Malibu, California, March, 27, 2014
Loo Loo and I were going to enjoy the day. We had extended our stay in Malibu to two
days. No packing up. No issues with the Airstream. We were going to head to the beach and chill
out California style. We allowed
ourselves to sleep in, went for a morning poop walk (no dice) and were headed
north by about 9 am. We had learned that
there was a dog friendly beach up the road named Leo Carillo State Beach.
We pulled in and no first thing that greeted us was No Dogs Allowed
sign. But the parking lot was deserted
except for a couple of surfers who had obviously spent the night in their van,
defying the other sign, which read “No Overnight Camping. We figured we were safe. I got my folding lawn chair, lap top, towel, IPhone,
earphones, water and portable water bowl and the two of us headed for the
beach.
Except for a sole fisherman and a couple of surfers out by
the breaks the place was totally deserted.
It’s the thing about California beaches.
They are always empty. I think it
is because the weather is so good. When
the weather is perfect everyday, you can always go to the beach tomorrow – or
the next day – or the next.
Consequently, no one goes to the beach.
I walked up to the fisherman and said, “Good morning. I thought this was a dog-friendly
beach?” “It is as far as I know.” He had a fisherman look - scruffy beard, no
nonsense fishing billed cap, a baggy formless shirt with a scarf tied around
his neck. He was a good-looking guy so
he was probably doing photo shoots for Ralph Lauren bomber jackets and fishes
between gigs. “I saw this sign saying No
Dogs” “So?” was his reply. “Right, “ I retorted. Catching anything?” Rocks and seaweed.” “I have a grandson, “ I said, trying to offer
some advise. “One day when he was about
three he told me, ‘You know the secret to fishing?” “No Rogan,” I replied, “What is the secret to
fishing?” “Don’t give up.” The fisherman nodded his head and smiled at
that sage advice. “Agreed” “Good luck, “
I said as Loo Loo and I headed down the deserted beach.
Now Loo Loo is a great dog.
Kat has taken her everywhere and she is so well behaved, but like her
owner she is high strung, full of energy, ready to go. So we headed down to the beach and I tossed a
tennis ball around with her for a while.
Loo Loo is a Golden Retriever, but in her catch is more of a Golden
Grabber. She loves to chase the ball,
grab it but never brings it back. Once
she grabs it she just lets it drop from her mouth. So playing catch with Loo Loo is a progressively
sport. You throw the ball, she chases
it, grabs it, then drops it. You walk up
to where she dropped it and throw it again.
With this progression we worked our way back and forth down the beach in
no time. Finally, when I thought she was
sufficiently tired I unfolded my chair, took out my lap top and started to
catch up on my blogging. There was no
electricity at the San Simeon State Park.
I was falling behind.
Loo Loo however was not ready to settle down. She wanted to play some more. Amazingly she came up to me and started
digging a hole in the sand right where the leg of my chair was. I sort of ignored her, thinking she would
settle down. In no time the hole had
gotten so deep that the leg under which she was digging feel into the hole. I had to catch myself before me and the laptop
toppled over into the sand. I laughed it
off and told her to calm down. I moved
the chair over a little but she kept at it, digging another hole until I got
the message. She wanted to paly some
more. Understand that my daughter jogs a
minimum for five miles a day and Loo Loo being a Golden, not famous for long
distance running, goes with her. They
usually finish their runs on the beach or near the famous Venice canals so Loo
Loo can jump in to cool off. So this dog
gets her share of exercise - much more than I have been providing having her
sit in a car for hours at a time. We
were at the beach. The beach is Loo
Loo’s turf. She was not about to chill
out now.
So back we went, throwing the ball, running around, and
splashing in the ocean. There’s
something you gotta give California. The
weather is outrageous. Here we are in
March and the weather is as close to perfect as you can get 65 – 75 during the
day. A tad cooler at night. Not a cloud in the sky. I’ve lived in Florida, Colorado and
Texas. None can hold a candle to
Southern Cal. So Cal – So Cool. No wonder Mathew McConaughey
parked his Airstream here.
Along with authenticity I came up with another criterion
today. Productivity. Anywhere I end up I have to feel like I am a
productive human being. Its not
necessary that I make a million dollars (although that would be sweet justice.)
but I need to feel like I am contributing something to my community. I like to work in spite of the fact that I
have never been that good at it. I enjoy
creating things, working with people, motivating change. I have read that when Thomas Jefferson wrote
in the Declaration of Independence “life,
liberty and the pursuit of happiness”, what he meant by the pursuit of happiness was the right to be
a productive human being or, more accurately the right to pursue being productive. No guarantees
of success but only the right to pursue a productive life. I doubt many people will agree with that
interpretation. It seems everyone reads
that phrase as guaranteeing the right to be happy. I don’t see it that way, but I know one
thing, I want to be productive. A
couple of years ago I lived in Carmel Valley, California for a year working for
Comcast. Now, many people say that
Carmel is the nicest place on earth.
(It’s where I got to know the Mission Inn so well.) Linda
hated it. Too far from the kids. But that is beside the point. The point is productivity. I rented an apartment on a golf course in
Carmel Valley. My neighbors were both
ex-military men. Carmel has a lot of
these guys. They were nice people and
were very gracious to me. I was talking
to one who mentioned that his ambition was to play 200 rounds of golf this
year. Now, I am no golfer. Living near Pebble Beach and Spanish Bay for
a year and not getting bitten by the golf bug finally confirmed this fact for
me. The thought of wasting time on a
golf course is my idea of nothing to do.
It would be torture for me to just play at something all the time. I want to do something. Be productive – somehow contribute to the
betterment of man. Is that so
wrong? At any rate, some days later I
was at a little cocktail function when I bumped into my other neighbor. I commented that Bob’s ambition was to play
200 rounds of golf this year. Jeff, the
other guy, lifted his gin and tonic to this lips and said, “I already have.” That is when Carmel Valley feel off my
list. No, I have to be productive.
The funny thing Pilot Point fit my two criterions. Pilot Point is authentic (maybe not
everyone’s idea of authenticity but there is not anything phony about the
place. It is what it is.) And I was
productive in Pilot Point. I enjoyed my
job with the city. I only quit because
of all the chaos in my personal life.
People liked me, thought I was productive and respected what I
accomplished. In spite of this I cannot
see myself hanging around Pilot Point. I
think I need a new environment. A new
start, but where? Keep moving down the
road until I find out.
After our romp on the beach Loo Loo was ready to settle
down. We drove back to the RV Park and
the people behind the counter recommended a dog friendly place, Kristy’s, a
nice little joint on a hill with a view of the ocean. Loo Loo and I had a leisurely lunch on the
patio with a couple of new friends who complimented Loo Loo’s great
behavior. She is good in
restaurants. As crazy as she is on the
beach, she is that calm in public places.
Perfectly reserved. We ordered
the Mahi Mahi and splashed it down with a bowl or water and a glass of Chardonnay
each.
After lunch we decided to take a brisk walk up Escondido
Canyon to look for gophers and work up and appetite for dinner. Escondido Canyon is a nice 3 ½ mile hike up a
canyon that empties right into Malibu.
At the end of the canyon is a dramatic waterfall that is supposed to be
worth seeing. You park and then walk
past multi-million dollar homes until you crest a hill that then descends into
a tight canyon. Within a half-mile of
these gargantuan homes you find yourself all alone hiking down this little
trail that looks like it is miles and miles from civilization. And, as I have noted before, California has some
incredibly funky tree. These trees look
straight out of Disney. The path is well worn and we noticed horse hoof prints
as well as lots of dog tracks and humans.
Nice to know someone rides horses around here. We passed three or four groups of hikers on
our way in. California has been
suffering from an historic drought so I was wondering as we both hiked along if
it was going to be worth the walk. We
came across a couple coming from the opposite direction. The girl had on a t-shirt in the blue and
orange of the Chicago Bears with Chicago printed across the front. “Is it worth the trip?” , I asked. Well, sort of. It’s very pretty. There are two falls. The first is rather sad, just dribbling. The second is better but not much better.” “How far do we have to go?” I asked. “Ten minutes,” she replied, her boyfriend not
saying a word. “You from Chicago? I
asked. “I live her now, but I m from
Chicago, she replied shyly as if I had found out some secret. “I’m from there too,” I said. She
smiled and said, “Go Cubs!” identifying herself as a north side girl.
Loo Loo and I trudge on to the first water fall, which as
the girl described was both pretty and sad.
The saddest thing however was Loo Loo who plopped down in the shallow
pond under the falls to cool herself off.
I think I finally tired her out.
Right then I decided to hell with the second waterfall and we retraced
our steps back to the truck.
When we returned to RV Park the previously unoccupied space
next to us had been filled by one of those rental motorhome. What?
More guys from Germany? Both Loo
Loo and I were surprised to see five kids sitting on the roof of the trailer like
it was freakin; Woodstock, watching the sun go down. They were making far too much noise for
us. The guys were all dark and bearded,
with stocking caps pulled down over their heads. Them seemed more than a little distant. I mean these parking slots at the Malibu RV
Park are close together – really narrow.
They are sitting up on their roof and looking down on me, maybe ten feet
away and don’t even acknowledge our presence.
There is one girl and three guys.
The girl at least smiles and acknowledges us, but doesn’t say anything. They are talking much too loud which is
scaring Loo Loo. I noticed that they are
talking in a foreign language, but I can’t pick up what it is exactly. When I tie Loo Loo to the picnic table and go
inside to get things ready for dinner she barks. It is the first time she barked at anybody on
this trip. I think, “Christ! My last day in Malibu and I have Afghan
Freedom Fights as my next door neighbors.
My hope is to take a shower to wash the salt water, but I didn’t want to
go through all that one-handed business in the Airstream with these Taliban
dudes hanging out above me, about to pounce, which is compounded by Loo Loo
feakin’ out. I opt to go up to the
showers that the camp provides and take Loo Loo with me. Thankfully, the shower room is empty. I enjoy a two fisted hot shower for the first
time in too long. I tied up Loo Loo
outside of the shower. When I come out
there are two little kids petting her.
One of the boys looks up at me and says, “She really likes me. She keeps pushing her nose at me so I will
keep petting her.” Both Loo Loo and the
two kids seem happy. In fact Loo Loo now
is full of renewed energy, grabbing her leash in her mouth and trying to engage
me in a tug of war.
When I return with Loo Loo I decide to break the ice. I look up at these kids and say, “Do kids
want to play with my dog? She has more energy
than me.” They are taken aback and don’t
reply right away, trying to figure out if I am kidding. (Seems all my life people have been trying to
figure out if I am kidding or not.)
After too long a pause, one of the kids, the dude with a full beard, a
wool cap pulled down over his head with sunglasses on and this dark complexion
tilts his head towards me and says, “Mister, I’ll play with your dog, if you
really want me to.” The “Mister’ gave me
some solace that he didn’t have a load of plastic explosives around his chest. I looked up and said, “Where are you guys
from?”
“Brazil.” Brazil, I thought, relieved. We have treaties with Brazil don’t we? The kid goes on. “We all worked in Aspen for the winter. We made enough money so we are driving around
the U.S. before we go home.” That
explains the strange language (Portuguese), the dark faces (ski tans), the wool
caps (standard issue in ski country) and the wrap around sunglasses
(ditto). “So what did you guys do?” I
asked. “Ski instructors or load lifts.”
I made a sweeping motioned with two hands as if I was scooping some fat assed
woman onto a chair lift, figuring that was an integral part of their job. “No, the Taliban leader turned Brazilian
college kids replied, “We are ski rental technicians.” Of course, these guys worked in one of the
ski rental joints. The last time I went
to Telluride the kids were all from Chili for some reason. I don’t know the ski areas recruiting
practices but the crazy thing about it is that American kids, it is my
understanding, won’t do these jobs. (I
would have loved to have one of these jobs when I was in Boulder. ) Now, they
import kids from South America. How the
world fucking economy works just amazes me.
I bet it would throw Adam Smith for a loop as well.
Oddly enough, the Brazilian kids disappear as fast as they
appeared. Loo Loo and I eat our dinner
undisturbed. The Brazilian kids are so
quiet I think at first they maybe went out on the town, but they have one of
those self-contained motor homes. If they leave, the entire thing leaves. So they have got to be in the thing, but they
aren’t making a peep. Maybe I
misinterpreted their intent? No shit,
Dick Tracy. I thought it was some “death to American Imperialist Jihad at my
door and it turns out to be Brazilian ski bums.
Even though Loo Loo and I are
headed out in the morning, I am determined to get to know these kids. Well, maybe not tonight. But at least get a picture of all of us
before I take off to return to Venice Beach to pick up Kat from the American
Airlines flight, which arrives at, LAX at 3:03 tomorrow afternoon.
