Friday, January 20, 2006
I split this to save people mistaking this for my autobiography.
Monday just gone was martin luther king jr public holiday which is fine so long as you don't a) need a bank b) need a post ofice c) have designs on using the public library to view the original manuscript to On The Road. I fell in to categories b and c so it was pretty frustrating day. Fortunately my room mate lent me a walking tour book of literary Frisco so I spent some time in coffee shops around North Beach (the old italian district) and then touristed it up around the bridge hoping to photgaph the surfers who brave the rocky point there.
When I got back to the hostel I found that said room mate had split for monterey to see a friend there by ditching the planned poetry evening. I was left with an hour to make the bus to santa cruz which indeed I did having gaffa taped together a box from the street corner to save packing properly. It seems the difference between boho and hobo is the order that you put the syllables. The upshot of this decision was an evening greyhound ride with the crazies that come free with the ticket. Quote of the evening was my neighbour observing that playing guitar kept him ff the roof with a scope and a high powered rifle after a nice lady mentioned her son's own playing.
Santa Cruz is a quiet place where everything shuts at ten so dinner was out of the question. The hostel was series of bungalows licensced from the state so there was a strict curfew of 11pm. This gave it a weird institutional feel so I only stayed two nights. Santa Cruz has an awesome free skatepark in the valley so I spent most of the day there meeting an assortment of 80s single kicktail revivalists
and traditional teenage rippers who always do the trick you are failing at in one try. I was pretty fortunate to be able to use a spare helmet since there is a $350 fine for non-usage. hopefully I will have some pictures soon. It was reassuring to know I hadn't got worse in the lay off since July, I am hoping this applies to my university learned skills to becuase all I know now is catching busses and cooking pasta.
In the evening I completed the california skate day by going to a punk show by No Use For a Name and Pennywise who had some songs to play and things to say about Bush. A fair few of the over 21 skaters were out one of whom knew the NUFAN drummer. Cool by association.
Santa Cruz dawned rainy so I took a bus to Monterey on the Central Coast. My intention was to go to Big Sur, the remote but exceptionally beautiful stretch of costline and national parks served by route 1. The bus only runs there from may so I compromised by staying in Carmel Valley which is made up of viniculture, mystical retreats of all stripes, multimilliondollar homes and ranches. There isn't a great heap to do after sun goes down or before it gets up at 8 the next day so I stuck to making pasta and conserving body heat. On Thursday after a bout of bus catching and pasta buying I decided that 26 miles was a safe enough distance to hitch so made a Subterranean Homesick blues style sign and set about looking non threatening. Eventually a lady stopped and I got a ride to the Pfieffer Big Sur state park in enough time to pitch my tent and find the locals secret beach which was taking a shoing from the recent storm. The road down was 2 miles or concrete so I had a pleasant woodland skate. I would say this was surreal except that everything after Heathrow has been lacking a 'real' from which to deviate.
More pasta and 12 hours in bed and I was about done for Big Sur. I made a sign for Carmel and just for a laugh wrote LA (250 miles South) on the flipside which got more smiles than rides. The lady who did stop, Rosy had a Mazda convertable and knew the area well enough to give a tourist run of the exquisite Spindrift headland where the surf was still pounding and out to sea there were whales surfacing and spouting. In Monterey I was able top catch a local bus back to the Greyhound headed for Santa Barbara which luckily for me was delayed 10 minutes.
Santa Barbara is another surf town like Santa Cruz except it is in So. Cal. just north of LA. I am staying in a ropey hotel at least until Sunday morning. Sadly the surf isn't here and a ride down to Rincon fell through this afternoon so it has been more skateboarding. Next is probably Oxnard, Huntington/Long Beach and then La Jolla San Diego where I can only hope the surf gods accept burned pasta offerings.
Monday just gone was martin luther king jr public holiday which is fine so long as you don't a) need a bank b) need a post ofice c) have designs on using the public library to view the original manuscript to On The Road. I fell in to categories b and c so it was pretty frustrating day. Fortunately my room mate lent me a walking tour book of literary Frisco so I spent some time in coffee shops around North Beach (the old italian district) and then touristed it up around the bridge hoping to photgaph the surfers who brave the rocky point there.
When I got back to the hostel I found that said room mate had split for monterey to see a friend there by ditching the planned poetry evening. I was left with an hour to make the bus to santa cruz which indeed I did having gaffa taped together a box from the street corner to save packing properly. It seems the difference between boho and hobo is the order that you put the syllables. The upshot of this decision was an evening greyhound ride with the crazies that come free with the ticket. Quote of the evening was my neighbour observing that playing guitar kept him ff the roof with a scope and a high powered rifle after a nice lady mentioned her son's own playing.
Santa Cruz is a quiet place where everything shuts at ten so dinner was out of the question. The hostel was series of bungalows licensced from the state so there was a strict curfew of 11pm. This gave it a weird institutional feel so I only stayed two nights. Santa Cruz has an awesome free skatepark in the valley so I spent most of the day there meeting an assortment of 80s single kicktail revivalists
and traditional teenage rippers who always do the trick you are failing at in one try. I was pretty fortunate to be able to use a spare helmet since there is a $350 fine for non-usage. hopefully I will have some pictures soon. It was reassuring to know I hadn't got worse in the lay off since July, I am hoping this applies to my university learned skills to becuase all I know now is catching busses and cooking pasta.
In the evening I completed the california skate day by going to a punk show by No Use For a Name and Pennywise who had some songs to play and things to say about Bush. A fair few of the over 21 skaters were out one of whom knew the NUFAN drummer. Cool by association.
Santa Cruz dawned rainy so I took a bus to Monterey on the Central Coast. My intention was to go to Big Sur, the remote but exceptionally beautiful stretch of costline and national parks served by route 1. The bus only runs there from may so I compromised by staying in Carmel Valley which is made up of viniculture, mystical retreats of all stripes, multimilliondollar homes and ranches. There isn't a great heap to do after sun goes down or before it gets up at 8 the next day so I stuck to making pasta and conserving body heat. On Thursday after a bout of bus catching and pasta buying I decided that 26 miles was a safe enough distance to hitch so made a Subterranean Homesick blues style sign and set about looking non threatening. Eventually a lady stopped and I got a ride to the Pfieffer Big Sur state park in enough time to pitch my tent and find the locals secret beach which was taking a shoing from the recent storm. The road down was 2 miles or concrete so I had a pleasant woodland skate. I would say this was surreal except that everything after Heathrow has been lacking a 'real' from which to deviate.
More pasta and 12 hours in bed and I was about done for Big Sur. I made a sign for Carmel and just for a laugh wrote LA (250 miles South) on the flipside which got more smiles than rides. The lady who did stop, Rosy had a Mazda convertable and knew the area well enough to give a tourist run of the exquisite Spindrift headland where the surf was still pounding and out to sea there were whales surfacing and spouting. In Monterey I was able top catch a local bus back to the Greyhound headed for Santa Barbara which luckily for me was delayed 10 minutes.
Santa Barbara is another surf town like Santa Cruz except it is in So. Cal. just north of LA. I am staying in a ropey hotel at least until Sunday morning. Sadly the surf isn't here and a ride down to Rincon fell through this afternoon so it has been more skateboarding. Next is probably Oxnard, Huntington/Long Beach and then La Jolla San Diego where I can only hope the surf gods accept burned pasta offerings.
