At the church, she is the most beautiful person in the world.  The billowing white dress made of lace and chiffon that she borrowed from her sister insists that she is very special.   She wears blue suede high heels that make her almost six feet tall.  Her long golden hair weaves into a bun, and her grey eyes and smile make her groom feel like he is worth a million dollars.  Dressed in a black tuxedo, dark, shiny, and new, the groom has a ring and nothing else except a lifelong promise.   The Catholic Church in a wealthy section of Encino is chosen by the groom’s mother; a woman of many talents and accomplishments, and the guild of her friends who live on the west side of town.   Full of figurines and stained glass windows that let colored light into the room, this church with many brown pews and polished marble floors, exudes the essence of a wealthy Christian heritage.    As the bride ascends the stairs to the alter where the groom awaits with hope and high expectations, the black-bearded Latino priest, dressed in a green gilded vestment, proclaims a union of families and a marriage between two, young people.  After a lifelong promise, the small gold ring goes on her finger, and then a kiss on her lips, and then the two begin their life together.    A huge black, Cadillac, limousine awaits them at the stone-stepped entrance to the cathedral.   Then off to the airport, with their nylon luggage, the two begin their honeymoon at Aunt Della’s timeshare in a tropical place

The parents subsidize most of the elegant marriage ceremonies and exotic tropical destinations. Roc notes that economy seats on an airline are small and confining, and when the person in front reclines his chair, a passenger must recline to remain comfortable. The cabin reveals rows of chairs, canted back, like an open can of sardines. The meal consists of a hot, meat sandwich and a cold soft drink, but most passengers buy the little bottles of hard liquor, drink them down, and get drunk.  The morning wedding turns into afternoon, and the afternoon darkens to night and the plane arrives at the tropical place.   Palm trees sway in the light sea breeze, the nylon luggage is light, and the two-engine transit plane waits for people to embark, to go to an upper-class place, that only the upper class frequent.   Flying in this light plane feels like your feet are hanging into open space as the hand of God wafts the children of the covenant to a new place. 

Hundreds of Portuguese man of war litter the tropical beach, and the water is warm, and the sun shines intently upon humanity.  A Cuban man with long black hair says “good morning” as he fishes for his daily meal from the beach.  He fondles a six-inch long stiletto, that is sharp, and cuts bait gingerly.

  “There is no rest,” he confides to the new couple.  “Good luck” he says as he makes another long cast and the life ahead begins.  

The players in their brightly colored uniforms and special hats play Jai-lei in the coliseum, and their scores post on the electronic board overhead.   Roc goes and bets on the games. He never wins and the old man with long white hair and a brief smile sits in a chair away from the action, knowingly. The Roc buys a rum and frascadito and throws them down his throat.  This is how they live he says to himself.

  “This is how they live”, and I am different and he gives his bride a hug.

Of all odd places to ride waves, Point Zero ascends to top of the list. When Zuckie was asked why Point Zero was named Point Zero he replied in his casual goofy foot manner,”Why don’t you go and surf it yourself and see why!” No one speaks about Point Zero. People talk about Sakis which is the next point to the north, and drainpipes, but never about Point Zero. Pick, the archtypal soul surfer and one of the most talented of the pre-generation used to surf it alone. He never would talk about it either. One day Cool and Wracks picked up Pick hitching at Moonrise Blvd and PCh and he said, “Bring me to Point Zero today.” Kool who owns a brown and yellow Volkswagen van acknowledges the plea, drives past Point Doom and drops off Pick who draws on a cigarette he claimed from Cool and disappears in the bushes. Cool finally confides to Wracks why no one talks about Point Zero. “Pick was surfing it alone one day and a twenty foot white shark grabbed him in its mouth and swam around with him for over five minutes. Luckily a large set of waves hit the reef; Pick unzipped his wetsuit, wiggled out and escaped. All the shark got was a neoprene taco for lunch. Cool who also is a goofy foot never rides Point Zero either. “I like Colony,” he says, or “Let’s go to Drainpipes.” When wracks finally bought his first car at age 21, a car previously owned by the famous one for one hundred dollars, Wracks pulled down the side road and switchback, past the torn down beach house and the sign that says Point Zero and to the parking lot on the ridge overlooking the beach. The old barracuda, belching smoke and smelling like a refinery on fire comes to a rest. In front of Wracks sits a desolate beach. Point Zero sits as short left point, littered with boulders and has huge stalagmites sticking out of the water in the zone where waves break. Out about one hundred yards floats a huge kelp bed. The beach although short beautifully typifies the beaches in north County: white sand, sea shells, kelp on the beach and brick a bract thrown about by the intense tides of large duration and amplitude that happen during the summer months. To the north about five hundred yards lays Leo Carrillo beach with its famous Rock, right slide, and huge campsite across PCH. Half way to Sakis point, a dark strip of water abuts up to the beach. No waves break in between Sakis and Point Zero because a deep trench divides the two points and he or she can see the deep water showing with a dark blue shadow. In this trench that ends only ten feet from the beach, huge white sharks sleep. The only fatal shark attack in southern California occurred ten feet off the beach, in calm water, on a beautiful day to a swimmer wading in the water alone. The buddy to the person watched in horror as his friend was bitten in half then eaten whole. The water then became calm again. Why then does anyone surf Point Zero? Most of the time, small piddle waves crumple haphazardly down the left point in many sections and slow spots. Most of the other surf spots break better including Sakis that lays a ten minute walk up the beach north. The answer to the question lies in propinquity and timing. When the Bu is six feet plus, the reef at Zero at the point breaks. On a big southwest swell Zero breaks two feet bigger than the Bu on the reef with fast left slides after a shallow take off tube. One Saturday Wracks awoke late to discover a large southwest swell starts to hit North County south facing beaches. Immediately he puts his new Lightning bolt gun into the Cuda, Fires up the beast with a screwdriver in the ignition and heads north. Everyone in space including heaven parks at Surfrider beach. The Bu breaks at ten to twelve feet at low tide coming up in spinning tubular vortexes off the far point and everyone including the messiah floats out in the water on their big wave board. No parking spots remain and Wracks outclassed heads to places north. “I am going to check out Point Zero,” thinks Wracks. “I want to surf backside today in big surf. “ The ride seems short and Wracks keeps the windows down because the cabin fills with exhaust smoke as he drives. Down the small road the Cuda bumps and Wracks beholds the secret that Pick will take to his death.
It just happens that a large southwest swell focuses on Point Zero! The slowly rafting kelp forests one hundred yards out cover a reef that only yields breaking waves when the swell exceeds six to ten feet. In breathtaking revelry, huge mountainous breaking caverns rear up on the hidden reef and throw over like a left Sunset Beach Hawaii. The wave then hits the point and barrels down the line for fifty yards until it reaches the deep chasm that divides Sakis from Point zero and there the water remains calm. On this day when Surfrider breaks at ten to twelve feet and God thinks about going in, Point zero looms outside at fifteen to twenty feet high on the Sets. In his mind, Wracks thinks in an instant, like a light, “speed, danger, and sharks Oh My.” Wracks puts fresh Paraffin on his Lightning bolt space ship, pulls on a spring suit in blue, buckles up his leash and paddles out. A huge set hits and wracks barely make it over the top of the second wave of the set. The third wave backs off smaller. Out in the middle of madness alone, in the Kelp Bed Wracks sits. A person with a long board arrives on the beach and watches. A huge set of waves appears on the horizon. Wracks paddles to the right to get the second and biggest one. He paddles as hard as he can and sees a wall rearing up in front of him and Wracks thinks he is too far back and will drown. Wracks make the drop to the bottom and turns as hard as he can in a squat. The board accelerates like a bar of wet soap, and the wave comes over him, and the wall must be ten feet thick, and Wraks prays for four seconds. Neptune releases him and mother earth bestows him with a kiss and Wracks shoots out of a spinning vortex like he never has experienced before. After countless S turns down the line, Wraks exits at the trench and out of the corner of his eye sees a head slowly rise out of the water and look at him. Wracks paddles back out as fast as his skinny ass will go and the Long boarder who saw the wave runs down the beach with a nine foot six inch custom long board gun, jumps into the white water and paddles like a man possessed out to sea. Back in the lineup, Wracks sees the other person. The other person Wracks later discovers is Roy. Maybe Joist paddled out to put Wracks in a headlock? Maybe Roy arrives to size up Wracks for a go. Whatever the case, Wracks and Roy enjoy twenty foot waves alone with deep respect for each other’s territory. Wracks surfs at least six, maybe more, twenty foot walls all the way to the trench. Joist gets many too. Wracks starts to tire but knows that this session may be the best one he will experience in his lifetime. Finally a huge twenty five foot wave catches wracks in the impact zone and his leash slices through half of his board like cheese cutter. In the middle of the maelstrom, Wraks freestyles into the white water soup and feels something touch him. Sprinting like an Olympic swimmer, Wraks heads to the beach and body surfs a small ten foot wave into the craggy beach where he Rock dances through the white water and the breaking soup upends him two times. On the beach lies his new Lightning bolt gun almost cut in a half like a band saw. Wracks sits for awhile and watches the huge waves break in the kelp forest in a light summer breeze as the sun relentlessly puts a shine and glamor on the water’s surface. The rocks on the beach cover with green and the seaweed smells musky and the warm sand sits alone and other cars start to show up. Wracks waves to Roy and heads up the cliff. Roy sits outside alone. Wracks smokes a cigarette, climbs in the car, and drives home. Surfrider beach still has no seating available and people pay the Parking lot attendants at Alice’s restaurant fifty dollars American to park there. Wracks enters his house, walks to his bedroom and falls asleep. Wracks woke up at night to eat something. The dog in the basket wags its tail and yodels. Wracks eats, goes back to sleep, wakes up in the morning to wash off his gear and check the waves and the swell dropped down to six feet in size and Wracks returns home to study and do chores.
Wracks would savor Point Zero three more times at greater then fifteen feet before he leaves southern California. Amazingly, Roy appears out of nowhere with his long white long board with a red band around the center and they share huge, gaping, spinning, kelp forest vortexes together. A few other people eventually join them out at the reef but never more than five people at a time. A fin never came up to circle Wracks out in the lineup. However, Wracks could feel something there waiting for him, possibly waiting for a mistake. Occasionally when Wracks made a long ride to the chasm, he would imagine a head slowly emerge out of the water in the periphery of his vision from behind. The images from these ventures ingrains into Wracks memory and imagination. Point Zero still exists. Few people surf Point Zero because Surfrider beach and the Colony break better and situate in town. The secret is this: on a huge southwest swell, in the summer, Point Zero breaks bigger than anywhere in Southern California including Lower Trestles. Please don’t surf Point Zero Alone.

Jalama Lompoc began as a destination away from it all, far away, in the resources of my imagination.  Everyone would say, “Let’s go to Jalama,” and no one would know why except that the word Jalama arouses the curiosity of Wracks and more.  Geographically speaking, Jalama Lompoc exists as the name for a city in Central California, on the west beach side.  To get to Jalama Lompoc from Los Angeles, a traveler embarks on the 110 north and then at the Danish town of Solvang, head to the beach to highway 1.  Another way is to take the Pacific Coast Highway all the way up, past the Point Mugu obstacles, Past Ventura, Past Santa Barbara, until the winding hill with no pity at a 15 percent grade, for twenty miles, takes the traveler to Jalama Lompoc State Beach Park.  Then and there a traveler has arrived after three hours of driving.  Jalama Lompoc Beach Park to the north consists of campsites on the beach.  A cliff then grows to the north and the place becomes Point Argüelles.  The beach has white sand, plenty of seaweed and a scenic cliff backdrop.  Up to the north sits the city of Surf, the sister beach to Jalama Lompoc.  The Jalama area points directly north, northwest and Point conception just outward on the map to the most western place on the west coast of the United States.  For some unknown reason, the water at Jalama invigorates at a temperature ten to twenty degrees below the surrounding ocean to the north and to the south.  To a surfer, this cold water means intense pain when dunked by a huge breaker far out at sea and Jalama Lompoc has the largest breakers on the California coast.   All winter long, Jalama breaks bigger than ten feet every day and large swells make the place a shipping nightmare with waves bigger then can be imagined. Jalama also breaks in the summer but in a smaller capacity.   A reef to the very south, almost to the North gate of the Ranch, of Jalama Lompoc receives the name Tarantula point. In the summer when every break on the coast was under 3 feet, Tarantula was triple overhead.  During the fall huge tarantula spiders migrate across the road and you can see them and pick them up.  Every day from November to March, Tarantula point breaks from fifteen feet to greater than fifty feet in size, all wrapped up in a huge triangular peak that a surfer can ride right or left.  The left breaks bigger and longer and Big D goes there and surfs alone.  ‘Why do you surf alone in shark infested water,” asks Wracks?  Big D says, “I hate crowds.”  The Wracks never had the guts and just watches.    Jalama Lompoc sits arithmetically, in the center of the red triangle of death.   On these beaches, up to Pismo beach, and particularly Jalama, the biggest great white sharks on the west coast up to Alaska, lurk just outside the area where the waves break and take advantage of the upwelling phenomenon that brings in bait fish, to gorge on albacore, seals and in a pinch, humans dressed as seals in black wetsuits.  When Wrack goes to Jalama, he mostly watches because intuition tells him danger floats in the water and looks at him.  Wracks also does not like the cold water that turns a humans head blue after one hour in a full length 5-millimeter wet suit, while being doused by breakers over ten feet. The cold water keeps the sharks friendly but the fisherman in the area say they are there.   Wracks has never seen a shark at Jalama or at Tarantula point but local inhabitants tell him that if he sits on the beach long enough with binoculars, a thirty foot long plus great white shark with a  six foot dorsal fin will break the surface or breach in front of them.  None of the local wave riders  surf in these waters. When Wracks surfs the beach break reef, north of Tarantula point, he would occasionally see the kelp forest heave upward as if a huge object swims underneath.  Great white sharks do come into kelp forests to hunt prey and the kelp forest at Jalama and Point Conception forms the only barrier between surfers and huge hulking predators.   The long expanse of pristine shoreline, with beautiful undulating green water, vast kelp forests, abutting a craggy and beautiful coastline, hides a garden of death.  Egg man took Wracks to Jalama one day in the summer when the entire coastline held no swell and mirrored flat as a gridiron.  Tarantula point that day breaks at eight to ten feet of hollow turning tubes.  Egg man thought again and decided not to surf that day.  “Why aren’t you going out,’ asked Wracks.  “There appears to be no one on the beach for twenty miles in either direction,’ let’s go home.”

Why does Jalama Lompoc live in the imagination of Wracks?  The reason breeds thus:  The Point conception area boasts the largest and most perfectly shaped waves in the world.  The negative scares as cold water, huge waves and hungry, hovering predators that create nightmares.   Rumor has it that the most perfect wave in existence lays at the tip of Point Argüelles and that the biggest reef break on the planet, “Perko’s” sits between Point Argüelles and Point conception. A Wrack only imagines.   Perko’s breaks larger then tarantula point.  Wracks never has surfed them and probably never will  The thought of surfing Little Drakes wakes up Wracks in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat, awe and hunger. The Riddler got into the ranch and surfs Drakes.  The Riddler has disappeared and his legacy lives on as a quandary and story tossed around an opium pipe late at night, in a cabana, in the trench at Pang Oh.  The Ridler has gone, Hamilton has gone, and only Butch Van Artsdale lives on. Wracks sits up, late at night, with a laptop, and transcribes his thoughts to a testament meant to inspire and also warn the next generation of intrepid wave riders in search of a thrill and self-actualization.  The weather seems good up North.  Water flows, birds sing, and life abounds in contrast to the vast colonized desert to the south.  Another day passes, the children become adults, the world turns, online gaming abounds, and the imagination of the one brims full of tales, adventure, speculation and more.

What is Antimatter?

Antimatter can be thought of as the opposite of matter, or matter that has properties to opposite or contra-positive of the normal steady state.  In a simplistic fashion, antimatter can have anti-protons that have the same mass as a proton but the charge of an electron, anti-neutrons: neutrons that have no charge but an opposite or out of phase wave associated with it, and anti-electrons which have the same mass as electrons but a positive charge. In a more real and concrete interpretation, antimatter has the same properties as matter but in a 180 degree out of phase wave nature associated with it.  For example, an anti-electron will have the same mass and charge as an electron but an opposite wave function.   It may happen that, an antimatter particle, colliding with a matter particle will annihilate and release energy in the electromagnetic spectrum equivalent to the equation energy equals mass times the speed of light squared.  A gram of hydrogen annihilating another gram of anti-hydrogen could be said to liberate approximately ten to the ninth power joules of energy in a microsecond burst.  This amount of energy released per unit time is astounding and may be used for producing work because of its magnitude.

Physics of antimatter annihilation

An antiparticle of given mass can annihilate another particle of matter of the same atomic weight.  To use dissimilar particles of mass and anti-mass results in an equivalent of a fissile.  Using like particles of anti-matter and matter brings wave functions that are 180 degrees out of phase into proximity for capture and annihilation. Bringing mass a1 and antimass a2 together in a magnetic field long enough, annihilation will occur.   The reaction of plutonium fission can be likened in a tangential way to reacting antimatter with matter in the sense that the two components of the reaction must be held together for a minimum amount of time for the reaction to ensue or the elements will quickly separate and the reaction quench. In a fission bomb, plutonium wedges must be held together to initiate a chain reaction. In annihilation, two particles of matter, anti and real must be collided and maintained in union for annihilation to proceed.  In a fusion reaction the constituents must be held together in a relativistic environment or the constituents may separate and the reaction fails.  In nuclear physics all reactions must be brought to relativistic state for the event to proceed.  This is because, nuclear reactions only occur under very special circumstances.  

Antimatter can be contained in a near vacuum within a magnetic field as long as matter opposite to the atomic number of the antimatter is not brought into proximity.  Two like but opposite particles of matter share the same mathematical but opposite properties making equivalence real.   For example: an atom of hydrogen antimatter under real conditions will not normally react with an iron atom because of the dissimilarity of mass and the shielding of the nucleus by barrier particles.  These will only react at relativistic conditions found only in nature at the center of a sun or neutron star.  This is the big bang of a dying star.

Production of antimatter

Antimatter can be produced on earth by spinning particles or atoms in a tokomak until the particles change nature at the speed of light.  Matter spun in a circle at the speed of light eventually changes character and can be siphoned off with magnets and contained in a vacuum.

On chemical scale, reactions are either exothermic or endothermic and have an activation plateau to achieve for initiation.  On a nuclear level, the constituents much be brought to a relativistic state before the reaction can proceed.    A relativistic state happens when matter is brought to the speed of light. A relativistic state occurs when transuranic elements are brought in high concentrations in close proximity.  The combined mass is inherently unstable and the atom fissions at the speed of light.    In a relativistic environment, matter can change into energy and back again as the wave function is similar.  Accelerating mass to the speed of iight produces relativity when matter is accelerated in a circle in a powerful magnetic field.  This is because anything moving in a circle at near the speed of light becomes the speed of light due to the linear velocity of an object revolving in a circle.  VSub *t   = AsubR / radius.  

Passing energy through various crystal lattices changes the frequency of the energy in the electromagnetic spectrum

Uses of Antimatter

At present no way exists to realize the great amount of energy liberated in a microsecond by the reaction of antimatter.  It may be possible to store antimatter in an evacuated bottle in a magnetic field.  It might be found that antimatter can coexist with matter as long as the two are not brought to a relativistic state.  In fission reaction unstable matter disintegrates into more stable forms with the release of energy.  A fusion condition will extinguish when the relativistic environment no longer exists.  Antimatter reactions progress to complete annihilation under the proper conditions.    Antimatter energy will power starships to different galaxies and fuel huge and create awesome lasers and particle weapons.  The harnessing of antimatter energy will provide the means to transgress time and the warp as envisioned by Albert Einstein.  Energy can be converted to specific forms such as gravity waves and the essence of time itself.

On a positive note

The universal field equation may become a plausible reality

Who is at the door asks the Wracks, it is after dinner.   I’ll go see.

Tell the Fuller brush man we don’t need any merchandise says father Wracks.

Its me says Kool, alive and well and I want you to come along for a ride. 

I haven’t heard of any parties says the Wracks.

I need a shotgun says Kool to pick up some merchandise.   I feel safer if I don’t go alone insists Kool

What are you going to get says the Wracks

A Q Z says Kool, it will be quick and easy.  They are professionals

All right says the Wracks, I don’t know any better

Wracks and Kool embark in the brown and yellow fully camperized Volkswagen van that his father had bought him.   He puts the car in gear and they exit bacon way.  

Look in the glove and see what I have says Kool

Wracks opens the glove compartment and pulls out a jet-black two-inch barrel Smith and Wesson thirty-eight special.  

Its loaded says the Wracks.   What are you going to use it for.

In case things get rough, just pull out the gun and blast them says Kool

I am not going to jail for murder one says the Wracks.   You blast em.

Yeah dah voy says Kool.   Yeah dah voy.

Down the one to the ten and soon the two are in an opulent section of West Los Angeles stuffed and festooned with endless two-story apartment buildings all sitting in manicured residential neighbor hoods. Kool pulls to an empty parking space and inserts naturally and the two exit the car and enter a group of apartments.

This is the one says Kool, 2202, apartment 10 second floor.  Let’s go, we are invited.

They climb the stairs and knock on apartment 10.  A Hispanic man of average height with wavy black hair opens the door.  He is dressed in jeans with a workers rayon shirt.  He has a Texas style silver belt buckle and the television is on and two others are watching intently smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. 

My name is Paul says the man.   Come on in.  I have been expecting you.   What can I do for you says Paul.

I would like to talk to you in private says Kool and the two walk into the other room.   Wracks walks over to the sofa near the television and looks in and the two Mexican Americans look back at him an ask him if he wants a beer. 

No thanks says the Wracks, I am on business.

Suit yourself says one of the other guys and they go back to watching a drama police show.

Kool and Paul reappear and Paul says to the Wracks, I have something I want you to see.   Go to apartment 15 and knock three times.   The wracks says goodbye and they walk over to the brown apartment door and knock three times.  A Mexican American man in jeans and tee shirt with new adidas sneakers lets them in and the Wracks beholds an amazing sight.   The entire apartment is filled with bricks of Marijuana all wrapped in pick toilet paper stacked head high.

Want to buy any pot asks the man?   All you can smoke.

I don’t have any money says the Wracks.   Kool, do you want any pot.   It looks like commercial grade green marijuana all bound in kilograms. 

No says Kool.   I have bought something else

If you ever need any pot, you know where to come.   Just talk to Paul first.  

Thank you very much, it was nice meeting you says the Wracks

Adios, says the man as he closes the door behind them

Well did you get what you came for asks the Wracks?

I will soon see says Kool and he show the Wracks an automobile trunk key, holding it up int the dark night.  We are looking for a light brown Ford Granada says Kool.   Help me find it.

There it is down the street about one hundred feet away says the Wracks.

Let’s go find it says Kool.

They slowly walk to the car and Kool goes to the trunk inserts the key and opens it.   In the trunk is a small brown bindle covered in butcher paper with white string as a bow.  He takes the package, throws the key in the trunk. Closes the trunk and directly walks away.   Back at his brown and yellow van, he throws the package under the seat and speaks.  Get in, we are done here.

What’s in the package asks the Wracks?

Blow!    Pure crystal blow from Bolivia, uncut, and a lot of it.

What are you going to do with all that coke says the Wracks?   Cut it and sell it and give it to the girls.   They go wild over the stuff.  

Girls like coke says Wracks, why is that so?

They like it more than men.    

It is so expensive; it is out of my market says the Wracks.

If I see you later, I will give you a line.   We are almost back to your house.

Kool pulls up to the front of the Wracker house and says thank for being shotgun. There are going to be a lot of happy people tonight.  What are you going to do.

Study like I always do.   I don’t have an inheritance; I have to accept a career.

I will see you soon says Kool, have a good night. And he puts the car in reverse and heads off into the darkness.  The Wracks goes to the front oak door with marble centerpiece, inserts the key and is in the hallway with the big mirror and father is smoking cigarettes, and eating a bowl of vanilla ice cream.

How was it asks father.   Was it worth it

It was a simple drug score with the big league and I don’t fit in. 

You are who you associate with says father Wracker.

I am going to study says the Wracks, and the room is empty and the simple cheap desk with Formica top appears with the tensor reading lamp and the Wracks lights a cigarette and starts to read.  Time goes by and he looks up at the big clock and it is late and sleep awaits.   Tomorrow is another day.  

Wrack[RR1]  does not know why he woke up so early today. Today is Saturday and the automatic coffee maker is off and father does not have to leave at seven fifteen today after a cereal breakfast and a cup of coffee. Today is another day of summer in Tranquil Hills and the sun shines in the kitchen window now as it does almost every morning except in June when the coastal fog crawls up the canyon into Bacon way and Mellow man’s Lane. Wrack does not know why he drifts around the house so early today but notices his little dog Punkin is not on his cushion. Where is Punkin, wrack thinks.  Wrack walks over to his father’s Pall Mall cigarette pack and steals one because he does not have money to buy his own. I will go outside for a coffee and a smoke thinks Wrack.  Wrack opens the back door and steps outside where the garage meets the back door of the house and a little herb garden sits in front of the trashcans. GB is sitting on the ground playing with Punkin.  Punkin is sitting up and begging with his little paws making a praying motion.  If a person was not sane, they would think BG and the dog were having a conversation.  Any sane person knows this is not so.  “GB, what are you doing out back with my dog at 6 AM,” Inquires Wrak.   “I had nothing to do so I am playing with Punkin,” says BG. He ignores wrack and pets the little orange platinum Silky terrier. “Besides he says, a new south swell should be hitting right now and I want to see if the Bu is catching it.”  “Get your board and wetsuit and let’s go.”  “Get some food and steal some of your Dad’s cigarettes for the road.”   Wrack does not have a board, or is at least in between boards so he borrows his brother’s lily white seven foot eleven inch pipeline gun with winglets shaped by Dean.   “Be sure the board fits in between the seats before we start off,” says BG “I have my sack of stuff,” says Wrak.  “Light me smoke and lets have at it,” says GB.  

      The Pacific coast highway remains a beautiful stretch of road on the good side of town and touches in the opulent beach area of Northern Los Angeles called Malibu and Point Dume Estates.    The army corps of engineers built the road wide and the palisades to the east rise beautifully in the east and the ocean sparkles dazzlingly on the left and west side of the street.  Most of the movie star beach house has been torn down and the ocean beckons alluringly, sweetly and innocently as Catalina Island shimmers sixty miles away to the south east.  Surf rider beach has a parking lot and a wall and a secret house hidden in the moat inside of the creek belonging to the Getty family. Surf rider beach today displays three foot waves and a slight south wind which ruins the shape somewhat and makes the lines section raggedly as they turn inward into first point.  “Let’s go out,” says Wrack.   “There is hardly anyone here!”   “No!” I do not want to get in my suit for three foot mush and south wind,” asserts BG.

“I am deciding,” insists GB.  “Don’t talk, I am thinking.”  “Probably the swell is too south for the Bu and the tide changes right for the pipeline.  “What pipeline,” says Wrak?  At Newport Point there is a secret surf break only some people can surf.  Houses are built on the beach and no parking exists so there exists no way to enter the surf zone without having your car towed.  “I know Juan van says BG.” “We can park at his house on the beach.”  “Light me another smoke,” We are jamming to the pipeline.

   At seventy plus miles per hour the Chevrolet econocar propels down highway one.    Highway ten appears and then Highway five appears and the huge refinery burns by and highway 58 becomes a reality and then into Newport.  BG’s uncle is Richie Rich.

       “Who is the guy,” says Juan Van “GB you know better than to bring strangers here!”   “He is cool,” says GB “Beside; He is a friend of mine.”  “OK,” says Juan Van “Pull it in and close the garage.”  “I just finished the night shift as a security guard.” I am going to have coffee and breakfast and wake up,” says Juan Van “You two can go out.”  “It’s pretty good.”  A south swell hit last night.  Wrack learns quickly. He realizes that an extremely south swell blocked out by Catalina Island focuses on the point here the point faces south southwest and picks up any swell with a south to it and the predominant westerly wind blows side shore. . GBG and wrack sit on the beach at the point in the morning and the water shimmers like glass and the fishing boats sail out at the pier and the waves crest at six to ten feet and breaking like turning cylinders and spitting in the shallow end of the sand bar.   This is the Orange County pipeline and the wave looks better then Hawaii.  Hawaii always is windy.  The point today shows smooth as molten glass and green water waves break in perfect form and harmony onto shallow sand reefs.   “Let’s go surfing,” says GB.  “I can’t go backside so good,’ whine Wrack, “They will run me over.”   “Just tell them you know Juan van,” says GB.  “They will back off.”    “I will go surf the right on the other side of the channel. It looks almost as good.”  “Get a few waves and paddle over to left,” says GB.  “It really is good.” 

     The paddle out at the point seems easy compared to the washing machine up north.  Wrack waits outside and paddles into a twelve foot right peak, bottom turns and releases the inside edge of the pintail to ride the tube.  A huge blond haired local takes off in front of Wrack and wrack holds the edge of the board in the vortex then reinserts the inside rail as the wave spits foam and blows by the huge blond haired muscleman.  Inside the shore-break, the huge blond haired kook grabs the white pintail from wrack and says “If you take off on another of my waves I will kill you.”  “Give me back my surfboard you huge idiot, I am a guest of Juan Van.  The big blond surf God looks at wrack, looks at wrack looks at wrack, then grabs his own board and paddles away.  “I had better stay clear of him.” Thinks wrack, Time to surf some lefts.”  The channel at the point means an easy paddle out.  Half way out, GB enters a ten foot pipeline peak.  He goes straight off then turns hard and the board arcs up into the hook of the wave as the water forms a pipeline tube.  As the wave tubes over him GB carves back down the face then turns again up into the hook and then goes by Wrack as he paddles out.    Outside in the lineup BG returns.  “How do like the pipeline.” Asks GB.  “The waves are great but the locals burn aggressively,” says Wrack.  “Just do not snake Juan Van,” says BG “Then you will be OK.”  “Let’s surf till our arms drop off,” says GB.  “This is as good as it gets.”

       Juan Van lets BG and Wrack redress in his garage.  His parents live upstairs in a two story house converted into a duplex.  “I have someone I want you to meet,” says BG.  “Let’s go meet the Brotherhood.” 

     We meet some friends in Irvine in an apartment in an upscale building with security and potted plants everywhere.  BG tells wrack one of his friends is deaf and not to make fun of him.  The deaf person is smaller, with brown hair, a deep chestnut tan in short pants and a Hawaiian shirt.  Another person is larger, skinnier, with brown curly hair and a beard, dressed similarly and who laughs a lot.   I grab a piece of paper and write on the paper what we are discussing so the deaf person can stay tuned.  The deaf person does not talk, but smiles and reads the paper. Smoke passes around and the boys share surf stories and compare the lifestyle of Los Angeles with the Beach and Irvine. “Is he cools,” they each ask GB in turn.  “He is cool,” says GB, and a friend of mine. After a while Juan Van shows up on queue and GB and Wrack decide the time is right to leave.  Wrack waves good bye to the brotherhood and will never see them again.  They provided hospitality and cordiality and all that can be expected of them in a place in time down south.  BG and wrak accelerate on to the freeway and rocket toward Los Angeles.  “Light me another smoke,” says GB.  “I am driving.”   The refinery and the large deep fence hiding the factory from the people appear then disappear.  The surfers arrive on the ten and then the one and up Moonrise to Bacon way.  Wrack pulls his board out of the hatchback and punkin jumps out from the fence and greets the pair.  “Hi Punkin,” says BG.  “See you later.”  The green Chevrolet econocar accelerates quickly and smoothly because the car weighs very little.  GB leaves as mysteriously and enigmatically as he arrives when the buoy indicators of big surf herald a new swell.  Wrack goes back to the daily rigmarole of reality sometimes punctuated by excitement.

        Wrack never rode the pipeline again.  Occasionally, when wrack would surf the area, he would park illegally and watch the waves from an aperture on the street that meets the beach.  Occasionally a skinny, tall, beach boy with a long head and blond hair would appear and menace him with a Ruger 10/22 varmint rifle.   The tall beach boy shot him once when he was in his wetsuit but the bullet did not stick in.  The pipeline is real.  The pipeline tubes perfectly.   The pipeline gives a great drop and acceleration.  The pipeline is off limits to commoners.   “The rich are different from you and me,” said the Great Gatsby.  Wrack knows what he means.  The brotherhood was formed by surfers with the object of supplying clean unadulterated controlled substances to friends; any profit was put back in the business.   All street drugs are cut with toxic substances and adulterated.  The brotherhood of eternal love was constructed to supply friends only.  Life is not black or white but shades of grey and the Wracks was not asked to join the brotherhood because he didn’t have a car and they couldn’t use him.   Life flows and goes and eventually the end is near but the waves and good times remain. 

---

 [RR1]

Bonk, Bonk Bonk on the windowsill at 6AM on a Saturday sometime in the winter in Southern Cal. 

It’s me GB he says, Let me in.

There is no surf says the Wracks, I checked the lookout last night.

I need a shotgun for a run up to SB with precious cargo.  There may be something coming in at Hammonds.   Are you out or are you in?

I am in says the Wracks, I will let you in the kitchen.

Meet you there says GB

I had a late dinner at work last night says GB.  Just make me some toast with butter and a cup of your delicious Yuban Coffee.

OK says the Wracks

Hammonds is a magical place says GB, kind of like the Bu.  It is the only break in SB that catches a southwest swell.  A wave rider can surf it all year long.   Rarely, when it gets really big on a west swell the reef works and a rider can get Sunset Beach Hawaii into a point in CA. Besides I have business up there today with the boys and I need a second to support me in case of a fail.   It will be the same as last time.  I have finished breakfast and my cup of coffee, let’s go.  Don’t forget to bring a couple of Pall Mall golds for the ride.

The Wracks loads his board in a board bag in between the seats of the General Motors econocar done in dark green.  He throws in his wetsuit and robey and they start off.

What’s all that white powder on the console of your car asks the Wracks?

Why don’t you wet your finger and taste it suggests GB

What is it says the Wracks, it doesn’t have any taste. 

It is the powder from the bottom of a bag of one hundred hits of purple dome LSD that I picked up last night.

Am I going to go on an LSD trip asks the wracks

Probably not because you didn’t get enough of it, If you want more it is on the dash.

How do you drive on LSD asks the Wracks.

Very cautiously and not as fast as I am used to.

On the one and over the hill to the five they go and C Street is about three feet.

We are almost there says GB.  Watch for the big freeway sign that says “Winterland” and that is where we turn off.

The big sign appears and the two take the off-ramp to a side street bordered by huge evergreens that must be at least one hundred years old.  A wooden gate station comes into view and the officer at the station waves to GB and lets them in the Gate.  In winterland, huge mansions rise out of a soggy meadow covered with green lichen.  The houses are two, some three story high, fashioned of wood in a gothic architecture and set in large lots with car ports instead of Garages.  Cadillacs and an occasional Rolls Royce populate the scenery, and sometimes a four wheel drive land buster.  GB pulls up to one of the houses and they all look similar with years of ivy and Ivy League trailing from the trellises and the smell of wet basement flora overwhelms the senses.  In one of the driveways, GB honks twice and signals out his driver compartment and a young man with brown hair and casual denims appears from one of the houses.

Wracks, Go in the trunk and get the briefcase underneath the wetsuits while I sit here in the car.

OK says the Wracks and he lifts up the hatchback and unearths a black leather briefcase with gold metal trim.

Bring it to me says GB

Kip comes to the side of the car and says, Let me see them first.

GB opens up the briefcase and inside set in red velour are five golden chips about the size of a matchbook.  Silicon wafers etched in pure gold lacing

Yeah, that is them says Kip. I am satisfied.   Your account will be credited.

See you later he says, the point is not that good today there is a south wind and he waves and disappears back inside the house.

We are done says GB.  It’s not worth surfing, let’s get home

What are those gold things says the Wracks.

They are computer chips for a mainframe system says GB.  State of the art.  They use them to plot the trajectories of intercontinental ballistic missiles at NORAD. They are worth at least fifty thousand dollars apiece.

How did you get them asks the Wracks

It is just business, says GB just Business. Let’s get cracking says GB.  We can be home before lunch

The drive south is uneventful and the wind in Ventura and SB picks up around eleven o’clock and blows out of the west till the glass off at five.  Up Moonrise Boulevard and the church of all Religions and the Wracks is back in his nest in the enclave of the west-most subdivision.

Thanks for driving along says GB.  I am going to work now. See you next swell

So long says the Wracks and the wooden gate are worn by the teeth of his little silky terrier and he is greeted by the dog and he enters the house through the back.  It is Saturday and his parents are gone and he says hi to his grandmother, sits down and has a cigarette and another cup of coffee. The skies are blue and almost cloudless and the sun sends warm rays in through the family room window. He gets his text books and turns on the reading lamp and begins to read.

This is long ago before the computer became the Time Magazine man of the year and computer chips were available to all and everyone connects on the internet and the big information superhighway dominates the United States. There are a lot more swells to be had and the Wracks has a ride to all of them wherever they are in Southern California. Now in NorCal, the Wracks sees that a surfer always has waves to ride somewhere in the golden state anytime if they are willing to travel.   It seems the Wracks likes to go for a ride.  Hawaii is a very windy place.

On the Wall at Surfrider Beach, emblazoned in indelible spray paint are the words, “The Cat Lives,” and “Mik is the Cat.”  Over forty years pass and the words never wash off, wear down or go away.   The words seem to endure beyond the legend and the legacy of probably the most complete wave rider ever to surf in Southern California.  Who is the cat and what the cat is live as a story in it.  Is the cat a highly intelligent criminal?   The answer may be yes but a person can only be decreed a criminal if they are caught and sentenced by due process of the law.  Mik is above the law.  Mik is real and an ancestor of a very important and prominent California family who wish to remain anonymous.  Mik wants to remain anonymous.  Mik wants to return some day to the grounds which he loves more than anything else.  The stomping grounds of the legend, “The Cat,” exist as the place known as Surfrider Beach or to the local people as “The Bu.”  They say Mik retired to Cardiff Beach and had to content himself to riding Swami’s point at thirty feet while assuming the role as a certified public accountant.  The question remains, is Mik a faculty member at a state University professional school?   What has become of Mik? Where has Mik gone?  Did Mik die of pancreatic cancer away from his beloved Bu?   Wracks believes Mik is alive and has seen him somewhere out of the corner of his eye.  Wracks does not surf anymore but cherishes the memories of being one of the special people in a group who were allowed by Mik to ride the waves at Surfrider beach in all their majesty.  Wracks does not regret a minute of wasting time at Surfrider beach or sitting out in the water and playing with the Macrocystis kelp and waiting for a big set at the shift.  When the Bu is big, local riders sit at the outer reef and ride a wave to the pier and past the pier if they are skilled and brave enough. 

Wracks mother makes him a brown bag lunch of a cheese and jelly sandwich with an apple.  Wracks mother drives wracks to surfrider beach with a Jacobs 9 feet six-inch board with a couple of his friends and leaves him there all day.  Wracks mother then waves goodbye and does more important things then raising her child while being an oncologist at the big U.  Wracks mother tests smart and cannot content herself with the role of female and mother.   Wracks sits at the Malibu wall with his board and friends and watches Mik ride waves.  Mik rides waves expertly, never falls off and rides them all the way to the beach, disembarks and walks back up to the point to paddle out and begin again.  Mik beats up anyone who rides on a larger set wave in front of him. Mik has catlike reflexes.   Mik beats up someone almost every day.  Mik is king and few become brave enough to challenge his reign unless they are hopped up on some kind of euphoric drug.  They all ultimately stumble away with a bloodied face, dragging their boards behind them.  The Malibu masochist got his name because he consistently took off on a wave in front of Mik and Mik would pummel his body with blows.  The Malibu masochist never could learn.   The Malibu masochist is a Karate and judo expert and can never figure out how Mik beats him up every time.  This Japanese man simply goes by the title, “The Masochist.”   The masochist eventually moves away to greener pastures.  Lance Carson got his nickname “no pants lance” because he rode a set wave in front of Mik and Mik required him to spend the day naked on the beach or he would beat him to a pulp.  Lance became a legend in himself and the basis of National Lampoon Christmas vacation movies; however, this is another essay.  Wracks paddles out to the point at surfrider beach, and takes off in front of Mik in order to meet him.  Mik exits the wave and looks at the little kid with gall to take off in front of him.  Mik looks again and walks back up the point.   Wracks is the only person on the planet who took off in front of Mik and did not get his face punched.  This makes wracks royalty of a sort in a magical place with magical waves in a tumultuous time when the darkness starts to take hold.  Mik is the legend at the Bu and will someday return to reclaim his throne and empire.  Mik lives or did live in a strategic location.  Maybe his family rents out the house nowadays, Maybe Mik keeps it vacant with slip covers over the sofas.  Maybe Mik lives in the huge mansion on the hill overlooking Surfrider Beach.  The house at the point has a large deck and looks north and south.  The house on the point belongs to Mik.   The house on the point gives direct vision of the Indicator at third point and the reef at the Colony.   The house on the point still exists but who occupies the house is another mystery. 

The colony evidences as a group of houses on a private beach with a private entrance to a private clique on the northern edge of Surfrider Beach.    The colony has a rock reef that forms a wave similar to the Banzai pipeline on Oahu.  The colony reef produced the best pipeline surfers of the twentieth century, both of which have won at least two Pipeline master contests.  The Malibu colony reef breaks the biggest on a huge southwest swell and at low tide breaks better then the Banzai Pipeline although not as big as second reef pipe.   Wracks does not belong to the elite and does not have access to the colony or the pipeline reef.   The colony reef can only be watched from the lookout hill now holding a huge mansion with ramparts and looking glass.   Mik does not appear at surfrider beach anymore.  Mik left when the darkness started to prevail.   Wracks hopes Mik or one of his sons will return and reclaim the legend and title. 

We return to the question.  “Who is the Cat.?”  “What is the cat?”  “Where is the cat?”   The answer becomes the fact that Mik is a legendary and famous figure who serves as a role model or benchmark for other once removed.  A wrack believes Mik still lives.  Wracks hopes Mik still lives to ensure his progeny form roots, grow and control the substance of his fame.  Wracks also hopes that good will prevail and that someday they will invent a tree that grows money.  Wracks dreams and has imagined lots of things but the memories of youth that infiltrate conscious with every breath shall be born and grow to something feasible and concrete some day, some way, somehow.  Time passes, and all things pass and we mere mortals play our games and are blessed by the tears of Allah.

When the gang first saw it, they were in awe.  The peak rears up out of the open ocean and breaks right and left but the left is longer and hollower and steeper.  Up the beach, to the right, the locals surf the first peak which is left also and has a channel to paddle out in.  Out at the Jetty, a long right breaks out of deep water down the jetty and all the way into the first peak.  The locals jealously guard this wave and threaten to maim anyone they catch surfing it.   No one surfs the big peak to the far left that breaks off a sunken shipwreck because this is where the swell focuses and pulses.   The paddle out here is too difficult, it takes an experienced waterman up to thirty minutes to get past the beach break out to the lineup where the waves crest.   No one surfs the peak except fools.   When Zucky first saw the break he exclaimed, “it looks like a huge washing machine,” hence its name that lingers onward into the twenty-first century.   “It’s the washing machine, zoom zoom.”

This Saturday at five in the morning, Kool, Playboy and the Wracks gear up for a visit to the strand and the washing machine.   Wracks has a new 4mm super suit with a spigot to inflate with air when you are drowning, Kool has a red rocket seven-foot eight-inch pintail shaped by Rdick and Playboy has another potato chip gun because he is a team rider and Wracks has his homemade six-foot eight-inch three fin inspired by Craig Wilson of Makaha and relayed by the Lu—ay.     Wracks glassed two trailer fins on his Wilken Meth model so he has one too.   Up the PCH past point zero and Sakis and the big rock into the Nards and the turnoff on Channel Islands boulevard to Mandalay and the Strand.   The Pang-oh gang heard of this creation of God probably from Kool and they with their girls and their vans and the four-speaker cassette players line up at the store on the beach for provisions before the go out.  Yeah says WW who is dressed in a mink coat and spent the whole night dancing and partying and the girls are in mini skirts with trench coats to brace themselves from the cold offshore wind flowing outward from the agricultural valley.

Let’s walk down the beach and check it out says the Wracks

I have to finish my beer and get a new smoke says Kool

Let me put on my jacket says playboy.

The white sand with grey flecks in it is cold to the feet and the three get a first glimpse at 6 thirty am of the washing machine with a hard offshore wind.   A huge wave rears up out of the open ocean and grows and crests and then breaks left down the beach like the pipeline on Oahu.   Another breaks, then another, and the ocean near shore turns into seething white froth. 

It is at least ten foot says Playboy, I can’t tell because it is so far out

I don’t go left that well says the Wracks, I am a Malibu boy

You are going to learn today says Playboy.   I hope you learn fast.

I love lefts says Kool.   Big lefts and fast lefts, spitting.

They run back to the car and everyone is gearing up.  Wracks brought a bar of super psychedelic Sugarman surf wax and they share the bar as they wax their boards. 

Remember to time the sets says Playboy.   Don’t paddle out till the last wave of the set hits the sandbar or you will never get out.  I forgot to tell you, this place swarms with great white sharks.   If you see one just paddle into shore, they only hit something that is stationary. 

The waves carve a huge ledge of sand from the beach to the break and everyone jumps off into the surf.

Remember to time the sets.

A four wave set hits the sandbar and huge peaks break churning into the shallow sandy beach water The peak waves hit every fifteen minutes.   The Wracks wades into the spinning shallows and steps on something that moves out from under his feet.   A set hits and the Wracks starts paddling as fast as his body will let him.   Luck favors him and a small set begins to break just as the Wracks clears the inner waters and spray shoots out from his board as he barely lurches over the top.  He continues to paddle because he doesn’t want to be caught inside and face a long swim in shark infested waters.  He sits outside of his friends and notices that he is long way out.   A huge set hits and he sees Playboy scratching for the horizon on his purple gun so the Wracks takes the first wave and goes right towards the shipwreck and he barely gets into it because of the offshore and he drops and drops and drops and makes his bottom turn going faster than he ever has his whole life.  Shooting towards the top of the waves the centrifugal force glues him to the top of the wave then he spurts out of it in the impact zone.  His friends were not lucky, they got cleaned up by a huge set and are swimming in.  The set must have been twenty feet high.  Not only is it an arduous task to paddle out at the Washing machine but out in the lineup cleanup sets come out of nowhere and drown anyone brave enough to challenge mother nature.  The waves are at least four times overhead and no one can tell standing directly on the shore.

The Wracks flounders in the white water, times the sets and paddles out again.   He catches a mid-sized left tube and drops and turns backside and trims and the tube catches up to him and it is lights out.   Using the backstroke to get to shore quickly, the Wracks retrieves his board and sits on the ledge in the sand.   Kool drops down a huge monster, fades and turns and gets a ride like you see on TV and then he pops out the back and scratches for the open ocean and doesn’t make it.   A huge wave slams down on top of him, his board is free and he is swimming.   Playboy gets a nice left and kicks out in time and so does BA on his NP gun.   Wracks time the sets and goes out one more time.    He catches a huge wave at the peak, goes to the bottom and turns, rockets to the top and hits a white shark on the back, and is stopped dead cold in the water.  He saw the huge shark and couldn’t turn because he was going so fast he hopes the shark is not mad and doesn’t come and get him as he freestyles towards the beach as fast as he can. 

That’s enough for me today says the Wracks.   I don’t want to press my luck.

He watches his friends get a couple more rides and then the wind turns hard offshore, it is 11 thirty and the session is over. 

That was the hardest paddle out I have ever experienced says playboy

I got a big left tube says Kool.   Big and round

I ran over a shark says the Wracks and am still alive.   

Good session says, Playboy.   Let’s head home

The white and yellow Volkswagen camper with blaring tuned exhaust heads south after the boys raid the local dairy for fresh chocolate milk and donuts.  Playboy and Kool sit up front and share something smoking and the Wracks lays supine in the back with a rug and the surfboards covering his body.

Time flies by and soon he is home on Bacon land and he unloads his board and suit and thanks Playboy for the ride.   He goes inside and his father sits in the green chair and smokes and asks him

Where have you been?

I went surfing up in the Nards

Did you have a good time

I caught some big waves and ran over a shark and it didn’t eat me

You have a fervent imagination says Father Wracks.

I couldn’t believe it either because it was where the waves are breaking

It probably was a huge piece of driftwood says father Wracks

Driftwood doesn’t swim says the Wracks

Whatever says father Wracks, take a warm shower and continue your studies.

I will says the Wracks, I am really tired

The Washing Machine is still there.   It breaks three times bigger than any break near it on a northwest swell.   No one surfs it because the paddle out is too arduous and difficult.  There is a little convenience store on the strand that lets you park there if you buy food from them.  Later Wracks would drive up there and watch solo,  no one else on the beach with ten to fifteen-foot waves every day, and a couple of times he went out alone.  And time moves on and the past is gone and now Wracks doesn’t surf anymore.  It was just another Saturday in the past.   

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.