Poi Pig Tacos, Late Night Surf, Mountain Biking, and Mantras

Home from work after four yesterday and not in the mood for a pau hana surf session, I arrived to an apartment that smelled like an imu. Proud of my kalua pig skills, I looked forward to chowing on some ono local kine grinds!








I named my slow cooker "imu" to add some old Hawaiian flavor to my culinary island adventures.












I ate a couple of homemade poi pig tacos, watched a couple of episodes of Netflix's "Orange is the New Black," and lay around.

Around nine I decided to go catch some waves at the Wall. When the tide's higher, I walk out to the end of the pier, toss the sponge out, and jump off the end, timing it to hit the water as a waves swells into the wall, and landing in a seated position, fins out, so my entry is shallow.

That technique has served me well, except for the time I was a little left of my usual entry and caught some reef square in my left butt cheek; it was the meaty part, so just bruised for a while and in a spot that I was only reminded of when seated in the bathroom. Enough on that.

As soon as I recovered the sponge and paddled ten feet a wave swelled up and I turned and dropped under a little curtain of lip. Short and fun and I was paddling back out.

I know the spot, so could orient myself by the pier behind me and the "No Surfboards" buoys outside. I caught a half-dozen waves total, with nobody out but me. It may be more fun with more moon. Tonight  the moon angle was right, out to sea and low, but the cloud cover dimmed it so much I was left without much vision of what was coming.

I hung in the spot I saw the waves I wanted breaking and spun and dropped in quick, with only enough time for maybe two strong kicks and I was launched.

Short session, but more waves than I sometimes catch in twice the time with crowds around forcing me to be more picky at what waves I choose.

If you've known me long enough, you've heard me talk about mountain biking and the rock in the trail. If you don't, well, you're in luck, 'cause I love telling that story.

I used to ride Surveyor's Ridge out near Parkdale, Oregon, every summer. I'd do anywhere from 20 to 35 miles, as a loop from Toll Bridge Campground. There's a spot up there where I was heading South on a sidehill, sloping from above to my left, down to my right. It was a narrow single-track across an open grassy hill and midway along there was a rock on the uphill side of the trail that protruded halfway across the trail.

My first time I came across it, I stared at that rock, thinking, "I don't want to go there." So, if you know bikes at all, your wheel goes where you look. So, bang. Hit it.

Next time, I looked at the rock, then looked where I wanted to go and focused on my desired path. No bang. And away I rode.

Life lesson learned. Now to apply it.

As Kris and I struggle to move away from the obstruction in our lives, we are looking for a path to focus on.

When I paddle out on a big wave day, I have to duck through a few waves and sometimes get hit with a big set on the head in the impact zone; lucky timing.

I know I have to pop up, center on the board, and focus on the horizon, and scratch like hell to get out where I want to be.

Kris and I need a mantra.