universe, all the while thwarted with an even greater challenge—surviving middle school.

We are eager to discuss the endless possibilities of these characters. A feature length screenplay is ready for production.

Logline
The students of Central High Middle School know 12 year-old brothers Willie and Wayne Day as pencil necks, techies and geeks; but when trouble brews in the universe, these two nerds transform into, Rip and Tide—Super Hero Surfers!

Synopsis
A quest is just what is needed for 12-year-old brothers Willie and Wayne. Stuck in the lower reaches of futuristic downtown Los Angeles with their single mother and harassed by the school bully, the two hi-tech whiz kids seek escape in a virtual game world where they have created hero’s with the traits they long for: charismatic, muscular and carefree—Super Hero Surfers! Their sojourn begins when they respond to an S O S during a virtual battle and are transported into Quixotic—a world of magic and mayhem—to save the Universe.
Once Willie and Wayne realize the graphics and their virtual personas of Rip and Tide are no longer computer generated, but all too real, they must make some tough decisions. Under the guide of the mysterious Mage and the chatty white raven, Maverick, the boys housed in heroic bodies embark on an epic journey.
Armed with talismans—a staff for Rip and gauntlets for Tide—they make their way across the landscape of Quixotic in search of the magical Orgatron. Orgatron is a gravity defying living essence that was designed to work as a whole, harnessed by three persons, and responding instantly to telepathic commands. But alas, the evil HellPlank hoards three parts, giving him great power. The prophecies proclaim that The Two will come from another land to win back the orgatron, and bring the world back to balance.
The minions of Hellplank spread darkness across the land as Willie and Wayne walk a tight rope of death; facing the dreaded bantarays, surviving the murk swamps and saving an elfin princess from ogres. The Princess leads Rip and Tide to the King of the Elves who assigns the bald and pudgy Tubius Maximus to train them in the use of their amulets. After days of training, Willie, Wayne, and Tubby set off into the cavernous depths to find and battle Hellplank.
In Hellplank’s lair a battle ensues. Despite the transformation of the white raven from jabbering pest to mighty war-bird, and a duel to the death taking the life of Tubius, the dynamic duo lie defeated beneath the throne of Hellplank. Their attempt at controlling the orgatron failed, they can only watch as the tiny silvery orbs hanging above them float back toward their master.
In their final moments the brothers unite in heart and Willie reaches up to touch a glowing globule—it instantly settles across his skin. Suddenly, The Two realize, their discontent with each other has kept the orgatron at bay. Now united, the orgatron responds to their summons, instantly taking shape of their lost staff and gauntlets. Their tattered Quixotic garb is replaced with orgatron. The magical substance mimicks the image in their minds of their heroic personas, and they’re clothed in colorful super hero wetsuits. Their eyes twinkle with the possibilities.
Hellplank cries “No!”
The boy’s cry, “Air boards”—leaping into the air, landing on two silver, gravity-defying surfboards. Maverick and Mage join them and the three take down Hellplank, chasing him from his lair.
The boys are ready to give chase when Mage reveals their superhero personas can transport into Earth’s dimension and help their mother who is being pursued by drug warped Groundlings…or finish the job of defeating HellPlank. They make the only choice they can, and appear a mile above Los Angeles, two super hero surfers, racing to earth to save their mother—and the day.
Upon return from their Quixotic adventure, the boys save their mother from the Groundling gang of thugs, but quickly realize their lives have become more complicated, as they have to hide from their mother the fact that Rip and Tide, are actually her sons. They race home reaching their beds in the nick of time. As she walks the hall to open the door, the boys realize they are still in their Olympic bodies. Panic strikes as she reaches for the door, and suddenly they’re back in Quixotic.
Mage reminds them time is different in the dimensions, and they have an approximate 20:1 ratio for a window, of course, in one half a second their mom will be in their room. Ten seconds in Quixotic. “Use your mind boys. Here in Quixotic, you can transform anytime you wish.”
The boys learn fast, and with a thought are back in boy’s bodies, looking up at the tall wizard. The transformation is complete with orgatron created pajamas. “Sweet.”
The boys look to wrists where orgatron bracelets are bound.
“That’s how I’ll summon you. When there’s trouble in the world, I’ll summon you with the Orgatron, come to me quickly, transform, then return to save the day.”
The boys’ faces light up with questions.
“No time lads. But remember, only use your powers at my command, you’re too young to know when this awesome power is warranted.”
Instantly the two are back in their beds, tucked in, feigning sleep as their mother walks in. She kisses them both good night.
The boys look to one another as the door shuts, then at the bracelets. “It wasn’t a dream?”
The crow answers by popping out from under the bed. “Of course not fools, and you’ll need to come up with an excuse for me promptly, for I’ll not disgrace myself by hiding in that pigsty again.”
The boys laugh.

And thus, Earth gains another dynamic duo: Rip and Tide--Super Hero Surfers!

Don't forget to put on the stickers!

2005-04-20T10:07:00.000-07:00

Legos…a wonderful creation, a splendid toy that sparks creativity over and over again. As a child, when I visited my Grandma Betty, I would play with a box full of the simple but brilliantly designed plastic pieces for hours. Red, yellow, blue, white connectable rectangles in different sizes became epic spacecraft, naval fleets, and Indy cars. The prized wheels and slanted blocks took my creations to new levels. It brought my young heart joy to see the fruits of my labor come together so quickly.

I enjoyed my Grandma Betty’s box of Legos so much because there were no instructions, no pictures to follow, no fine-tuning, no delicate finish pieces, no stickers to painstakingly place evenly before the project could be considered complete. When I said it was done, it was done. If half way through the magnificent Fort Apache I decided to start the Empire State Building, I could do it. Unlike those pesky car models that demanded each piece go where it belonged, and never seemed to get finished because I didn’t have the patience to attach decals or paint.

Nor were my Lego masterpieces like the chores around the house that were never done right because I couldn’t quite get to the final details of completing them. I’d sweep, but the dirt would stay in a pile. I’d mow, but the edges stayed high. I’d shovel the snow, but the powdery lines remained between shovel trails.

It’s the same today as an adult. It’s hard to finish a job. And it makes sense that this is where the struggle lies. When first starting a project, or a new adventure in life, the initial stages are exciting, fun, and you can see tremendous results. This is why some people are in constant seas of change; they are addicted to the fantastic results they gain when they start something new. Unfortunately, success almost always comes thanks to the finish work. In a move, the bulk of the furniture loads smooth, and the job seems to move quickly, but the move’s not complete without the little items, and these seem to be endless. The edges of a puzzle assembles with ease, and with highly visual results, but the final pieces of the puzzle, the ones you have to search for, wait for, sometimes agonize for, those pesky pieces in the center…those are what make the puzzle a success. The first week of working out creates sore, pumped muscles, but without consistency, the gains are minimal.
Starting new careers, changing jobs, finding new hobbies can all be good things. But if it is a pattern, we need to analyze ourselves, and ask? Do I seek constant change because I’m afraid of the hard work it takes to achieve true success? Am I addicted to the instant gratification of starting projects?
I know I’ve been guilty of this. I love the initial learning process. I’ve always picked up things pretty quickly, but rarely had the discipline for mastery. When I first started writing screenplays, I leapt into books on the subject, I banged out junk on my laptop, I sought feedback—and unfortunately got it. I reread and rewrote until I started to get the feedback I desired. Danny and I finished a great script. But then, the finish work.
Selling.
It was like the air was let out of my balloon. The temptation to start new things arose. “Another script is what we need, then we’ll start the selling process.”
Another script was completed.
“One more should do it.” We told ourselves.
And that script was completed.
“This story must be told. To the computer, the muse calls, we’ll hit the door to door sales when this masterpiece is done.”
And that script was completed.
“A novel would be easier to sell, let’s write one of those.”
A novel was completed…
And now here we sit, again. But this time we’re not taking the first “No.” as a sign we should write more. We’re going after it again. We’re going to keep writing, but we’re not stopping the selling until the job gets done. It could be today? It could be five years from now? But this time, we’re putting in the finish work.
Lego’s have become more advanced over the years. More than ever, the Lego products are more like models. You buy a box of an infinite variation of pieces, and to get it right, you must follow the directions carefully. And if you want it to look just like the picture on the box, you have to place every sticker in just the right place. Because when you do, that plastic model comes alive, the stickers are what make it worthy of the shelf.
My son has many of these neat little Lego models—which I’ve helped him build. Unfortunately, few have the stickers. It’s so much fun in the beginning, it takes shape so quickly, and it looks almost like the box when there still seems to be a hundred pieces left. It’s times like these when I miss that box of simple yet brilliant pieces at Grandma Betty’s place.
With Legos—and sometimes in life—it’s alright to enjoy the first fruits, to test the waters, to see if the endeavor is worth taking on, and if not? Move on…but sometimes, if we really want success, if we want to go to the next level, we have to stick to our guns, finish the job, stay the course, put in the 80% perspiration after the 20% inspiration, find the glory in the details…sometimes, if you want to get it right, you can’t forget about those stickers.

TREV

Anxiety

2005-04-15T11:04:00.000-07:00

Tears on the soul, rips the mind
Stimulates foul, defeats mankind

The antithesis of trust, it attacks from within
Creeping and clawing, the result of sin

Run to the roar, find what you miss
A psychological game, sure to be a twist

It kills, it maims, bring it to bare
Shame is its root, truth its corsair

One’s got it all, in Him no demise
Take heed the fool…the fool becomes wise.

FAITH

Trevor

"Yikes!"

2005-04-07T12:22:00.000-07:00

"
Oh, oh. I wish I would have payed attention to my science teacher. Are shark's fins straight or curved?"
"Straight, surf on!...I think."

Surf, life, and getting spit out naked on a packed beach, part II

2005-04-02T10:33:00.000-08:00

“Going over the falls,” “whitewater frenzy,” “tiger shark sightings.” If you’re not familiar with these terms, please scroll down a little and read “Surf, Life, and Getting Spit Out Naked on a Packed Beach, Part I.”

Learning to surf has taught me one of life’s most valuable lessons. It all happened on that fateful day upon the gnarly walled-up shore breakers just north of the Wedge. I stood there, butt naked, shorts in hand, allowing the full magnitude of dozens of people staring at me to sink in. I had just survived going over the falls, getting spun on supercrazy wash cycle, and then taking it on the head a couple of times. It felt good to be alive, despite the fact that people were pointing, laughing, and I think a few, possibly, taking pictures.

It wasn’t until several years later, while learning to surf, that I figured out that going over the falls and getting spun like a rag doll under water was something I was going to have to get used to. I was told, that when you enter the washing machine, that you need to relax, let the wave bend you into whatever shape it wishes. Relax? Are you kidding me? I felt like I was in the jaws of death every time it happened. When your life is on the line, you fight. You fight tooth and nail to get out of the life threatening situation. So I kept fighting, and I lost every time, hitting the surface pumped full with adrenaline and lungs deplete of oxygen.

One day, I was dropping in late on a wave, tried to pull back, but once again, I went over. It was a pretty good sized wave, and it threw me down hard, and far. I let my body relax. My instinct was to battle, but I forced myself to let the wave do its thing. I spun, twisted, and convulsed...but this time, I kinda’ liked it. Within seconds, the tremors faded, and I popped up to the surface. I did it. I let the wave take control (as if it ever wasn’t), and I experienced the joy in giving in to my fear.

Experiencing joy in the midst of fear. Sounds like a crazy paradox...and guess what? It is. Now let me make clear that joy is not necessarily happiness. Rather, it is a sense of peace, an understanding that we aren’t the ones in control. Life throws us curveballs, sinkers, and every once in a while, unhittable sliders. We will be confronted with stress, from without, and from within, that will cause fear. Our natural instinct is to fight or run. When we fight the fear, it often grows, and overwhelms us. When we run, we turn to alchohol, drugs, porn, blaming others, (fill in blank with any other addiction), to avoid the enormous pain of facing our fear. The last two years have brought me a tremendous amount of anxiety, most of which come from never dealing with growing up with an alcoholic father whø kicked me aside, never playing with me, or even talking with me. When he did talk, it often was abusive.

I’ve had to deal with border line panic attacks, generated from within. When they first began, when my obsessive fears first reared their ugly heads, I fought like a madman, pushing them away. But they overwhelmed me. The harder I fought, the stronger they became. When I finally began to give in to the fear, much like giving in to the twisting and turning when I go over the falls, I began to experience some peace.

I have a long way to go, as the fear is embedded deeply within, but “running to the roar” has been one of the best life lessons I have learned. It will definitely save you on the waves, and I guarantee it will bring you joy. Give in to your fears. Face your anxiety. Run to the roar. Its a paradox worth living.

Danny

If three--then me.

2005-03-30T11:03:00.000-08:00

“Dang it! This is my third speeding ticket this week! Why is this happening to me?”
This statement summarizes my concept of “If three, then me.” If you read the above statement, it is ridiculous. The statement suggests that there is someone out to get you, that you’re unlucky and helpless in the situation. It suggests that God is mad, or some force is working against you. When in reality, you’re speeding, if you weren’t, you would not have received one ticket, let alone three.
This stands as a stark example of what some people do with their entire lives. They blame bad situations on bad luck, mean people or a rude staff member; a bogus piece of merchandise, a bad apple, wrong directions…

“There’s a glitch in this game!”
“The cards are fixed.”
“My boss is a jerk!”
“My wife’s a nag!”
“This house is falling apart—all at the same time!”
“I don’t have enough money!”

The list goes on.
So often when we feel like things just aren’t going our way, if we step back we can trace the negative events to something we have done. The “If three, then me” rule is a good thing to follow.
If you are feeling scorned three times a month by tellers, cashiers, Home Depot workers, etc. Then maybe it’s your attitude that’s the problem.
If you are getting reprimanded more that three times, then maybe the boss isn’t out to get you, maybe you’re doing a bad job.
If you have three different people cut you off, or zone out while you’re talking, maybe they aren’t all rude, maybe I—I mean you—talk too much!
If three people comment on your behavior, maybe their right.
If you think three different friends have wronged you in a short period of time, maybe you’re too sensitive, overreacting, or unsympathetic to others schedules.
If you get in a loud conversation often, then maybe you’re the one who needs to calm down.
If your wife is a nag, maybe you’re not giving her enough love.
If your house is falling apart, maybe you weren’t keeping up with the repairs.
If you’re out of money, maybe you spend too much.

The problem with putting the blame on outside forces, we lose control of the situation. If we find the blame in ourselves, it’s a chance to grow, and change. Don’t run from blame, look for it—and grow from it.

It’s all right to make mistakes; it doesn’t make you a bad person.

Sometimes, no matter what we do, bad things can happen, and it’s not our fault; but if three—then, maybe, just maybe…it’s me.
Something to think about this week, I know I need to.

Trev

Surf, life, and getting spit out naked on a packed beach, part I

2005-03-26T10:04:00.000-08:00

Going over the falls...it happens when you miscalculate, or just chicken out dropping into a wave (look careful at pic for example). The sheer force of the movement of the wave closing out takes you up and over from the wave’s backside; hence the term, “going over the falls.” But that’s the best part of the wipeout. What scares a rational man senseless is what happens next. The wave shoves you down into the jaws of whitewater frenzy where you spin uncontrollably under the surface, not knowing which way to go for a gulp of life giving breath.

The first time I went “over the falls” and got a nasty taste of the washing machine effect was near the wedge at Newport Beach. I was body surfing with my cousin and his best buddy, who were visiting from Phoenix. They made the mistake of asking me about sharks, and I had no other choice but to do my best to freak them out with a good story. As I told them of a nearby tiger shark sighting, I felt something brush my foot. In a nanosecond, I was the one freaking, and started swimming for shore. I tried to catch a nasty wall of a wave, but realized I was too late, and the beast would spit me out on the shore. I pulled back, but the force of the wave threw my like a rag doll into whitewater mania. I twisted and turned under water, literally not knowing which way was up. I fought like a mad man, but it was like peeing into a tornado. The more I fought, the faster my heart pumped, the quicker the oxygen was sapped from my lungs. My chest began to convulse, the whitewater cleared, and I saw blue sky. I was psyched to have survived, but my celebration tapered as I realized my shorts and undies were ripped off in battle. They washed ashore in front of a Saturday afternoon crowd. As I conteplated my options, another shore breaking monster hit me from behind, and I was spinning again; this time with my bare white butt leading the way. I survived another washing machine cycle, but I was presented with a rough decision. Stay in the surf and die, or walk up butt naked on the beach and retrieve my shorts. Well, needless to say, I chose the later, and here I am writing the memoirs.

I learned an amazing life lesson that day, and it wasn’t “make sure your shorts are tied on snuggly before entering the surf.” Stay tuned for part II.

Space Janitor--our newest novel...Ch. 1

2005-03-23T17:18:00.000-08:00

...also a screenplay with a graphic novel in the works!
Concept Art by Bill Dely.

2100 A.D. DEEP SPACE: THE VOID – The small rock strewn planet floated in the midst of the seemingly endless domain of space. What classified this cragged rock void of atmosphere as a planet instead of an asteroid in the galactic charts was merely a whim of the scientific community.
The blackness was perfect until a silent explosion erupted driving the cobalt into retreat in an elliptic spectrum of energy. A silver bullet appeared from the quickly expanding saucer of light. The pearly mass slowed taking the form of a spacecraft and shattering the quiet with the 115 year-old hit song, Magic Carpet Ride, which blared into space from the ship's exterior speakers.
The long-range fighter approached the rocky surface quickly, wings folded away from fuselage and retracting wormhole shields revealed a cockpit. Intense light exploded into space from the small craft as navigation lights activated.
Inside the cockpit sat Sgt. C.T. McGregor, his black boots at rest atop switch filled control panel. He lounged in a high backed, black leather captain's chair. Muscled limbs draped loosely over large padded armrests. A charcoal tinted shirt hung open across his broad chest. Dark hair was cropped short and had the sheen of youth while the depth of his sleep left his bronzed skin without wrinkle.
The pounding music that thankfully emanated quieter inside than out seemed to have no effect on the Sergeant's sleep. It was quickly apparent that he snoozed unawares of the jagged cliffs that now filled his view screen, increasing in size at an alarming rate.
Looming large in the ship's screen, the rocky planet quickly blocked out the universe behind it. A red light flashed and beeped, quickening with the ship's approach to the planet.
Nary a twitch arose from the pilot's eyes until a very sensual female voice lyrically flowed through the large cockpit as the music faded to a whisper. "Perhaps it is time to consider the briefing?" The voice poised the question as near to a command as possible without it being one.
The switchboard lit up with light and sound as the planet rose up to reveal a crater and boulder-strewn surface. She continued. "And our eminent crash course into that large rock."
McGregor's eyes twitched, the corner of his lip almost curled, his eyes opened, his coarse hand rubbed coarser beard. "E.T.A?"
The voice responded politely, "Twenty two seconds…21, 20, 19…
McGregor yawned, and looked at the pocked surface casually. "Debrief."
"So soon Sir." The voice responded sarcastically. We're still thirteen and 3/4 seconds from impact and only two days late for a three-day assignment."
Blue eyes twinkled. "Well Aaia, if you'd kept my ship safe from those mutant tics, we'd have been here on time." McGregor smiled. He enjoyed poking fun at the computer whose personality he had programmed. Sometimes he wondered if he had not given her too much personality.
Aaia interrupted his thoughts. "Security is not in my programming. 11, 10, 9…"
"Just in case you ever decided to turn on me." He said, peering up to the ceiling. "I'm kidding. I'd give you all the power I had if I.U.S. would let me."
"Of course you would. Now, about the incinerary experience were about to have?"
The ship plummeted toward what could only result in a fiery explosion. The unforgiving surface took shape as it drew closer…closer…closer… The ship nearly shivered at the fate that was now inevitable when just before impact a large perfectly camouflaged portal on the planet's surface opened, revealing a tunnel, which lead straight into the planet's core. The fighter glided gracefully into the massive corridor as the portal closed seamlessly behind it.
McGregor smiled. "I guess I should have told you about that."
"Really?" Aaia said with the utmost human tone, expressing in the one word her annoyance and enjoyment at being a participant in her programmer's joke.
"I guess that didn't make it into the research program I gave you."
Aaia sighed and began her debriefing. "Space Hub lovingly referred to as Hell's Gate, one of the largest harbors in the known galaxy. Non I.U.S. controlled but vital to non-worm hole cross-galactic shipping. Until recently, controlled by a reasonable human crime lord...He's dead. The new lord is hiking prices, refuses to show at least the facade of respect for I.U.S. officers and had all the priests destroyed the first day. He's a grainite and mean as hell. Clean Up the mess using any means necessary with I.U.S. section 3 code 7 as protocol."
McGregor grunted. "Can't kill 'em unless he kills me first."
"Exactly".
"Dandy." McGregor flipped a coolant switch. "Wiped out all the grays, huh?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
The view screen revealed the pitch-black tunnel that soon sprouted lights as the ship sped through it. As the light sources increased, signs of life appeared along the shaft's surface. McGregor flipped a switch, dimming the exterior lights as every surface of the corridor filled with living quarters, shops, restaurants and taverns.
McGregor's craft darted from the tunnel exit and into the planet's core. Sailing deep along the radius, the sleek vehicle moved toward the core's center. The hollowed planet teemed with activity as shuttles and taxi's scurried about the interior.
Three miles separated the planet's walls. Every inch of surface was put to use, covered with minimally profiled intricate structures and warehouses; often it was difficult to establish where one ended and the other began. Metal intertwined with stone to create phantasmagoric architectural wonders that sprawled amongst the cragged interior. An orb that glowed moon-like at the planet's center illuminated the core, currently simulating night. McGregor maneuvered the ship through heavy traffic, banking around the silver orb and then guiding his ship toward a cliff wall with several large caves. Decreasing speed, the ship's landing gear dropped and it slipped into a hangar carved into the cliffs natural caves.
Bustling traders moved about the hangar in a furor. Ships of all shapes and sizes were loaded and unloaded with cargo. Exotic creatures bartered and exchanged goods as ships were serviced for the long flight to anywhere. The stone floor of the monstrous cave was polished to sheen. McGregor observed all this while buttoning his shirt, shutting down his systems and arming himself. He looked up to where a long broadsword hung, then reluctantly took down the two holstered blasters next to it and strapped them around his waist.
McGregor's craft gracefully settled into an open space between an I.U.S. trade vessel and a much smaller clepto ship. The cleptos were just one of the many genetic mutant creations that roamed the universe along side the native creatures of a more natural genesis. Cleptos were humans with the genes of mockingbirds engineered at the point of conception. Rarely did they exceed 1.5 M in height and hollow bones allowed them amazing leaping abilities. Small wings limited their aerial capabilities to gliding--their wings not strong enough to give them true flight. Elfish features, soft feathered hair, and wings that folded gracefully down their back made them beautiful creatures and one of the touted successes from the genetic engineering revolution. But they were not without fault, their abilities at collection and hawking wares made them excellent merchants--it also made them master thieves.
McGregor smiled politely through the windshield as he lowered blaster blinds, waving at the tiny man-bird as he set his alarms.
It didn't take long to make his way through the interior caves toward his destination. He walked briefly down an exterior bridge, a five-foot wide non-symmetrical path stretching across the monstrous cavern below. He was momentarily suspended in space as he stopped to scan the chasm's depths before turning his gaze to the massive airspace inside the hollowed planet. He took a deep breath, wanting to enjoy the experience more than he seemed to. He continued down the rock walk.
McGregor entered the thriving bar with confidence. After all, he was a Space Janitor--highly trained and well equipped. He was in his third year as a Janitor, and was given the best missions. It was a dangerous job, and he loved it for that. He had worked hard to gain the position, and made the elusive rank of Space Janitor in the fastest time possible, two years. Across the globe his position demanded respect. He looked about the tavern as he strutted through the crowds. Traders from all walks of life--both alien and engineered, organic and mechanical--mingled and partied. C.T. was out of uniform, yet many in the crowd noticed his genetic superiority, he was sure by the way they parted for him. He approached the counter where a sexy barkeep quickly took notice of this tall stranger.
"What's your pleasure, cowboy?" The barkeep whispered flirtatiously.
McGregor turned to his left where two green-skinned lizard men looked pathetically at empty mugs. With a questioning glance he asked them both, "Orange Whip? Orange Whip?"
The duo nodded in unison, a ray of hope filtering into their verdant reptilian eyes.
McGregor dipped his head in acknowledgement, and said without facing the Barkeep, "Three Orange whips." He smiled at his inner joke and ode to one of the greatest adventures of all time. As the barkeep moved to concoct the drinks, McGregor scanned the room, leaning back and resting his elbows on the bar. He took in the entire alcove, noticing who noticed him, and who purposefully kept their eyes away. He grew confident from his ability to observe human emotions--and intentions--at a glance and was emboldened by his effect on the people at the bar.
The Barkeep returned with the drinks and smiled. McGregor smiled back, truly seeing her for the first time. Dark silky hair flowed about her shoulders, and ample cleavage sprang from the girl's low cut, red, sleeveless shirt. Subtly brown skin glowed between the tapered top that hugged slender waist, and the low cut pants drew a perfectly curved line across her toned abdomen, two inches below the perfectly shaped bellybutton. She set the frothing drinks down. She saved McGregor's for last, and met his eyes boldly as she placed the drink before him.
He fought to maintain his casualness, as the blood in his body seemed to instantly heat, turning him to mush. Raising his eyes, he met her gaze--reminding himself she was probably just a non-gen, far his inferior--he hoped he faked his confidence well.
The twinkle in her eye told him he failed. "Where ya' from?" She asked, the words seemingly caressing his ears as they passed.
Her eyes blitzed his senses, ransacking any chance he had at a witty response. Electric in their coloration, they danced before him; depths of aquamarine mesmerized him. In all his days amidst the genetically designed eyes of the elite, he'd never seen their equal. It was too much, and he pulled his own eyes away from the sparkling pools. Reaching for the tangerine colored drink, he raised it to his lips with his right hand, hoping to sooth his countenance. He'd long ago made the habit of eating and drinking with his right hand so that his more dexterous appendage would be available for his gun if needed. Finally after setting the drink back to the bar, he answered. "Earth."
Delighted eyes lit up, and the beautiful girl couldn't hide her excitement at the answer she had hoped for. "Long way from home. Smuggler?"
He smiled internally, his confidence returning with the reminder of who he was. True confidence replaced false bravado now, knowing his answer would quickly win the girl; every woman longed to find a man of his genetic make-up. "Janitor." He didn't have time to wait expectantly for her dazzled and impressed stare; her disgust rocked him instantly. The very face that a moment ago stirred heat in his loins now sent daggers of ice through his heart.
The girl was obviously surprised by this unexpected piece of information. She recovered quickly, leaned in toward him, looked deep into his eyes and made no attempt to hide her contempt. "You sure? I can usually tell a gen-freak…I mean, gen-man--they do nothing for me."
If her initial reaction shocked him, this statement broke him. Suddenly every fear of inadequacy swelled up from the past, taking the form of beads of sweat surfacing on the back of his neck and the muscles of his legs turning to jelly. He quickly fought the irrational fears back; he'd dealt with this issue years ago, when faced with a newborn younger brother, a brother designed to perfection by his parents. A brother--who unlike himself--was not adopted. For six years before his brother's untimely death, the boy roused fear of inadequacy in McGregor's adopted heart. It only worsened after his brother's sickness, he became near deity after that, and McGregor felt ever more his inferior in the shadow of the perfect memories his mother had of her womb born son.
McGregor shook off the doubts, so he was adopted, and without papers, his parents said he came from genetically pure stock, and he made Janitor in record time--a non-gen couldn't do that! He was who they said he was. He had nothing to fear he told himself. He forced himself to stand taller; he was Sgt. C.T. McGregor, Space Janitor--gen-man! He matched her stare, waiting for her to make the next move. Her coldness held, and she stared at him with unflinching eyes of steel.
Stepping back from the bar, he pulled credits from the front pocket of his dark brown flight jacket. He forced himself to meet her gaze then tossed them on the bar. "For the clean up." The titanium chips clinked on the bar and finally drew her gaze from his. He felt released and took the opportunity to escape.
McGregor was up and moving before her eyes rose from the money. She watched him glide purposefully through the crowd toward the rear of the large tavern. Once again, he would quell his own doubts of his genetic make-up the only way he knew how--with action, and with a vengeance.
A large double door sat well protected by two heavily armed eight-foot angular faced kragors. The sentries bred for war frowned at the approaching intruder. One of them stepped forward, extending a six-fingered hand. "Halt."
McGregor ignored the command, quickening his pace. Blasters drew as one and without hesitation the kragars unleashed a barrage of laser blasts.
McGregor's hand casually brushed by his belt as the blasts reached him, a shimmering light flickered where the shots should be destroying flesh. An invisible force field absorbed the blasts with ease. McGregor's left hand was a blur as were the two darts that entered jugulars with deadly silence--the kragars crumbled--a dart protruding from each of their crimson stained necks.
McGregor stepped over the fallen mutants and pushed through the doors, his hands snagging them at their apex and flinging them shut behind him without missing a beat. He continued toward a gigantic desk centered in the elaborate, foliage filled room.
The thing that sat behind the large desk smiled, its seemingly rigid rock face curved upwards. The thing's tangerine hide covered a massively muscled nine-foot frame--he was a Grainite--a genetic mutation bred for mining the mineral planets.
McGregor stopped, glancing toward an eagle sized winged lizard that perched perceptively in an iron cage. It's emerald skin shone like fine polished leather carved to resemble scaled skin. The dragon's tongue licked the air expectantly. McGregor turned his gaze back to the brute behind the desk, coolly meeting the Grainite's smile. "Lord Grimm, I presume."
The genetically created beast ground out a laugh. "I must have done something right, for them to send one of you."
It took an act of will not to acknowledge the complement as pride surged within him, but McGregor held the beast's gaze and said casually. "You worked quickly, unfortunately for you not quietly."
The two warriors analyzed one another carefully, waiting for the other to make a mistake.
"Why'd you kill the grays?" McGregor asked, hiding his interest.
Grimm paused, then began to chuckle, then to laugh--the laughter grew to a near deafening level before he stopped cold. "Because they kill people." Grimm used the nano-second McGregor's mind strayed to go for his guns.
Pistols slid from McGregor's holsters with lightening speed, firing simultaneously with Grimm.
Two mutated thirty inch shoeless feet that rested casually on the desk became launchers, sending literally a ton of tangerine marble hurling toward McGregor who was already diving through the air, hitting the ground rolling as he fired.
McGregor's blasters ignited again and again, lasers ricocheting off the granite's hide.
Rock chips flew from Grimm as he sprinted for the door, firing a large armor piercing photon blaster at the now up and ready McGregor.
McGregor's force field took the brunt of the first blast but it didn't keep him from being knocked back, he fought to keep his balance when a second shot slammed into his chest, propelling him forcefully onto his backside. Breath purged from his lungs and then the third blast connected, slamming the Janitor's head back against stone floor and sending a ripple through his force field…it fizzled away in an electrical light melt down.
McGregor struggled to sit, gasping at the air that was still denied him, then finally finding it and expelling it again with the words. "Oh, shit!"
A massive hand grasped him by the shirtfront; jerking him from the floor and hurling him like a rag doll into the back wall. Grimm laughed again as McGregor slid down the stone to the floor.
A twenty-inch tongue lashed out from the lizard's fanged snout and McGregor heard in his mind, Better move. McGregor listened to the thought and painfully dove from the path of another photon blast. The dragon was obviously enjoying the show.
Grimm continued his march toward the doors, he turned and smiled, firing one last shot at the scrambling McGregor who--hearing the word, Move, in his mind--threw himself behind a hutch full of multi-colored roses, landing hard on already cracked ribs. Grimm laughed at the cry of pain from McGregor and he turned away.
Just as the grotesque hand reached for the double doors, McGregor grimaced with the agony of the effort, but pulled himself up from behind the hutch and shouted, "Hey Rock Face!"
Grimm turned to see a four-inch metallic disc spiraling toward him.
McGregor disappeared behind the hutch as the disc embedded into the center of the grainite's forehead. Grimm's eyes crossed upwards as cumbersome fingers reached frantically for the tiny device. Fours quick ticks later the bomb detonated and the ensuing explosion thundered through the room like a canon.
Kneeling behind the slate desk turned bomb shelter, McGregor covered his head. The concussion blast sent rocks, pebbles and grains of sand raining down upon the room and McGregor. Shortly thereafter, as McGregor allowed his eyes to rise, the leaves and pedals of a hundred roses and a plethora of herbage settled gently around him.
He rose with an aching snarl, laser blasters still in hand, pointing at the double doors--nobody entered. Breathing deeply, he stretched out his bruised and battered body. He inhaled slowly--agonizingly--testing his ribs. Sniffing, he drew in another breath, suddenly aware of the avid aroma now filling the room, enjoying the fragrance of a hundred annihilated roses. Two pistols twirled into holsters and he said wryly, "I love the smell of roses in the morning."
A snicker drew McGregor's attention to the cage, which now lay on its side. The shaken up dragon ruffled out its leathery wings then peered at McGregor.
McGregor's mind once again filled with thoughts not his as the words, Three, two, one, zero, floated through his mind. On zero the doors of the office burst open and a half a dozen kragars charged through firing upon the Space Janitor. Without his force field he was mandated to defy physics and out maneuver the blasts. His own guns reached his hands in a blur and he miraculously escaped the initial onslaught with only flesh wounds. But he only managed to bring two of the warriors down as he somersaulted his way over a table and across the room; attempting to find cover behind the large upturned desk as he unloaded on the remaining four kragars. The well-trained soldiers spread out, attempting to put their adversary in a position of crossfire. McGregor knew too well his fate if he allowed them to succeed--he would be dead.
He didn't give them a chance to think, and kept on the move. He sprang forward, guns exploding in blue rays of death, purposefully charging in the direction of the two still in the proximity of each other. They leapt apart, as did McGregor's guns, and both kragors fell from precision shots to the head.
Blood sprayed from McGregor's shoulder as a blast from one of the remaining kragars ripped across deltoid. "ARRGH!" He dropped with the hit, forcing himself to ignore the pain of landing on the very shoulder that now burned, blasting away at the attacking soldier. The leathery skinned creature crumbled to the floor across the room from him and silence stilled the air. He scanned the room from where he laid. The last kragor had gone into stealth mode. He dared not to make a sound as he slowly slid himself into a defensive position between a carved stone pedestal and the wall. His eyes darted about the room and his ears tuned to the slightest sound.
Silence.
Free Me.
Not exactly a good time for that. McGregor thought back at the dragon.
Obviously. After you win.
If I win?
You will if I help you.
I was going to free you anyway.
Thanks. Here he comes. With that thought sent, the dragon sprang to the side of his tipped cage, causing it to roll. The kragar turned toward the noise as McGregor stood up to face him. When the kragor turned back, he was looking down the barrels of McGregor's guns.
McGregor smirked. "Always good to have back-up."
The kragor nodded, glancing at McGregor's weapons.
Two titanium barrels nodded back, as McGregor quipped. "Don't even think about."
The kragor dropped his weapon.
McGregor maneuvered around him to the cage, gun and eyes on him constantly, then reached down gingerly, opening the iron door of the cage. "Stay out of my mind." He needn't have spoken, for the telekinetic lizard had already read the thought.
The dragon's snout curled in what could only be described as a snarling smile, revealing a tiny row of fangs designed for gnashing. Taking flight, it circled the room then landed on McGregor's shoulder.
"Are you kidding me?" McGregor flinched at the talons digging into his shoulder. "To the nearest planet with meat is as far as you're going." He then thought instead of said, And stay out of my mind.
Impossible.
McGregor ignored him. "Enter the dragon."
The dragon snickered despite having no way to understand the subtext.
"I'll call you Bruce."
And you…Seeker.
In a flash, McGregor holstered his pistol and pulled a dart. He squeezed its base, causing several drops of venom to disperse. "A warrior shouldn't have to die for protecting his master." Nearly impossible to see, the movement was so quick, McGregor's hand sent the dart into the kragar's jugular and the giant crumpled to the floor in a heap.
Like a pirate's prized parrot, the dragon rode McGregor's broad shoulder as he walked back into the cantina. The clientele of this establishment were used to violence, and purposefully kept their eyes and glances at bay as the Space Janitor sauntered past them and toward the bar. He threw down another wad of cash on the countertop. It didn't escape his notice that it wasn't the girl from earlier who took up the money. He quickly shoved the disappointment from his mind--he'd never see her again anyway.

Too late for Cheung!

2005-03-23T13:09:00.000-08:00

Paddling out with your buddies is a great thing, as you take that first hit to the head from a mountain of cold white water, you look over to see if your surf pals are making it, it gives you comfort to know they are there to feel the pain with you, and experience the joy after a sweet ride. For Danny, Jeff, Keith and I, if we see a brother’s ride, a fist up in the air and a wide smile gives the props--especially if we survived a big close-out.

Today was one of those days as Jeff and I surfed Seal pier. In photo: Jeff is in black shirt, green cap, standing next to Rich Harbour, who’s standing next to me with that sweeeeet yellow 7’4, the Spherical Revolver. The waves were 3-4 ft. and consistently holding up. But throughout the session, I had one little negative weighing me down—a court appearance at 1:20 that afternoon. Try as I might to block out stressful situations that loom on the horizon of life, I can’t help but let it seep into my mind on occasion. It’s been that way for the three months since the showdown with Officer Cheung was set. My mantra of “Don’t worry about it, enjoy this day, enjoy this moment; what will happen, will happen.” Works most the time, but occasionally the mind starts to live that uknown future over and over again. Luckily, on this day, as the hours counted down to face-off, the surf kept my mind at bay, with only the occasional thought creeping in, “Oh yeah, I’ve got a trial in a couple of hours.”
My epic battle against Officer Cheung started when I was pulled over several months ago for crossing the double line into the carpool lane, and I decided to fight it. The court date was yesterday, and it’s been a slight nagging in my mind for months. After the fun morning of surfing with Jeff and two of my daughters, Jordyn and Dakotah, it was off to the courts. I arrived early, signed in and took a seat. I didn’t know the procedure and about 16 minutes went by before I asked the receptionist how long she thought it would be.
“You have to wait twenty minutes for the officer to arrive.” She said with a smile.
I had thought I was just waiting for the court to start, I didn’t know the process had already begun, so I asked, “Are we doing that right now?”
“Yes.” She said, again with a smile.
I took a seat and quickly looked to the clock, then checked my court time. Sure enough, my official appointment read 1:30 pm, and the clock now read 1:46 pm. My eyes grew wide with the realization; I only had 4 minutes until my ticket—seemingly—would be dropped.
I watched agonizingly from my seat as the second hand moved slowly around the dial. I couldn’t take it, and stood up, moving to the door where I could watch for Officer Cheung amidst the slow flow of people checking in through the metal detector.
I glanced back at the clock. Only a minute had gone by.
I paced the hall and then made my way back to my seat, aching out the next two minutes. At 1:50 pm, by my account, the twenty minutes should be up, but I wanted to play my cards right and I didn’t know if this was a legal time limit, or just something they went by. I began to stalk the counter, pretending to read the miscellaneous family law posters—don’t hit your wife, very bad things happen to you, and they have a lot of power—and finally, after about a minute, the nice middle aged lady who seemed to be in charge, looked at me questioningly. I had found my opportunity.
“I was wondering?” I said in my nicest voice. “What happens after you’ve waited 22 minutes?”
She looked at the clock, then to her paper work. “Well, Officer Cheung never misses an appointment, so…”
I held my breath as I saw her eyes reflect inner musings.
A friendly officer behind her joked, “I’ll testify for him.”
I chuckled nervously.
She looked out the window to the darkening skies and wet streets. “It’s a crappy day out, I’ll let you go.”
In hopeful shock I asked, “Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
I smiled, laughed a little, “Thanks, I wasn’t really sure--”
She cut me off. “But you better get out of here.”
Being the babbler that I am, I laughed, and continued with my story. “—I wasn’t sure that my digitalized witness would hold-up in court, and…”
She cut me off again. “I’m serious. You better get out of here.”
This time I took the hint, if Officer Cheung showed; she would reverse the dismissal if I was still there. I bolted for the door with a wave and a smile, and walked the short distance to the glass doors set in glass walls.
That’s when I saw him.
The youthful Asian cop walked briskly, tinkering with his blue tie. I crossed his path perfectly as I exited. Recognition read in Officer Cheung’s eyes as I gave a brief nod and walked away.
Now I considered pushing it by saying, “Hi, Officer Cheung, sorry I missed you, have a great day.” Or something to that effect, but I was just thankful to be running for the hills. I’m not afraid of a showdown, but like Eastwood says, “Every man’s got to know his limitations.”
I walked briskly to the corner of the brick building, rounding it casually, but as I escaped the view from glass, I took off running!

And of course, I called my pals; Danny, Jeff, and Keith to give the verbal fist in the air and big smile...I escaped the close-out.

Lord, thank you for causing Officer Cheung to be late, and putting charity in the heart of those lovely ladies working the counter. God always takes care of his children, but sometimes it’s more obvious than others.

Oh yeah!!!!!

2005-03-22T18:45:00.000-08:00

Want a Navigator and free lunch?

2005-03-21T16:52:00.000-08:00

Join the poverty stricken of an inner city public school.

Now I don't know about you, but I have to pay for my lunches and I drive economy cars. Now I never expected to get rich teaching (I was and still am hoping that is a product of our scripts and some feature movie roles) and I am more than happy to pay for my lunch, drive a Saturn, and help out the poor. But when you work in a school where over 90% of the kids get free breakfast, lunch, after school snack, corrective eye-wear, medical, and a plethora of other amenities; while arriving in the luxury of a black Navigator with alloy rims, low profile tires, and dealer tags blowing in the wind? Not to mention the kids are loaded down with gameboys, cellphones, i-pods and pockets full of cash to purchase french fries, cokes and Hot Cheetos while their tax paid lunch/breakfast tickets end up in the trash...you can get a bit cynical.
But I'm ahead of myself, let's get back to Mom in the Navigator, sitting in plush leather and pretending to ignore little old me in my grey Saturn, stained $8 school pride t-shirt, two year old jeans and discount shoes. I put on the signal, and I wonder, "Is she going to let me through?"
She keeps eyes straight--but I see the flicker that says she knows I'm waiting--and the guzzling $50K beast rolls right in front of me, cutting me off as I try to park my car so I can teach her kids (who've been brought up by her to defy authority) some Math and Science...
...well then, I'm thankful for my job, and I love those kids, but let me tell you, that bothers me a bit, and I think the government ought to be a little more careful where they spend my money, instead of throwing our tax payer dollars to people who can afford a heck of alot more than we can. Remember this the next time you hear someone with a sob story about how we need more money for those poor schools.
So, until the government wises up, check into your local Title one school--who knows, before long you too can be driving a Navigator and eating for free.
Have a great day!

Go CATS!

2005-03-19T18:18:00.000-08:00

Lute and the boys could go all the way. They're the most under rated big name school in the tourney. If anyone
can beat Illinois, it's the Cats!

Ozark Beauty Queen

2005-03-19T08:36:00.000-08:00

Played in the key of "G," sing it with a twang!
(Inspired by true events, yet not written about anyone in particular)

(Verse 1)
Walked outta' the trailer
Just the other day
I saw you kickin' Old Yeller
Right over by the hay
I said, "Come on honey, that pup ain't done you no harm!"
So I picked up my guitar, and wrote this love song

(Verse 2)
Opened the mail
It was straight from Bank One
The creditors tell me, you're having too much fun
I mean, come on darlin'
My credit can't take that hit
It's gonna take me fifty years to climb outta' this financial pit

(Chorus)
Cause if it ain't what it seems
Then tell me what it is
Cause I've been seeing things
A multitude of sins
And I've been on my knees
For far too long
You kicked me once, you kicked me twice
Third time, baby, I'm gone

(Verse 3)
When we were first married
Babe, you were a beauty queen
Now fifty-five pounds later
You're just fat, ugly and mean
I mean, come on darlin'
I didn't sign up for double wide
Now I gotta' walk twenty steps behind
To salvage a little piece of my pride

(Verse 4)
Walked out to the parking lot
Right front of K-Mart
Caught you walkin' hand in hand
With my second cousin Art
You said, "Come on, darlin', I promise it'll end"
I heard that crap before
When I caught you making out with Uncle Fred

Repeat Chorus

Space Janitor--art by Bill Dely

2005-03-18T14:33:00.000-08:00

C.T. McGregor is a Space Janitor, cleaning up space from rogues, genetic mutants, and outlaw aliens. Read the action packed excerpt (in archives) from our newest novel and screenplay, Space Janitor.

What a great day!

2005-03-17T08:53:00.000-08:00

Living in the mountains, it's so wonderful to walk out my driveway at dawn as I wait for Danny to pick me up. I look up to those pristine, hills, green from the rains; I smell the fresh mountain air (at least in winter) and thank God I'm alive. Then I remember, only two days until I'll be riding the waves! Gotta' love Southern Cal. Have a great day!

We love to Surf!

2005-03-16T17:35:00.000-08:00

Off shores blast spray into your face as you commit to the blind take-off, instincts take over and your weight shifts, tucking in you grab the rail, find the line, and as your vision clears...emerald glass rises up to form the perfect crescent before you, the peddle's down and you shoot the curl--you're smiling!

3x3x3 your way to finding love.

2005-03-16T12:18:00.000-08:00

I thought I'd write a short note on my "rule of 3" in new relationships.

Basically, if you want to save hardships caused by staying in a relationship too long, or reengaging with an ex several times before finally making a clean break, follow the rule of three.

Three dates: If you first meet someone, unless totally turned off, give it three dates before you call it off. Sometimes they may grow on you, the first date isn't always the best. After three, if no sparks, bail!

Three months: If after the third date, you decide to pursue; reevaluate after 3 months. If at this point, you're already seeing problems, don't rationalize them away! Cut and run, save time, go find the next one. Ask anybody when they first had doubts about a past failed relationship, and most can trace it back to within the first three months, but often times, years go by before they end the relationship.

Three week break: If you've decided to stay in the relationship, enjoy the next three months before reevaluating again. At the sixth month mark, take a forced three week break. This gives you room to breath, no contact means the emotions can settle and you can view the relationship rationally. If you had doubts before this break, make it a 6 week break. So many people, who know they want out of a relationship, grow weak in the first couple of weeks after a break up, their lonely, they only see the positives of their other half...and many times they go back, only to repeat the process again and again...Be strong, your life is on hold if you're dating someone you don't really want to marry. The break gives you this strength.

This is the short version, much more can be said, many comical stories can be told, but for now...remember the rule of three.

P.S. If someone is having doubts about you in the relationship, and hinting or trying to break-up, LET THEM GO! More than likely you'll lose them in the future anyway, let them go and find someone you don't have to talk into loving you! If you call them while their lonely, they might take you back, but for how long? MOVE ON!

Ch. 1 of our newest novel/screenplay...Space Janitor

2005-03-15T17:27:00.000-08:00

Space Janitor--Chapter 1

By Trevor Downs and Danny Ray

2100 A.D. DEEP SPACE: THE VOID – The small rock strewn planet floated in the midst of the seemingly endless domain of space. What classified this cragged rock void of atmosphere as a planet instead of an asteroid in the galactic charts was merely a whim of the scientific community.
The blackness was perfect until a silent explosion erupted driving the cobalt into retreat in an elliptic spectrum of energy. A silver bullet appeared from the quickly expanding saucer of light. The pearly mass slowed taking the form of a spacecraft and shattering the quiet with the 115 year-old hit song, Magic Carpet Ride, which blared into space from the ship's exterior speakers.
The long-range fighter approached the rocky surface quickly, wings folded away from fuselage and retracting wormhole shields revealed a cockpit. Intense light exploded into space from the small craft as navigation lights activated.
Inside the cockpit sat Sgt. C.T. McGregor, his black boots at rest atop switch filled control panel. He lounged in a high backed, black leather captain's chair. Muscled limbs draped loosely over large padded armrests. A charcoal tinted shirt hung open across his broad chest. Dark hair was cropped short and had the sheen of youth while the depth of his sleep left his bronzed skin without wrinkle.
The pounding music that thankfully emanated quieter inside than out seemed to have no effect on the Sergeant's sleep. It was quickly apparent that he snoozed unawares of the jagged cliffs that now filled his view screen, increasing in size at an alarming rate.
Looming large in the ship's screen, the rocky planet quickly blocked out the universe behind it. A red light flashed and beeped, quickening with the ship's approach to the planet.
Nary a twitch arose from the pilot's eyes until a very sensual female voice lyrically flowed through the large cockpit as the music faded to a whisper. "Perhaps it is time to consider the briefing?" The voice poised the question as near to a command as possible without it being one.
The switchboard lit up with light and sound as the planet rose up to reveal a crater and boulder-strewn surface. She continued. "And our eminent crash course into that large rock."
McGregor's eyes twitched, the corner of his lip almost curled, his eyes opened, his coarse hand rubbed coarser beard. "E.T.A?"
The voice responded politely, "Twenty two seconds…21, 20, 19…
McGregor yawned, and looked at the pocked surface casually. "Debrief."
"So soon Sir." The voice responded sarcastically. We're still thirteen and 3/4 seconds from impact and only two days late for a three-day assignment."
Blue eyes twinkled. "Well Aaia, if you'd kept my ship safe from those mutant tics, we'd have been here on time." McGregor smiled. He enjoyed poking fun at the computer whose personality he had programmed. Sometimes he wondered if he had not given her too much personality.
Aaia interrupted his thoughts. "Security is not in my programming. 11, 10, 9…"
"Just in case you ever decided to turn on me." He said, peering up to the ceiling. "I'm kidding. I'd give you all the power I had if I.U.S. would let me."
"Of course you would. Now, about the incinerary experience were about to have?"
The ship plummeted toward what could only result in a fiery explosion. The unforgiving surface took shape as it drew closer…closer…closer… The ship nearly shivered at the fate that was now inevitable when just before impact a large perfectly camouflaged portal on the planet's surface opened, revealing a tunnel, which lead straight into the planet's core. The fighter glided gracefully into the massive corridor as the portal closed seamlessly behind it.
McGregor smiled. "I guess I should have told you about that."
"Really?" Aaia said with the utmost human tone, expressing in the one word her annoyance and enjoyment at being a participant in her programmer's joke.
"I guess that didn't make it into the research program I gave you."
Aaia sighed and began her debriefing. "Space Hub lovingly referred to as Hell's Gate, one of the largest harbors in the known galaxy. Non I.U.S. controlled but vital to non-worm hole cross-galactic shipping. Until recently, controlled by a reasonable human crime lord...He's dead. The new lord is hiking prices, refuses to show at least the facade of respect for I.U.S. officers and had all the priests destroyed the first day. He's a grainite and mean as hell. Clean Up the mess using any means necessary with I.U.S. section 3 code 7 as protocol."
McGregor grunted. "Can't kill 'em unless he kills me first."
"Exactly".
"Dandy." McGregor flipped a coolant switch. "Wiped out all the grays, huh?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
The view screen revealed the pitch-black tunnel that soon sprouted lights as the ship sped through it. As the light sources increased, signs of life appeared along the shaft's surface. McGregor flipped a switch, dimming the exterior lights as every surface of the corridor filled with living quarters, shops, restaurants and taverns.
McGregor's craft darted from the tunnel exit and into the planet's core. Sailing deep along the radius, the sleek vehicle moved toward the core's center. The hollowed planet teemed with activity as shuttles and taxi's scurried about the interior.
Three miles separated the planet's walls. Every inch of surface was put to use, covered with minimally profiled intricate structures and warehouses; often it was difficult to establish where one ended and the other began. Metal intertwined with stone to create phantasmagoric architectural wonders that sprawled amongst the cragged interior. An orb that glowed moon-like at the planet's center illuminated the core, currently simulating night. McGregor maneuvered the ship through heavy traffic, banking around the silver orb and then guiding his ship toward a cliff wall with several large caves. Decreasing speed, the ship's landing gear dropped and it slipped into a hangar carved into the cliffs natural caves.
Bustling traders moved about the hangar in a furor. Ships of all shapes and sizes were loaded and unloaded with cargo. Exotic creatures bartered and exchanged goods as ships were serviced for the long flight to anywhere. The stone floor of the monstrous cave was polished to sheen. McGregor observed all this while buttoning his shirt, shutting down his systems and arming himself. He looked up to where a long broadsword hung, then reluctantly took down the two holstered blasters next to it and strapped them around his waist.
McGregor's craft gracefully settled into an open space between an I.U.S. trade vessel and a much smaller clepto ship. The cleptos were just one of the many genetic mutant creations that roamed the universe along side the native creatures of a more natural genesis. Cleptos were humans with the genes of mockingbirds engineered at the point of conception. Rarely did they exceed 1.5 M in height and hollow bones allowed them amazing leaping abilities. Small wings limited their aerial capabilities to gliding--their wings not strong enough to give them true flight. Elfish features, soft feathered hair, and wings that folded gracefully down their back made them beautiful creatures and one of the touted successes from the genetic engineering revolution. But they were not without fault, their abilities at collection and hawking wares made them excellent merchants--it also made them master thieves.
McGregor smiled politely through the windshield as he lowered blaster blinds, waving at the tiny man-bird as he set his alarms.
It didn't take long to make his way through the interior caves toward his destination. He walked briefly down an exterior bridge, a five-foot wide non-symmetrical path stretching across the monstrous cavern below. He was momentarily suspended in space as he stopped to scan the chasm's depths before turning his gaze to the massive airspace inside the hollowed planet. He took a deep breath, wanting to enjoy the experience more than he seemed to. He continued down the rock walk.
McGregor entered the thriving bar with confidence. After all, he was a Space Janitor--highly trained and well equipped. He was in his third year as a Janitor, and was given the best missions. It was a dangerous job, and he loved it for that. He had worked hard to gain the position, and made the elusive rank of Space Janitor in the fastest time possible, two years. Across the globe his position demanded respect. He looked about the tavern as he strutted through the crowds. Traders from all walks of life--both alien and engineered, organic and mechanical--mingled and partied. C.T. was out of uniform, yet many in the crowd noticed his genetic superiority, he was sure by the way they parted for him. He approached the counter where a sexy barkeep quickly took notice of this tall stranger.
"What's your pleasure, cowboy?" The barkeep whispered flirtatiously.
McGregor turned to his left where two green-skinned lizard men looked pathetically at empty mugs. With a questioning glance he asked them both, "Orange Whip? Orange Whip?"
The duo nodded in unison, a ray of hope filtering into their verdant reptilian eyes.
McGregor dipped his head in acknowledgement, and said without facing the Barkeep, "Three Orange whips." He smiled at his inner joke and ode to one of the greatest adventures of all time. As the barkeep moved to concoct the drinks, McGregor scanned the room, leaning back and resting his elbows on the bar. He took in the entire alcove, noticing who noticed him, and who purposefully kept their eyes away. He grew confident from his ability to observe human emotions--and intentions--at a glance and was emboldened by his effect on the people at the bar.
The Barkeep returned with the drinks and smiled. McGregor smiled back, truly seeing her for the first time. Dark silky hair flowed about her shoulders, and ample cleavage sprang from the girl's low cut, red, sleeveless shirt. Subtly brown skin glowed between the tapered top that hugged slender waist, and the low cut pants drew a perfectly curved line across her toned abdomen, two inches below the perfectly shaped bellybutton. She set the frothing drinks down. She saved McGregor's for last, and met his eyes boldly as she placed the drink before him.
He fought to maintain his casualness, as the blood in his body seemed to instantly heat, turning him to mush. Raising his eyes, he met her gaze--reminding himself she was probably just a non-gen, far his inferior--he hoped he faked his confidence well.
The twinkle in her eye told him he failed. "Where ya' from?" She asked, the words seemingly caressing his ears as they passed.
Her eyes blitzed his senses, ransacking any chance he had at a witty response. Electric in their coloration, they danced before him; depths of aquamarine mesmerized him. In all his days amidst the genetically designed eyes of the elite, he'd never seen their equal. It was too much, and he pulled his own eyes away from the sparkling pools. Reaching for the tangerine colored drink, he raised it to his lips with his right hand, hoping to sooth his countenance. He'd long ago made the habit of eating and drinking with his right hand so that his more dexterous appendage would be available for his gun if needed. Finally after setting the drink back to the bar, he answered. "Earth."
Delighted eyes lit up, and the beautiful girl couldn't hide her excitement at the answer she had hoped for. "Long way from home. Smuggler?"
He smiled internally, his confidence returning with the reminder of who he was. True confidence replaced false bravado now, knowing his answer would quickly win the girl; every woman longed to find a man of his genetic make-up. "Janitor." He didn't have time to wait expectantly for her dazzled and impressed stare; her disgust rocked him instantly. The very face that a moment ago stirred heat in his loins now sent daggers of ice through his heart.
The girl was obviously surprised by this unexpected piece of information. She recovered quickly, leaned in toward him, looked deep into his eyes and made no attempt to hide her contempt. "You sure? I can usually tell a gen-freak…I mean, gen-man--they do nothing for me."
If her initial reaction shocked him, this statement broke him. Suddenly every fear of inadequacy swelled up from the past, taking the form of beads of sweat surfacing on the back of his neck and the muscles of his legs turning to jelly. He quickly fought the irrational fears back; he'd dealt with this issue years ago, when faced with a newborn younger brother, a brother designed to perfection by his parents. A brother--who unlike himself--was not adopted. For six years before his brother's untimely death, the boy roused fear of inadequacy in McGregor's adopted heart. It only worsened after his brother's sickness, he became near deity after that, and McGregor felt ever more his inferior in the shadow of the perfect memories his mother had of her womb born son.
McGregor shook off the doubts, so he was adopted, and without papers, his parents said he came from genetically pure stock, and he made Janitor in record time--a non-gen couldn't do that! He was who they said he was. He had nothing to fear he told himself. He forced himself to stand taller; he was Sgt. C.T. McGregor, Space Janitor--gen-man! He matched her stare, waiting for her to make the next move. Her coldness held, and she stared at him with unflinching eyes of steel.
Stepping back from the bar, he pulled credits from the front pocket of his dark brown flight jacket. He forced himself to meet her gaze then tossed them on the bar. "For the clean up." The titanium chips clinked on the bar and finally drew her gaze from his. He felt released and took the opportunity to escape.
McGregor was up and moving before her eyes rose from the money. She watched him glide purposefully through the crowd toward the rear of the large tavern. Once again, he would quell his own doubts of his genetic make-up the only way he knew how--with action, and with a vengeance.
A large double door sat well protected by two heavily armed eight-foot angular faced kragors. The sentries bred for war frowned at the approaching intruder. One of them stepped forward, extending a six-fingered hand. "Halt."
McGregor ignored the command, quickening his pace. Blasters drew as one and without hesitation the kragars unleashed a barrage of laser blasts.
McGregor's hand casually brushed by his belt as the blasts reached him, a shimmering light flickered where the shots should be destroying flesh. An invisible force field absorbed the blasts with ease. McGregor's left hand was a blur as were the two darts that entered jugulars with deadly silence--the kragars crumbled--a dart protruding from each of their crimson stained necks.
McGregor stepped over the fallen mutants and pushed through the doors, his hands snagging them at their apex and flinging them shut behind him without missing a beat. He continued toward a gigantic desk centered in the elaborate, foliage filled room.
The thing that sat behind the large desk smiled, its seemingly rigid rock face curved upwards. The thing's tangerine hide covered a massively muscled nine-foot frame--he was a Grainite--a genetic mutation bred for mining the mineral planets.
McGregor stopped, glancing toward an eagle sized winged lizard that perched perceptively in an iron cage. It's emerald skin shone like fine polished leather carved to resemble scaled skin. The dragon's tongue licked the air expectantly. McGregor turned his gaze back to the brute behind the desk, coolly meeting the Grainite's smile. "Lord Grimm, I presume."
The genetically created beast ground out a laugh. "I must have done something right, for them to send one of you."
It took an act of will not to acknowledge the complement as pride surged within him, but McGregor held the beast's gaze and said casually. "You worked quickly, unfortunately for you not quietly."
The two warriors analyzed one another carefully, waiting for the other to make a mistake.
"Why'd you kill the grays?" McGregor asked, hiding his interest.
Grimm paused, then began to chuckle, then to laugh--the laughter grew to a near deafening level before he stopped cold. "Because they kill people." Grimm used the nano-second McGregor's mind strayed to go for his guns.
Pistols slid from McGregor's holsters with lightening speed, firing simultaneously with Grimm.
Two mutated thirty inch shoeless feet that rested casually on the desk became launchers, sending literally a ton of tangerine marble hurling toward McGregor who was already diving through the air, hitting the ground rolling as he fired.
McGregor's blasters ignited again and again, lasers ricocheting off the granite's hide.
Rock chips flew from Grimm as he sprinted for the door, firing a large armor piercing photon blaster at the now up and ready McGregor.
McGregor's force field took the brunt of the first blast but it didn't keep him from being knocked back, he fought to keep his balance when a second shot slammed into his chest, propelling him forcefully onto his backside. Breath purged from his lungs and then the third blast connected, slamming the Janitor's head back against stone floor and sending a ripple through his force field…it fizzled away in an electrical light melt down.
McGregor struggled to sit, gasping at the air that was still denied him, then finally finding it and expelling it again with the words. "Oh, shit!"
A massive hand grasped him by the shirtfront; jerking him from the floor and hurling him like a rag doll into the back wall. Grimm laughed again as McGregor slid down the stone to the floor.
A twenty-inch tongue lashed out from the lizard's fanged snout and McGregor heard in his mind, Better move. McGregor listened to the thought and painfully dove from the path of another photon blast. The dragon was obviously enjoying the show.
Grimm continued his march toward the doors, he turned and smiled, firing one last shot at the scrambling McGregor who--hearing the word, Move, in his mind--threw himself behind a hutch full of multi-colored roses, landing hard on already cracked ribs. Grimm laughed at the cry of pain from McGregor and he turned away.
Just as the grotesque hand reached for the double doors, McGregor grimaced with the agony of the effort, but pulled himself up from behind the hutch and shouted, "Hey Rock Face!"
Grimm turned to see a four-inch metallic disc spiraling toward him.
McGregor disappeared behind the hutch as the disc embedded into the center of the grainite's forehead. Grimm's eyes crossed upwards as cumbersome fingers reached frantically for the tiny device. Fours quick ticks later the bomb detonated and the ensuing explosion thundered through the room like a canon.
Kneeling behind the slate desk turned bomb shelter, McGregor covered his head. The concussion blast sent rocks, pebbles and grains of sand raining down upon the room and McGregor. Shortly thereafter, as McGregor allowed his eyes to rise, the leaves and pedals of a hundred roses and a plethora of herbage settled gently around him.
He rose with an aching snarl, laser blasters still in hand, pointing at the double doors--nobody entered. Breathing deeply, he stretched out his bruised and battered body. He inhaled slowly--agonizingly--testing his ribs. Sniffing, he drew in another breath, suddenly aware of the avid aroma now filling the room, enjoying the fragrance of a hundred annihilated roses. Two pistols twirled into holsters and he said wryly, "I love the smell of roses in the morning."
A snicker drew McGregor's attention to the cage, which now lay on its side. The shaken up dragon ruffled out its leathery wings then peered at McGregor.
McGregor's mind once again filled with thoughts not his as the words, Three, two, one, zero, floated through his mind. On zero the doors of the office burst open and a half a dozen kragars charged through firing upon the Space Janitor. Without his force field he was mandated to defy physics and out maneuver the blasts. His own guns reached his hands in a blur and he miraculously escaped the initial onslaught with only flesh wounds. But he only managed to bring two of the warriors down as he somersaulted his way over a table and across the room; attempting to find cover behind the large upturned desk as he unloaded on the remaining four kragars. The well-trained soldiers spread out, attempting to put their adversary in a position of crossfire. McGregor knew too well his fate if he allowed them to succeed--he would be dead.
He didn't give them a chance to think, and kept on the move. He sprang forward, guns exploding in blue rays of death, purposefully charging in the direction of the two still in the proximity of each other. They leapt apart, as did McGregor's guns, and both kragors fell from precision shots to the head.
Blood sprayed from McGregor's shoulder as a blast from one of the remaining kragars ripped across deltoid. "ARRGH!" He dropped with the hit, forcing himself to ignore the pain of landing on the very shoulder that now burned, blasting away at the attacking soldier. The leathery skinned creature crumbled to the floor across the room from him and silence stilled the air. He scanned the room from where he laid. The last kragor had gone into stealth mode. He dared not to make a sound as he slowly slid himself into a defensive position between a carved stone pedestal and the wall. His eyes darted about the room and his ears tuned to the slightest sound.
Silence.
Free Me.
Not exactly a good time for that. McGregor thought back at the dragon.
Obviously. After you win.
If I win?
You will if I help you.
I was going to free you anyway.
Thanks. Here he comes. With that thought sent, the dragon sprang to the side of his tipped cage, causing it to roll. The kragar turned toward the noise as McGregor stood up to face him. When the kragor turned back, he was looking down the barrels of McGregor's guns.
McGregor smirked. "Always good to have back-up."
The kragor nodded, glancing at McGregor's weapons.
Two titanium barrels nodded back, as McGregor quipped. "Don't even think about."
The kragor dropped his weapon.
McGregor maneuvered around him to the cage, gun and eyes on him constantly, then reached down gingerly, opening the iron door of the cage. "Stay out of my mind." He needn't have spoken, for the telekinetic lizard had already read the thought.
The dragon's snout curled in what could only be described as a snarling smile, revealing a tiny row of fangs designed for gnashing. Taking flight, it circled the room then landed on McGregor's shoulder.
"Are you kidding me?" McGregor flinched at the talons digging into his shoulder. "To the nearest planet with meat is as far as you're going." He then thought instead of said, And stay out of my mind.
Impossible.
McGregor ignored him. "Enter the dragon."
The dragon snickered despite having no way to understand the subtext.
"I'll call you Bruce."
And you…Seeker.
In a flash, McGregor holstered his pistol and pulled a dart. He squeezed its base, causing several drops of venom to disperse. "A warrior shouldn't have to die for protecting his master." Nearly impossible to see, the movement was so quick, McGregor's hand sent the dart into the kragar's jugular and the giant crumpled to the floor in a heap.
Like a pirate's prized parrot, the dragon rode McGregor's broad shoulder as he walked back into the cantina. The clientele of this establishment were used to violence, and purposefully kept their eyes and glances at bay as the Space Janitor sauntered past them and toward the bar. He threw down another wad of cash on the countertop. It didn't escape his notice that it wasn't the girl from earlier who took up the money. He quickly shoved the disappointment from his mind--he'd never see her again anyway.