Endless Session, Day Almost Not 310: Maximum Hiccups and the Best Bath Ever
The sun peeking over the hills on the grapevine on day 310. Photo
My heart and mind was racing at 4am as I threw my last bag into the backseat and cinched the straps across my surfboard. I’ve never driven this far alone before. I haven’t been to Santa Cruz in years. My first coalition contest surfing for the DLSA at Steamer Lane. Cold water, massive quarrelsome seals and rocky waters lurking with big fish (I remember the words from my old boss at Becker Ryan Shaver seven years ago… “If you dive there, you’ll never want to surf there again.”). And the girls in my stacked heat… some of the best women longboarders in the world. I sped off, and after picking up Maddie Lomonaco’s spare key (she lost hers in the water while surfing the lane), I set off on a journey that I naturally thought would only be 5 hours.
180 miles up Hwy 5, after doubling back from an accidental detour 20 miles out of the way on the 99, my car started convulsing. Not a small hum from friendly bumps in the degrading road, but rather violently, and the hopes that all I needed was some air in the tires were smashed by the clanking sound under my feet. It was 20 miles to the nearest gas station and the nearest anything, and driving slowly, I prayed to surf gods that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
Not going anywhere. Photo
It was worse than it sounded. Pulling into the first Mobil station in the city of Kettleman, I veered left alongside the air and water pump and as I tugged the wheel a loud crunch sounded off louder than a gunshot. A few guys at the pumps ran over, taking a look under my hood and under the car. “Pull it forward.” “I’m on the gas and it doesn’t want to go.” Lurch forward. Loud bang. Sound of a metal bearing bouncing down the road. “That’s it. You’re done.”
I don’t know what it is, but it didn’t look very good. Photo
After the third phone call that cut out with my insurance while waiting for AAA, the tears started streaming. I was alone and I farther inland that I ever wanted to be, the ocean hundreds of miles out of my grasp. Rocky pulled up with his tow truck, making sure to let me know again that I was only covered for the first five miles of the 35 it was going to take to get to the mechanic. Well, I had no other choice. I called every rental car company in and near our destination town of Hanford, and not a single Hertz, Enterprise or Dollar had a vehicle big enough for my 9’4 longboard. The frustrating ordeal had made hours pass and it was already 10:30 – I should have been overlooking the grand cliffs of Santa Cruz at that very moment. Getting packed up to find a cab to get me to a rental minivan almost 20 miles away, the owner and mechanic Armando walked up to me. “It’s pretty bad, but an easy fix. We’ll have it in your hands by noon. You’re lucky that didn’t happen to you on the freeway. You would have been in the hospital.” Only $200 and a million thank yous later, and I was sailing back towards the 5, (and upon leaving the mechanics I realized I was within 5 minutes of Kelly Slater’s wave pool – I might’ve resorted to banging on the door there had the situation been worse.)
The sun-kissed bronze hills started populating with green and clustered flowers as I inched my way towards the ocean. I couldn’t help but cry a little more, this time in tears of happy exalt as I reached the cliffs overlooking steamer lane and raced down the slippery rocks, plunging into clean, enlivening and cold Northern California ocean. That was by far the best bath I had ever taken.
Finally there. Photo