Saturday, October 8, 2016

Luigi's Pizza: Imperial Beach

Not much to look at - but good pizza. Give "the Sports Bar" or "the Frenchy" a shot. 

After surf eat rating? #%*# (out of five) minus points for never having the pies ready on time- add 15 mins to their estimate.

Monday, September 5, 2016

Brazos Rule (but Spanish sounds so much nicer than Portugese).

I like the way this guy surfs the stando. I'm not a huge fan of the airs and reverses but I will admit it is radical. Two things I really like about this guys style: 1. No stabbing/paddling while going down the line and 2. the switch hand, paddle inside, on the cutbacks- I've always thought that was such a cleaner way to wrap 'em.

Let's see if I can get this flick to post up here:

Friday, July 22, 2016

The Runner

As told to me by "Oaron" in response to a query on an online forum. Caution: This might offend 90% of the population so proceed at your own risk.

Yes. I bailed out and ran for my life once- I think this would qualify as a "runner", so yeah, I'm in.

This happened in Cabo back in '95.

It all starts when I pull this bushpig out of Squid Roe. She's horrible- cut-off jean shorts, some kind of stupid straw hat, squishy all over, cigarette breath and rat teets. I'd just come out of the desert and I'm seeing double or triple from rum and cokes so, of course, she was perfect. Some sloppy "dancing", some horrible open mouth kissing on the dance floor ("Eeeeets Cho tine" if you've been to Squid roe you've heard that one a few times) and a few handfuls of ass and the deal is done.

By now it's close to 4am so we end up falling into a cab. She tells the guy the name of one of the, then new, hotels east of town. This is when there was nothing out there except dirt roads and desert- and these hotels, like islands in a desert ocean, popping up way out there. We're heading to her place and she's mumbling something about going to her room, blah, blah, blah- I have no idea where we're going because I'm too busy grabbing teets and other things. Figuring this free-bee might end at any moment, I'm looting that shit like a Baltimore Walmart. Remember, I just came out of the bush, I was feral.

We pull up to the place and spill out of the minivan and stumble pass the reception area, through some courtyard and up some stairs to her room.

Sweet porcine lovemaking was in the cards... until she passes out face first onto the bed, her stupid cutoffs down around her ankles, her ass propped up by a couple pillows. Now I need to take a moment to describe a couple things to you before I wrap up my little adventure.

First, if you've been to Cabo, you know about the layout of this room. Standard mid-level Mekki box: door at one end, look right and there's a sink and door with a toilet and shower behind it, look straight ahead and there's two queen beds and window looking into an interior courtyard.

Second, the hotel was one of those open air multi-story jobs, basically laid out as a square with open walkways between the rooms, a courtyard in the middle and only one way in or out which is through the lobby past the reception desk. Being savvy, and wanting to keep the place legit, the lobby is well patrolled by security to keep the guests from bring home "special girlfriends". If you've been there, you know the layout- it's kind of like a fortress with rooms inside the walls.

Ok, now that we've set the stage let's get back to my unfortunate situation. So there I am, in her room, she's passed out face down on one of the queen beds, I'm fully naked, my trunks, flip flops and teeshirt somewhere down near the foot of her bed. It's dark so I can't see exactly where my stuff is but it doesn't matter because there I am staring at my passed out little friend who's ass up on the bed but completely passed out.

And then I hear a key slide into the lock on her door and the bolt of the deadbolt start to turn.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

I'm trapped like a rat in a shoe box, bare ass naked, in a room with TWO queen sized beds... and the sudden remembrance of her telling me she had come to Squid Roe with her dad. My god.

Remember, I'm on top of his little angel, in the dark, my dumb guy gill netted by her horrible ass cheeks. At this point my reptilian brain must have taken over. Without hesitating I hit the tile floor and having absolutely nowhere to go, I roll, naked, under the bed. Bang- there's no going under this thing. The fooking bed is sitting on a solid cinderblock box so the only place for me to hide is under about 14" of shitty duvet (that's the skirt thing around your bed, not the special drinking fountain in your french girlfriend's bathroom).

So there I am trying to get as small as possible under that gritty piece of bedding waiting for the light to get flicked on and for her dad to yell out before he beats the shit out of me. That moment was the most frightening moment of my life- but also the most crazily lucid moment too. Laying there totally naked my mind started working like crazy- how the hell do I get out of here? Jump out the window? Fight my way out?

Just then I hear the bathroom door open, and then a stream of piss, undeniably male, hitting the inside of the toilet.

I do not hesitate. I scrabble up from the ground, it's still pitch black, and I begin to search around on the floor with my hands. I'm like a raccoon looking for a corn nut- hands sweeping for my clothes while I'm looking around for an escape route. I manage to locate my trunks and my tee shirt but holy shit, were are my flip flops? I don't waste a nanosecond worrying about it or the fact that I have no time to put my clothes on - I've got to make my move for the door before this guy's finished pissing. Go now!

I make a break for the door, opening it as quietly as possible, slipping through it and closing it behind me as I walk out of the room completely naked. I pray I don't come face to face with hotel security or any other late night cruisers, a naked guy wandering the hallways is never a good thing.

I come up aces. At 5am it's deserted, I realize that I can't get dressed right there, I have to get down the corridor and around a corner because if the door gets jerked open, I'll be standing right there.

It's at this point I decide to go for a runner.

Yeah, I ran for it. I was naked and barefoot hauling ass through the open air corridors, trying to get around as many corners as I could. Eventually I was able to jam myself into my trunks and tee shirt. I realized that the only way out for me would be to climb over a wall, hang from it and drop down a story to the desert outside of the hotel. There was no way I could go through the lobby, they might be waiting for me.

Hanging from that second story wall and dropping down, barefoot, into the darkness was equally frightening- there could have been broken glass, rebar or any sort of Baja deathpit down below me. I remember praying I wouldn't feel the broken glass bottom of a Ballena slicing through the bottom of my feet.

I lucked out again. I couldn't see how far down I'd drop or what I'd land on but luckily I hit clean sand, the drop being shorter than I expected.

Hitting the desert I quickly got off the road- if they wanted to drive out and find me it would've been easy since there was no where to hide on the dirt road. Instead, I went barefoot into the bush, walked as far as I could toward the lights of Cabo. I eventually crawled under some bushes and fell asleep- scared shitless every time a car would drive by with it's lights sweeping the bush. I didn't get back to my buddies until around noon, I was bit up, scratched up, tired, dirty and barefoot.

So yeah, I went for a runner and the lesson I learned is when dealing with bushpigs, keep your boots on.

Monday, May 30, 2016

Lilly the Surf Dog: Memorial Day Surf Check

Memorial Day 2016: Lilly the surf dog wonders if the left hander is working off Admiralty street. A surf check request is submitted. Response? 10-4 Lilly, surf check ops commence.

First, convince humans to load up. Please bring plastic bag just in case I sniff something that triggers me to do some organic fertilization.
Let's walk down to the berm for a better look at that sand bar to the south- come along human.
Dang, kinda going off. Wait, what's that I smell...
Ok, that's either Great Dane or Pitbull- I'd bet my life on it. Best to jam my face into the sand and find out.
Alright humans, load up! Let's go wax up.

Thursday, January 14, 2016

It's not THE Baja dumbass.

There's a small subset of Baja travelers who do things that piss me off. Here my list:

1. I don't visit "THE Canada", there is not a single local who says, "Vivo en LA Baja" (I live in THE Baja). If I want some poutine I'll go to, "Canada" and if I lived in Baja, I'd just say, "Vivo en Baja". So for the love of God stop saying "THE Baja". You sound stupid and you're bothering me.

Me, going to my happy place.
2. Burn your toilet paper. Just because you can squat, shit and piss without hitting your shoes, you shouldn't assume it's okay to litter the dunes with your crap confetti. Bury your turd, bring your used TP back to your fire and burn that shit.

3. You're driving a 40k dollar 4x4 Tundra, your surfboard costs $700, that Patagonia down jacket you're wearing set you back $300- so knock of the cheapskate, weasel, bullshit and pay the poor fisherman the WHOLE nine bucks he's asking for in camp fees. Don't haggle, don't bargain, just say thank you and pay the guy because you can handle it.

4. Unless your passport is green and says Mexico on the cover, don't start claiming local status. No matter how long you've lived in your newly adopted home town, you'll never be the guy to call visiting surfers out. Why? Because, guess what? You're just an expat statistic, a guest, and most likely a kook.

5. Yes, dog leash laws are pretty much non-existent in Baja. And yes, on most beaches there's all kinds of dogs running free all over the place- it's beach dog heaven. Does that mean all rules are out the window? Hell no! I don't let to collect your dog's turd between my toes so pick up your dog's shit- you f#cking jerk.

I feel so much better now.

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

When it all comes together...

We scored. Sometimes you get lucky, we had some good info about swell and wind direction and we acted on it- the decision paid off. All things considered, the five days spent camped out at this spot were the most satisfying surf days I've had in Baja. Check it out:

An out of season south swell and a really mellow wind pattern produced some very fun surf. 
Lots of wide open waves- since nobody thought it would be that good.
Not a bad set-up, camp out in front of the spot you want to surf.
The water was aquarium clear and warm.
No barrels but good, clean, down the line, racetrack sections still provided a great time.
Nothing life threatening, head-high and fun for a week.
We were there long enough to have to begin rationing food, water and beer.
Fully deployed.
Glassy and empty, take your pick of the waves coming through but you better like lefts.
This inside racetrack section was empty all day long. Further inside, at a spot I call little reverse malibu, there were only fish swimming and birds diving.
Here comes a good one.
Early morning light hits the surf ghetto.
Long lines up the point- a couple feet overhead and reeling. And empty.
Ridiculously fun to carve big lazy turns all day long.
Or maybe you'd like to just come off the bottom and fly across huge open sections... the choice is yours.
Endless possibilities out there.
A gem coming right at me.
Off to the races again.
Only a couple of feet deep here but no urchins to worry about and nothing sharp to hurt you.
Doing this, leads to this...
Floating around on the white water rebound.
Fun to carve big arcs.
Fun to bury the rail off the bottom. 
I paddle, the ducks paddle.
View from the front porch.
We had to drive away from fun looking surf to score these waves, this isn't easy to do. But, nothing risked nothing gained AND I've now got additional data points to add to the supercomputer between my ears that will help me get it good someday in the future.