Let’s go, says BG.  I have to make a run up to SB and visit some friends. Are you in?

Sure, says Wracks. Can I bring my board? 

We are going to surf Hammonds reef, says BG. This place exists as the secret spot of SB and only locals get to visit there.  Tag along and I will show you why.

Let me get my stuff, says Wracks.   I always wanted to surf Hammonds reef but never knew where it is.

The colony situates on the beach, north of the Con and its existence shrouds by a huge strand of tall trees that obliviate notice of its existence.  Bates Hammon owns the hotel at the hill overlooking the little corner.  Keep your mind open and don’t say anything and you will get by.  

A wrack grabs his grocery bag and loads the usual stuff of a surf adventure with BG.  In the sack goes American cheese, a loaf of bread, cans of coke, an apple and a pack of cigarettes.   Wracks scoops some change up from the change pail in Dad’s room and says goodbye to Grandma.  She sits in the green recliner in her bathrobe watching a small color television set with Lawrence Welk reruns,  smiles,  and waves her hand in the air without looking.  Wracks throws his blue south bay pintail gun in the car and the hatchback closes with a clang.   Thrown in with thinking, the NP bright blue full suit wetsuit double layer nylon goes in the trunk.  A wrack enters the car, seats shotgun, buckles up the shoulder harness, and the car accelerates into the early day coolness off the pacific coast highway. 

We are going to take M. canyon road up to the 101 and get to Ventura faster than taking, the coast route, says BG. Hold on to your hat.   Light me up a cigarette, says BG as he motions with his right hand. 

Wracks grabs a gold Pall Mall Cigarette, pushes in the car lighter, pulls the lighter from the socket and burns the new cigarette with the glowing red coil.  Wracks hands the cigarette to BG, s open hand and BG takes a long drag and blows the smoke out his nostrils like a flaming dragon. 

Good draw, says BG, hold on to your hat.   Wracks  puts a Jim Hendrix album, Electric Lady land into the cassette player that swings on a Pod off of the console above the manual shift. They both smoke and the car rockets in the fast lane of the 101 with the rear vent open and smoke streaming out in a long trail.

How does your car go so fast, asks Wracks, I thought it only has a four cylinder engine?

I put model plane fuel in the gas tank, says BG, it has nitro methane in it like a dragster.  It really makes your car go. 

Entering the PCH at California Street from the 101, the green car merges into the flow and soon the little corner comes into view on the left as a long point sticking out into the Pacific Ocean with a bunch of houses inside.  The front houses have forward viewing rooms with telescopes to watch the ocean with. 

The big sign says, “Winter land next turnoff,” and BG veers the car off and down into a private road that disappears into a strand of trees in a heathen wood and white pillared gate.  The thick steel gate pillars opened as if the two are expected.  BG enters slowly, cautiously in first gear, looking for someone, something or at least a signal.    Large southern mansions with cypress borders and green lawns abut majestically, and green lawns with Rolls Royce automobiles fill the driveways. 

What is this place, asks wracks, It is like the New Orleans ride at Disney land done in Hollywood.  Who owns those cars?  The richest people in Central California maintain a house here at Winter Land.  They do not like outsiders, says BG.   Don’t move quickly and do not pretend you are taking pictures and they will not molest you. 

BG goes to the back of the car, lifts open the hatchback and pulls a small briefcase from the wheel well where the spare tire lives.  He examines the case, closes the hatchback, and starts walking towards the driveway of the biggest southern mansion in the colony.

Sit in the Car and stay put, shouts BG without looking back.  I shall be back soon.

BG walks up the flat white driveway with the suitcase, goes to the front door, knocks, the door opens and BG enters and disappears.  The huge door looks like it fabricates out of oak with brass fixtures and lists at an impressive eight feet high with windows on top.  Wracks sits in the car and about fifteen minutes later, BG reappears with another person who has wavy brown hair and stands at about the same height as BG. 

My name is Kip, says the man.  Nice to meet you.  Park in my driveway and surf the reef, it is about six feet today.  He turns and leaves.

BG starts the car and pulls it in to the driveway of the huge southern mansion.  The house looks wet and moss and cypress hang in strands from the rafters of the domicile.  Wracks and BG strip in their Druid Robes and walk to the strand where the reef lies.  Hammons reef looks like a semi point with a wave that peaks up at the small point.  A large conglomeration of stones form a reef and the wave rears up like a pipeline type wave tubes and then turns into a long shoulder wave that breaks down the point. The surf runs inconsistent today and BG and wracks surf for about two hours and get some good rides. The wave peaks up at takeoff and the drop feels critical and the acceleration feels positive.  Seaweed grows everywhere and Wracks long fin catches the weed as he takes off on steep bowling waves.  Super glassy, good takeoff and rip able face categorize the reef.

I feel sharks, says Wracks, where are they he asks BG

All the houses have septic tanks and the sewage attracts them, says BG. They are well fed.  I have never been chased in.

Bg takes a set wave in and Wracks feels the feeling and his hair stands up on his head and he hurriedly paddles in on a small inside wave.  A wrack exits the break on the boulders in waist deep water and turns to look back at the water.  The kelp bulges and undulates but no fin appears and Wracks continues his exit up the beach back to the mansion. GB is changing and his green robe and fit in perfectly to the place, time and situation.  The Wracks puts on his blue robe and strips off the blue wetsuit and tosses it in his duffle bag.  They both stow their gear in the hatchback and Wracks grabs his chow bag and enters the passenger side of the car.

Can I have some food, asks GB. 

Sure says Wracks, I will make you a sandwich

A wrack takes two slices of American cheese and peels off the cellophane. He inserts the cheese in-between two pieces of bread.  BG takes the sandwich and shoves half of it into his mouth and bites and his eyes roll back in his head like a big shark. 

Throw me a coke, intones GB.  I am late for work. 

GB finishes the sandwich, shakes the coke can and pulls the tab in front of his mouth while holding the can upside down.  The coke spurts into his mouth like a fire extinguisher and the can empties in two seconds. 

That was good, says BG let’s get home.  Light me a smoke.

Wracks pushes in the cigarette lighter and lights a cigarette for GB. BG takes a huge draw, puts the car in gear, expels the smoke out of his nose, and accelerates.  The two adventurers pull outside of the gate at a fast clip and exit winter land.  A wrack turns back to wave goodbye and sees the gate already has closed and a huge bolt holds it closed and off limits to everyone.  Everyone except GB and Wracks, just GB and wracks. 

The most epic wave in SB reveals as Hammonds reef.  Hard west Swells funnel through the gap lying between Santa Rosa and San Miguel in the channel islands and focus on Hammonds.  The reef at Hammons can hold any size swell and when the reef works, everyone in SB, SM, and the central coast go there and try to get in.  The wave builds up like a huge A-frame peak and throws out top to bottom at thirty feet.  Be aware, the water brims with sharks that smell the septic tank waste filtering directly into the break from the colony on shore.  Wracks felt them there. 

We will be back, says BG.  They like you.

Who likes me, asks the wracks. 

Them, says Bg.  Don’t talk anymore, I am in cruiser mode.  We will come back up next shipment.

Nitromethane fuel makes a car go really fast, thinks Wracks.  Maybe I should buy a can for my motorcycle when I go riding, he thinks. 

The long two-hour ride to SB goes by quickly and Wracks finds himself moving by the self realization center up moonrise Boulevard toward tranquil hills and the Death star.    Like usual, his dog waits for him at the gate and barks and Wracks unloads his gear and board and GB pets punk and gets back in his car. 

Thanks for the ride GB, says wracks

Anytime, says GB and he rockets off again. 

A wrack reenters reality through the kitchen door into the world of electric ranges, refrigerators, microwave ovens and home life.  Mom is home and asks wracks if he wants some food and dad works at his second job downtown, teaching business at night at the College there.  Wracks sits down and has some more of the stewed chicken that he lives on made with onions, green peppers, tomatoes, garlic, chicken quarters and a little bit of love.  Reality is not what it seems.  Reality is people, people who love you and make significant contributions to a person’s personality because everyone ultimately becomes something and the best trained and most loved rise to the top.  Like a family doctor once told Wracks.  You don’t have to worry because cream always rises to the top, the very top.  The day ends once more and books open and the lights focus and sleep overtakes the mind and the darkness interludes and sweet bliss of dreams hold the respite in this the living of life.  Dreams behold in the darkness of the night.