|(like Christ-like, cuz he’s nice to everybody)|
We began our road trip to Santa Cruz to camp with my college roommates Basia and Nicole last Friday morning around nine. We stopped to surf a spot in Ventura that I’ve checked a few times, but have never surfed because it’s always sucked when we’ve been by. This was kind of the case again on Friday, but it was so warm and uncrowded that we paddled out to get a few little ones to ourselves despite the lack of swell. It’s too hard to drive in the car on the 101 past all the beautiful ocean views without going in at least once anyways.
There’s a saying that Scott says that goes something like “The waves were knee high to a grasshopper.” I’ve never heard it except from him and he doesn’t know where it came from, but on this morning he said the waves were “Knee high to a sandpiper” then captured a few pictures of me riding a ripple with a sandpiper in the foreground to prove it.
Back on the road, I was thinking about all the phases of my life that I’ve been in while driving this part of the 101 Highway.
Scott and I were listening to the song Hospital Beds by The Cold War Kids. We love singing it loud and say we’ll sing it at Karaoke, if ever given the chance. The only problem is that once Scott secretly recorded me belting it out in our living room and I am terrible. I demanded that he delete it and he insisted that he keep it, as long as he promised never to show it to anyone. I conceded.
When we were almost to Betteravia I started thinking about how I got a ticket here once for going 86 mph in a 65 mph zone. I was trying to make it to San Francisco to see Kelly Slater win his 11th world title. I know I probably don’t have to tell you this since my motivations may make it seem obvious, but I was in my early 20s.
I cried real baby tears trying to get out of it. It was my first and only ticket so far (and somehow) and I had just quit my job and was driving instead of flying to San Francisco to save money. I could tell the officer kind of felt bad, but it was too late to do anything about it. Later when I talked to Danielle on the phone she said “You have to make your case before they go back to their car to write the ticket, because afterwards it’s too late.” She was right. Later when I told Scott what happened he said “Now you’re having a road trip!” Which is the same thing I told Danielle a year later when she called me crying about a ticket she got on her way to Arizona.
Listening to Eminem as we drove through the fog in the valleys before Santa Cruz was very distracting. I didn’t think about any of the things that have been consuming my thoughts lately, which was a relief.
Mom says “Remember that everything happens for a reason and your life has always been good because of that”. I wrote that advice in my journal to make sure it stayed somewhere so I wouldn’t forget.