Life

Salmon Creek Trail: Yes Sur, A Big One

Last weekend, my friend Randall suggested we hike Salmon Creek Trail. So Megan and I went hit the road, with Randall of course, to find Salmon Creek and this supposed waterfall he had been talking about. According to him, it was south of Big Sur and right off the Pacific Coast Highway.

For those that have never been, the PCH, or HWY 1, is a killer drive. Since it’s curvy and the views are gorgeous, it takes quite a bit longer to get from A to B. So if you need to be some where soon, get on the 101 and stay off the 1.

It was just like Randall said, about an hour north of San Luis Obispo and right off the highway on an inside curve with limited parking. If you’re not paying attention, you could miss it.

The trail leads to mountains with beautiful ocean views and other sights we didn’t see. Randall, a veteran CCC (California Conservation Corps) member, knew something truly gorgeous and unique about this little trail off the PCH.

“You see that waterfall,” he asked, pointing to the large and beautiful body of water dropping endlessly off the mountain, “we’re going to hike up there and find a cave right inside.” I look at Megan, she looks at me, we look at Randall.waterfall

“Randall,” I asked, “is that an easy climb? It’s kind of high.”

“Oh yeah, you’ll be fine.” I look back at Megan, she looks back at me, we look at the car.

Besides a few steep moments, the hike wasn’t too bad; in fact, it was quite fun. I was climbing over giant boulders and exploring the wild in ways I’ve only read about. I hadn’t felt this way since I was four years old and climbing in the McDonalds playground, except this time, NO PARENTS.

Randall RockRandall was an excellent guide, quite the sherpa really. Every time I thought we were lost, he proved me wrong. A few times I worried about the safety of my wife, not because of her hiking and climbing skills, but because it had rained the day before and the earth was not quite fit for an outing like ours, in the shoes we were wearing. Megan did great though, I was proud.

So we finally reached the top and sat on a boulder overlooking the waterfall. It was beautiful. “See that little hole in the rock?” Randall asked as he pointed to the rock wall next to us. I didn’t want to answer. I would’ve been fine ending it here; it was gorgeous enough and I had a Fiber One granola bar calling my name. He didn’t wait for my answer, “We need to squeeze through there, that’s the cave.”Overlook

I looked at Randall, I looked at the hole, I looked back at Randall. “And you can fit?” (Randall isn’t fat, he just looks bigger than the hole). “Randall,” I asked, “is this some sort of bible lesson? Camel and the eye of the needle and all that? Rich man not getting into heaven? Because I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

Randall squeezed himself through the hole and into the cave. “Come in on your stomach,” he yelled from the echo-y chamber, “there’s rocks for your right foot, I’ll guide you!” I looked at Megan, she shook her head, I looked at the hole.hole randall

I squeezed in and left Megan to overlook the waterfall. Randall guided me in and again, it was just like he said: drop down and your right foot will hit a pile of big rocks. Though he didn’t tell me the top one was wobbly.

What I saw inside the cave was absolutely breathtaking. Immediately, I was drawn in to a Tolken story or something magical along those lines. The cave walls were covered in fresh green moss with plants and flowers for the trim. The waterfall fell on both sides of the opening and we looked out.

I grasped for my phone but it was left with Megan; we didn’t want to damage it sliding in to the cave. I regretted not having it, though I knew this place was too special to be captured through an iPhone camera anyways.

It now only lives in my memory and it’s fine that way. I guess, without the picture, I’m more prone to go back and relive it someday. I’d go on, but that’s the meat the story. I hope you can make it there, it’s truly a special place.

When God Rigs Football Games

There’s no doubt the word apartheid holds a certain a sting to it. Regardless, there are bits and pieces of existence in our world that require strong laws of separation, say: apple juice and chocolate milk, wine and liquor, George Clooney and Batman.

Many believe religion and politics are best kept apart. In fact, most would swear by that belief. I don’t hold strong opinions on that matter per say, though religion and sports, well, that is a separation I’m fond of.

YES, sports. More so, the NFL. No, no, not Tebow. But more so Ray Lewis. 6a00d83451d77869e20147e051cf35970b-320wi

The 2012-2013 NFL season was a haven for Ray Lewis retirement talk; there’s no doubt that the Baltimore Ravens linebacker, who played seventeen seasons and finished with two championship rings, is one of the greatest. So yes, the NFL gave him a microphone throughout the season every chance they got.

And what happened? Ray gave the glory all to God, just about every time he spoke. Now that is pretty cool, I have to admit. It takes bravery, from any religion or faith, for a person to speak their heart in front of anyone. And in front of the entire world? Well that takes balls… footballs.

So what’s the problem?

Ray’s message of God culminated after his win at the Super Bowl, when he was on the podium in front of millions of people around the entire world and declared: “When God is with you, who can be against you?”

Well…

This comment stirred up a few things in me. To help process the good and the bad, I thought I’d make a good ol’ fashioned blog breakdown.

1. Does God Rig Football Games? This might sound ridiculous, though Ray Lewis is suggesting otherwise. The God of the universe, of Abraham, Isaac, and Joseph, breaks bookie bets? Is he a Baltimore fan or just more of an AFC guy? What does that say about the 49ers?

2. Like the ancient greeks, are we creating our own gods? You could argue that Raw Lewis is not praying to Yahweh, but rather Mahweh: the God of Football Favor. I don’t say this to tear down the guy, like I said, I really do respect him. But we need to get serious about who we claim God is, and His mission. We take our eyes off the prize—of furthering the Kingdom through serving and loving others—and place them onto a football field. Personally, I may or may not have prayed to Fantweh: the God of Fantasy Football once or twice.

3. If someone earns a pedestal, can they say whatever they want? Yes. Definitely. There is a double standard here; I feel that if I were in Ray’s shoes, I would be doing the same thing, but instead protecting the rainforest or freeing enslaved children that harvest cacao for Hershey’s. My point is that when you earn your spot, your soapbox, you’ve earned the right to speak your mind even if you have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s up to the receiver to filter words and decide on the speaker’s expertise.

4. Maybe Ray is right. Does God love Ray Lewis more than any of the other player on any other team? I don’t know. It’s a possibility I guess. I don’t want to assume I know the details of God’s design. Though, if God was rooting for the Mr. Lewis, you would assume he’d be retiring with seventeen championship rings instead of two.

Maybe there is something larger at work than I know of. I could just be jealous that the Ravens cut me in the practice squad. (That never happened).

What I do know, is that it’s easy to quote scripture but harder to eat it. We need to be careful about who we claim God is and let God claim us. See, there are plenty of gods going around these days and if we’re not careful, we may latch on to something less than eternal, less than love.

Congrats Engagement Dos Amigos

Today, a good friend of mine became engaged. Well, yesterday, I think; he lives in Australia so who really knows? No body knows.

Anyways, it made me think about a lot of things. Like how awesome it was to feel engaged. To be completely wrapped up in enchantment, bewilderment, and in the unknown. There is simply nothing like it.

There’s nothing like looking at a woman who is wearing your ring and swearing to her something beyond your means, something that only God could accomplish between any two people… I’ll be with you until either you kill me, I kill you, or we both die. 

What made it truly special, is that she promised the same for me.

So I saw the Facebook post, I smiled and told Megan. Then I looked at her, sick in bed, and again, I smiled. Marriage is awesome.

It’s a team effort for sure. And if you remember team, then in fact, you’ll be fine. But honestly, it’s more work than anyone ever tells you. How could they?

See, everyday you have to make someone more important than yourself. It sounds easy, but it truly isn’t. People say you have to work on marriage, this part is the work. You have to be selfless from when the sun rises to when it sets. (Also in between, but you get the metaphor). I’m not as good at it as she is, but I’m getting there anyways.

I realized that I needed Megan, like in every way. She’s the other half. She’s the dough, I’m the sauce. She’s the window, I’m the frame. She’s the football, I’m Peyton Manning.

Hold on, I have a couple more: 

She’s the bean burger, I’m the pickle. She’s the grinder, I’m the coffee bean. Ok, ok, I think this is getting weird.

Well, anyways, Justin and Krysta, I’m not sure if you’ll get around to reading this (I remember being swarmed with phone calls and emails after we announced our engagement), but if you do, we are so excited for you two and wanted you both to know that we love you.

Remember to pray for each other, to listen, and to share.

Also, the man is always right.

IMG_0310Just kidding.

 

Rider’s Block: A Bus Story

Life getting you down? Hitting writer’s block? Need a little inspiration?

This last weekend my wife and I went to Anaheim for the NAMM Conference and for Disneyland. If you’ve never been to NAMM, or don’t know what I’m talking about, I would suggest googling it for a quick answer. This is not a blog about NAMM—although I may still write one.

This is not a blog about Disneyland, churros, or turkey legs either, though yes, I will probably write one soon. That new Cars ride in California Adventure sure is something special.

No, I have something far more interesting to write about. See, I rode the bus today. The city bus. Yeah, I washed my hands.

Bus.

When you ride public transportation in a new area for the first time, as I did today, there’s one thing to learn and remember: On the city bus, everything is tolerated except for holding up the driver. In another words, ask quick questions, have your money ready, and mount the steed. It’s worth noting that every one is either crazy and filthy, a college student, or a combination of both. So if you don’t know the rates or exactly where the bus is going, keep confident and don’t stress over it — you’re doing fine.

The first gentlemen I talked to was a middle school teacher in Cayucos, CA. He was nice. We talked about guitar, which I teach, and art, which he teaches. There were brief discussions about the economy and the weather. His name was Eric.

Eric left about half way through my hour long ride somewhere in Morro Bay. Not long after, my new best friend and his dog jumped on board. He didn’t have any money and somehow convinced the driver to let him on.

Wiley

First, he sat across from me. The lady next to him happened to be afraid of dogs and it became uncomfortable quick. “Is that a service animal?” she asked with a snarl.

“Yes,” the man answered, never turning his head towards her. He was dressed nice, an older man with a weathered linen, brown-suit and a fedora that left me jealous. His dog, Wiley, sat in his lap and was well behaved.

It’s hard to figure out some people on the bus. He had all the makings of a normal guy and if I hadn’t heard his fare finagling from the street, I would’ve assumed him as such.

“Is that a service animal,” the woman repeated the question with an even uglier snarl.

“I told you,” he said, raising his voice, “How many times do I need to tell you?” The bus fell silent. Finally, the old man looked at me. “That taken?” he asked, pointing at my seat sounding angry.photo copy

I shook my head, not wanting to offend him as he already displayed his temper. You hear stories about the bus, about people who are normal one second and then start throwing feces the next. I guess I was worried he was a loose cannon or something. Or that he would try to sell me socks filled with pidgin feathers. You never know.

Anyways, he stood up and moved towards me. He was large which was interesting; considering he had his dog, it was tight fit between the two of us.

“Some people,” he said, adjusting himself. We were practically leg to leg. Wiley sniffed me. “Where you goin’?” the old man asked.

“Back home,” I said, “in SLO.”

“You live there? Any open rooms? I’m looking for a place.” I look down at Wiley, he looked at me. I shake my head. “Figures…”

Fin

There was nothing magical that happened, or dangerous really. The bus is like that. It takes you out of your comfort zone just enough to make you notice. I ended up talking to the old man about writing, college, and Herman Hesse. He smelled a little weird, but overall, was nice enough. I never figured out if he was crazy.

Right now, he’s probably wondering the same about me.

I’m Trying to Kill My Wife: Montaño De Oro Edition

photoSo my wife thinks I’m trying to kill her. She keeps pointing out stuff about California I never really thought about and now I must admit; it sounds a little fishy.

“You brought me to a land of earthquakes, rattlesnakes, tsunamis, giant spiders, mountain lions, poison oak, and sharks. Are you trying to kill me?”

“But it’s sunny!” I insist.

Anyways, we went to Montaño De Oro State Park today. It’s literally one of my favorite places on the planet. Today I realized how similar it is to certain parts of the Dingle Peninsula in Ireland. That could be a reason why. So if you haven’t been to this State Park before, go now!

I’ll give you a tip first: Dress warm. It’s always windy, but today was extra chilly. Always worth it of course. Thankfully, last second I remembered a puffy-vest was currently sleeping in the back of my car. That did the trick.

Before you even hit the water, the drive up is incredible. Take Los Osos Valley Rd. until it turns into a little town. Keep straight and it will take you up a little hill that eventually gets curvy, woodsy, and fun. You’ll start seeing signs for the state park. There’s also cars parked along the way, no doubt surfers attempting some “secret” spot.

photo copy

It could be a car commercial road, like wooosh

As soon you pass a gorgeous ocean scenery, well, yeah you’re there. The ocean.

Before I moved to Idaho, I told myself that my favorite spot in California was Montaño. I’m not sure if that holds true any more, but it’s Top 5. And I’m a Top 5 type of guy.

If you’re into scenic pictures, there’s even VW Vans.

Through Painted Oceans

Through Painted Oceans

If you’re into surfing. Don’t go to this beach. It’s very rocky, and I’m not talking Stallone. Well I may be, it depends on your definition of “Stallone.”

I won’t bore you with endless pictures taken from my iPhone. If you scour the internet, I’m sure people brought real cameras and took great shots worthy of a book or something. Still, I really like this last one. So here it is:

I call this one "Rock in Ocean"

I call this one “Rock’n Ocean”

Yeah you should come here. If you’ve been, then you know what I mean. If you are a friend from Idaho reading this, you need to see this for yourself. So come visit already.

Gum Butt: The True Story of a Stuck Butt

So we’re in the car. Driving. I think at this point, it had been sixteen hours. Only two hours left and we were home. Or New home. Whatever.

We’re at that point where nothing is funny, nothing is interesting, everything is nothing. We just want out. Get us out of this car. It smells, we smell, I just ate Taco Bell…

Two hours and then it’s over. We’re out of the car for good.

————————-

So my feet are on the dash and Megan’s driving. My back is completely slump with my butt barely on the edge of the seat. I realize, after 20 minutes of sitting like this, how extremely uncomfortable I am. We can’t exactly just push the seats back considering how we packed the car (as much stuff as anyone could possibly fit in a Prius).

So I stretch and begin to move up. For the sake of my back, I desperately need to sit up straight.

When I attempt to sit up, my butt… it… it just won’t move. I’m caught. Like I can pull up a little, no man, game over. It’s stuck.

My first thought is: ok, my keys are stuck to the seat. Trying not to be obvious, I lift my butt as much as I can muster and check my pockets. But no, there are no keys in my pockets. What am I thinking?  

Megan still hasn’t noticed. I’d prefer to keep it this way. It’s not embarrassing, I just don’t want her to know. As a husband I’m expected to protect her, support her, be her knight in shining armer sort of thing. Currently, my butt is stuck to the seat of the car and I don’t know how or why. 

And then, right before I start to panic, I figure it out. In a complete moment of stupidity, I bow my head and start laughing.

Megan looks over and asks about it. There’s no choice, I have to come clean.

“Remember that wad of gum I threw out of the window a couple hours ago?” I ask. She nods her head, “Well, it didn’t exactly… make it out the window.”

“Where is it?” She asks, with a smile, mine giving something away.

I’m trying to find the words, proper words that make me still feel like a man, but all I come up with is: “Under my butt… my butt is stuck to the seat.”

A brief moment of silence passes. She bursts into laughter. I burst into laughter.

I grab the ice scraper for the windshield and began to free myself. There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach, or butt maybe, that I will probably hear about this for the rest of my life.

picstitch