SURFIN' SAFARI SUMMER ONE- DAY FOURTEEN - August 8, 2019

Our conveyance to local surf spots, near and far, falls upon the bucketed seats of my 1989 BMW 325i, “Seabiscuit.” I’ve owned the car for 15 of its 30 years in operation. It is a classic ride and very cool. One time, some Cholo guys from East L.A. walked by, while I strapped the board to the car's roof, and told me I was an "O.G. Surfer," which isn't true, but made my month anyway. The 325i is a very popular BMW model and, this being Southern California, I often get offers to buy it right on the street. Driving it, on the highway especially, is a very pleasurable experience. It is in good condition, having always been garaged. It can go for a couple of years, but when it breaks, things get expensive and each time raises the question of retirement. That happened in April. You have to pass a Smog Test in California. With an older car, you squirrel away about $600 for a new catalytic converter every two years. But this year the cost was in the thousands. I would have sold, but Surfin’ Safari Summer was growing as an idea in my mind, and the easiest way to keep it alive was to pay up and eat spaghetti for a month. Now it’s running great. When you look at the whole picture; the middle-aged writer missing three ribs, the cognitively impaired co-pilot, and the car that’s had more work done than Joan Rivers ever did, you see the miracle of

SeaBiscuit

Surfin’ Safari Summer. Yesterday, I pulled out of my garage and damaged the rear fender. Very upsetting. My son asked what happened. "It was my fault," I said. “Sometimes you’re just having a bad game.” We were off to the orthodontist. Having a bad game, it did not strike me as odd that there was a parking spot right in front of the building. But it was and I found a $163 ticket on the windshield upon returning. The bad game was getting worse. It seemed wise to call the game off, hit the couch and spend a few safe hours watching the Angels lose instead. But in the spirit of Surfin’ Safari Summer, Anna and I embarked for Marina del Rey – easy lifting after the past three, longer-distanced sojourns. It was summer-hot when we left, but as we tooled out coastways the temperature started dropping. The beach was windy, chilly, and the ocean whipping up a real bitch’s brew. There is no exercise that can strengthen your ability to paddle on a board, so you want to take advantage when at the beach, get in and at least improve that muscle memory. It’s more about working out than surfing at that point. I

went in for 30 minutes and got pounded. It really sucked, but we did our duty and qualified the outing as a legit safari. Beachbound, we'd seen a new taco stand and were comforted by the thought of picking up two beers and seeing what it was about. But I had left my wallet at home and the ride back really sucked, too, especially when we passed that stand. The whole day sucked; exposed the limitations of surfing to make everything okay in all circumstances. As we pulled into the garage, some fellow in a Lexus SUV drove up and asked about Seabiscuit. He got out to take a look. He liked it. I showed him the bumper damage. He asked me my insurance company, I told him. He said he had a body shop nearby and worked with my insurer all the time and gave me a few tips on putting it under his care (covered), and promised to do the car up right. We shall see, but it seemed like a little serendipity.