It was and it is and the Wracks have a ride surfing.  The Getty has a white and neon yellow Volkswagen bus of 1959 vintage, configured for trips.  An Abarth tuned exhaust system gives the 1300 cc rig ten more horsepower and top speed flat out on a level straight of about sixty miles per hour.  No one knows how the Getty comes up with these concoctions but he does, again and again.   On a Saturday, bright and early, Getty, Kool, and the Wracks will venture south for a two-hour drive to Diego.  In the winter, in California, for some reason unknown, Diego has the most consistent surf on the California Coast except for Steamer Lane in Santa Cruz.   In Leucadia and Encinitas,  any swell with a north bent fills in there, and even in the summer, there are small wavelets to ride.   The Wracks planned to live here but it never transpired and this is why. 

The Getty and Kool show up around six o’clock in the morning and as always Kool waits in the car and smokes.   Getty arouses Wracks from slumber by pounding on his window, and toast with an egg and two dollars of gas money get the Wracks a seat in the back, with the boards, to go surfing where there are waves. Six dollars fill the small rear tank.   In California, somewhere, waves worth riding, happen every day, especially if the intrepid are willing to drive, or even fly there.  Hawaii is windy and rainy and the reason everyone flocks to this island retreat is because the water is a warm seventy degrees plus.  In California, fifty-degree water is commonplace, and the wind can blow very cold.  The Wracks throws one of his second-hand boards in the back along with his blue Nat Pro wetsuit.   The boys are smoking and whatever up front and toss the Wracks a lit nib when they are done with it.  Smoke billows out the windows.  A police car pulls up alongside the bright yellow van and Getty waves to him and he waves back.  Past the endless refineries and smell of non-olfactory money, the three find themselves in Diego, and they turn off at Encinitas.

We are going to Moonlight says Kool,  Yah Deh.  A left breaking off a rock reef, the best in Diego

I heard it is good too, says Getty.  The Fonz and Dick surf it all the time.

The Fonz never told me about it says the Wracks, and the two up fronts look at each other. 

 Moonlight is a street sign that stands in front of a beach shrouded by a strand of tall Pine trees.  No one can see the beach; a traveler must meander down the path to get there.  The Wracks guesses that all good things are obscured this way.  After the Getty parks, near the street sign, He gets out and a tall, blond head appears out of the bush.  The Getty goes and speaks with him, shakes his head, and saunters back to the car. 

We can’t surf here, says the Getty.   We have the Wracks with us.   We will have to come back some other day in the winter.   Right now, the left reef is six feet and glassy.

My backside is not so good anyway say the Wracks, I am sorry.  I have trouble dropping in on left tubing waves.

We are going to Del Mar, says Getty, but first the seven-eleven. 

A tall Anglo-Saxon man the Encinitas Seven Eleven.  The Wracks buys a tall Slurpee in cherry, his favorite flavor.   The Getty and Kool buy bags of junk of every make and description.  They eat half of everything and throw the rest out the window.  Getty eats half of the microwaved hot dogs.  Kool has his favorite, a pastrami sandwich and a Heineken beer. 

You are not eighteen yet say the Wracks, How did you buy that beer?

I have a fake I.D. says Kool, you can obtain one for five hundred bucks from a professional.  Yeah!

Del Mar is good today, with about four to six-foot peaks, breaking on a rocky sand bar.   Wracks practices going left on his six-foot eight-inch square tail with two round side fins inspired by Craig Wilson.  Ing shaped it in his garage. 

Do you like the three fins ask the Getty.

It doesn’t spin out and has more draw says the Wracks.

The session is over and the mid-day sun brings the predominant westerly on-shore wind that slightly blows everything out.

Let’s head home says Getty

The two light up in front and the Wracks have a Pall-Mall cigarette in the back and flick the ash through the side windows. The roaring Abarth exhaust system permeates the environment with a blaring sound and the Yellow VW heads on home on the Freeway and the Wracks fall asleep.

The big pine tree in front of the Bacon Way residence reminds the Wracks that he is home.

Time to dislodge says the Getty

I will throw my stuff on the ivy says the Wracks.

We are going to the Rainbow tonight, says the Getty. Want to tag along?

Don’t have any money says the Wracks, and I have to study

Plenty of blow says Kool, and girls.  Yeah!

I have to stay with my grandmother tonight, my father is on another business trip and my mother is working. We are going to have chicken with parsley and garlic.

Suit yourself says the Getty, See you next time the swell comes up, and they put the van in reverse, turn one hundred eighty degrees, and dart away.

Tranquil Hill is nice in the winter.  Never too hot and never too cold, and green and grown in.   A single white rose grows in the planter, in the back, the rest have died off.  The Wracks has a cup of Yuban coffee brewed from a percolator setup along with a Pall Mall Gold King with a filter and he loses himself in a book.  I can’t wait till next time; I just can’t wait.