The typical plans were discussed for Thursday night; take it easy in order to endure the long weekend ahead of us. Naturally these plans were drowned away by the end of the night. Ryan, Lee, Bobby and myself headed out for the bars in what is considered downtown Newport. We started the night at Sharkeez, a chain bar and restaurant located at most California college type towns. It was packed, so naturally we were drawn to join the consciousness of the crowd. A few drinks in Lee began a militant attack on the women trying to drag us into his barrage. None of us were having it, as the attack style was overwhelming and just out of hand. After awhile of loading around through the crowd we decide to leave and go to the bar across the street. The place was called “The District“ and it was a little bit more sophisticated than Sharkeez and had just the right amount of people strewn about the place. We stayed here only long enough to down one drink, as our “military man” wasn’t having the female situation there. After our “downfall” according to military standards, we went home.
The next day began slowly with a bit of a hangover and eventually with our delayed collision into the traffic on the 405 freeway. We left a bit after 3pm and it wasn’t looking good for our desired arrival in San Francisco by 10pm or earlier. The whole point in our drive up to SF on Friday was to party in the city since Saturday night was going to be spent partying at Stanford University. After several hours and good conversations that usually manifest themselves on road trips of decent size we had barely made it to Los Angeles. We were fighting the realization of our unsuccessful mission to SF but eventually succumbed to the bumper-to-bumper traffic. After a few phone calls and some navigation maneuvers we were making our way to the 101 freeway via the 126.
We stopped at a gas station in order for Ryan to relieve his urgent bladder situation, picked up some snacks and continued on our way. As we made our way into Santa Barbara I reminisced of all the good times I had there over my three years living there. It almost made me sad, as I could barely remember why I had abruptly left this beautiful outcrop of California. Through some more phone calls we coordinated with Julius my old roommate and longtime friend to meet at his place. Once there I showed Ryan around the place that I once lived and chatted it up with Jay for a while. Jay was having a traditional barbeque at our old home with all the employees/riders from Hazards Cyclery. Ryan’s girlfriend Leslie and some of her friends also happened to be in Santa Barbara for the weekend and they were going to a local place called Chad’s to have some drinks. I decided that the best thing to do would be to experience a little bit of everything that this situation had to offer us. So we hopped on our skateboards and skated into the heart of downtown SB just a few blocks from my old house.
I showed Ryan one of the Brooks Campuses that I used to go to, located right off state street. From there we skated nearly ten blocks up State Street to where I used to work at Stateside (restaurant bar and lounge). We were welcomed like royalty as I was one of the favorite employees of the place back in my day. Once again I took Ryan for another trip down “Cliffs Memory Lane” showing him the many lavish divisions of the place. We stayed for a while to catch up with old friends, then jumped back on our skateboards and cruised back down the ten or so blocks we had come up earlier. We arrived at Chad’s. A quaint little place with live music and the architecture from the 1920’s. We squeezed our way through the crowd and made our way to the bar inside where we met the girls we knew as well as one of their brothers who, to our benefit was the bartender. We stayed for about an hour chatting with friends we hadn’t seen in a long while, taking shots of all kinds on the house. Soon it was 8pm, time for us to head back to my old house and catch the end of the barbeque that now was in full swing back at the house. We said our goodbyes and with some squirreliness skated our way back to the house.
Loading up with the biker bros was the main course on the menu once we got back, but it was short and sweet. We had to get on our way in order to make it to San Luis Obispo in order to have ample time to party it up. Making sure to not miss In-N-Out Burger on the way up we made our way full and feeling fine. It was a fairly short and to the point drive, lasting less than an hour and a half.
First things first, Rounding up the bros. Triple-A was already in the full swing of the night at an Arabian nights frat party of some sorts, which we picked him up from. Once to the boys house in SLO we loaded up and debated for way to long on whether to go to the Cave Rave party or go to the bars downtown. One way or another we eventually made the decision to walk to the bars downtown. Not to be persuaded otherwise Triple led the charge to Bulls a local dive bar with a fairly young crowd. It was packed and quite uncomfortable. An interesting place, with somewhat of a local feel, as much as you can get in a town purely populated by college students. After waiting for what must have been 20 minutes we finally got our drinks. Ryan bought the first round; and he did so setting a heavy precedent of Jack and Cokes w/ shots of jager for everyone. Sitting up on the make shift table/bar on the back wall we had a good view of the scene. We quickly got over the it throughout the course of our drinks and decided to head elsewhere. Once outside we decided to go to the clubbiest place in SLO called “Native”.
Modern looking inside with a Spanish twist to it, people seemed to be enjoying themselves quite thoroughly. This spot was to be our demise as far as sobriety goes. I continued the charge by getting a round of jack and cokes and jager shots for everyone. Shortly after we got our drinks we were lighting up “beezies” and dancing in our own feeble ways. Ryan and myself got sucked into dancing with some lunkers, which was more comical than painful, and they sure enjoyed the hell out of it. All of a sudden Andrew Crane was up in our faces amped as can be to see a “brother from another mother.” We went back to the bar and continued the onslaught on the Jack Daniels; celebrating with much enthusiasm to our ridiculous toasts. By now we had made it to the point where another type of poison was desired by all, cigly wigs. Out we went to the courtyard area, which was nearly as crowded as the inside and a bit larger of an area. We split off on our grit-bumming missions meeting together once our mission was successful.
When we resumed our stance inside it was somebody else’s turn to continue the alcoholic lubrication on our minds. After a few more rounds and ridiculous antics of all sorts last call was announced. We rushed to the bar to get any of our usual liquids only to find that we had drank them dry. We ended up with some neon pink bullshit, designed to unlock the chastity belt of an unexpecting prude. Whatever it taste decent and we sure didn’t need anymore to drink anyways. In the process of leaving Andrew somehow managed to separate himself from us, later to be arrested and thrown in jail for being drunk in public. We made our way home stumbling about, pushing each other into cars and bushes, and other things of this nature. The night was not to be ended without a battle though, not with the amount of alcohol in our systems and testosterone that had been invigorated throughout the course of the night. Somehow Triple and I found ourselves in a battle, fork on knife. Though it was purely for amusement it was quite intense and it eventually ended with Triples’ hand bleeding, a small souvenir of our stop-by in SLO.
The next day began with the predictable aches and pains from last night’s glorious moments. To self medicate we went to the nearest sandwich shop, High Street Deli. We feasted on some much needed and very delicious sandwiches and were on our way.
We had decided the day before that because we couldn’t make the first night in SF we would make the most of our way up by taking the 1 freeway. I was really looking forward to finally making the journey north on the 1 Freeway all the way to San Francisco, as this stretch of freeway is some of the most famous in the whole country. This is primarily due to its positioning on the Cliffside of the Pacific Ocean, its rugged appearance and its many twists and turns. There is an entire History Channel documentary on the history of the 1 freeway, so feel free to educate yourself further if you’re interested. Needless to say, we intended on enjoying the experience as much as possible. As we came out of each turn with tires squealing we laid our eyes on a new potential surfing spot. We would get really excited
with hope that we might go out and explore some ridiculously wooly surf spot, but at the same time knew that we had to push on.Despite having drove a portion of this road before the beauty of the surroundings were almost overwhelming and overpowered all my other thoughts. We stopped occasionally to take it all in and capture the moment. After about an hour or two of driving we got to the farthest north point I had previously been on the 1. There is a large turnout that usually has a few vacant cars parked in it. Beside the turnout lies a trail through a open field that leads into a forest. I guided us down the path while reminiscing about my first experience here about a year and a half ago. The trail is fairly long, maybe a mile in length and leads all the way to the ocean, which is hardly
visible from the turnout. We trekked through the poison oak jungle and waded through a small river which winds its way to the ocean. We made it to the beach to discover a fairly strong offshore breeze with waves just a couple feet high. We sat in the sand for a while hoping to see some waves big enough to make it worth going out, but it was happening. It was a great little break in our drive, and we were finally getting closer to our destination.
relationship for, the end and a new beginning. OurBack on the road, I gazed upon a part of the world I had never seen before. Alike much that came before, but different especially because it was a crucial linking point between where I have been along the coast, and where I was born (San Francisco). Like a kid in a candy store, my eyes were wide open soaking it all in. Eventually we got to the point of travel that I have both a love and hate travel along the California coast was over and our entrance into SF had begun.
We arrived at Paul’s place in Stanford where we met Drew, Richie, and their friend and band mate, Sam. We explored the scene where the party was to be that night. A lavish three-story frat house decked out according to the annual theme party “Cowabunga”. It was nearly the same as it was last year I attended this magnificent gathering of alcohol enthusiasts with enough initiative to make it into Stanford University. Ryan had never been here before so I took him on a skate mission exploring all the most popular sights on campus. We got pizza and beer at a on campus restaurant and skated back to the frat house.
Before we knew it the party was going off. Richie, Drew and Sam started the night off with a performance from the their band The Brothers Cooley which was epic to say the least. They were followed by a reggae band, which sparked a cloud of ganja smoke to erupt from the crowd in the front yard. Inside there was a DJ entertaining a huge room full of people dancing. In the backyard filled with sand there was a small bar where we were able to
relive our jager shots from the night before. We dabbled in all areas of the party including the upstairs “private” bar where I bar tended for a short while until I was removed from my “position” by a power hungry frat member. Eager to make the most of the night and catch up with the crowd I drank a concoction of jager and monster to the strength of 80/20 favoring the jager. This drink eventually lead to my demise and the end of the night.
Shortly after I awoke, eyes still closed, wondering where I would be when I opened them. Slowly I opened them and I saw two guys spooning each other in the bed across from me. Simultaneously I realized that I had slept in a sitting position. I was in Paul’s room, how I made it there is probably an interesting story, however the details are lost in the bottom of a monster can rolling around campus somewhere. Rubbing my eyes and stretching I began to piece together the end of the night. Remembering eating a piece of pizza I had saved at the end of the night before falling asleep sitting up. I was surprisingly not to hung-over, which was a good thing because Ryan and I were going to bay to breakers as soon as we ate breakfast and said our goodbyes to the boys.
After an immense battle for parking we eventually met up with our crew at bay to breakers, consisting of: Sean, Aeneas, Corey, Andy B and his girlfriend, and two of your average SF crack head children. We made our way through a couple miles of the course seeing the usual sights that a free, 7 mile long party in San Francisco and no law enforcement might provide you with. After awhile everyone was pretty over the scene.
Mainly because we all got their late, some time around 11 and it starts at 7am so everything was winding down. The whole experience was quite intense because everyone we were with was on a different drug of some sort and in his own world. Ryan and myself were still recovering from the night before and managed to snag a beer or two from passers by, nothing compared to the average state of mind of the crowd. We strolled back to Aeneas’s house where Ryan and I decided we should get going since it seemed the party was over.We continued on our way home discussing our weekend journey. I slept through a large portion of the drive in a recovery state. Once back to Ryan’s house in Newport we told our story briefly to Ryan’s roommates and the usual crowd that hangs out there. I eventually succumbed to sleeping on the spare mattress amongst the chaos in the house. I had to go to bed early enough to wake myself for my first day of work at Fox Racing the next morning at 7:30am.
Afterword:
The following two weeks were among the most stressful I have ever experienced. Being homeless with a brand new job reminded me of my first month of college. (I had decided to go to school in Santa Barbara with a friend at midnight the day before he had planned to leave. I woke my dad and told him I was leaving in 4 hours to go to school in Santa Barbara. The next day I found myself in Santa Barbara, homeless, with no car and supposedly starting school the next day.) Throughout these two weeks I had the most intense, vivid, and disturbing dreams I can ever remember. Despite the setback of my living situation I have been able to perform considerably well at work and still have some spunk in me for life after work.
