Santa Gnarbara

I went up there yesterday to surf. That was mind-blowing. Not the surf—the going. Before yesterday, I'd never gone any further north than County Line to surf. Ever. I also can't remember the last time I had an entire day to myself. When I tell you it's been years, I'm not kidding.

To say I was stoked would be an understatement.

This trip served several purposes. The main reason I wanted to go was to finally meet my buddy, Mike. He and I became bionic last year (me with the knee and him with a neck fusion). Many an email was sent back and forth as we kept one another sane and positive. In fact, he was the first person I found when I searched the internet for information about surfing and knee replacements. He hadn't had one, but knew of those who had. He stayed close—as close as you can stay over the internet—as I went through the manic depression that accompanied the bionic experience. I, in turn, did the same for him. Our relationship is one that others can't understand. When I needed to rail, he listened. More importantly, he understood. His recovery from the neck surgery has been slower than he would have liked. He, too, has had moments when he needed to express his despair. I heard him. I knew what he was going through. I showed him that there was a light in the tunnel even though he had no idea a tunnel was even in the vicinity.

Anyway, some time ago, Mike got me together with his sister-in-law. She's now one of my surf buddies. I love being in the water with her; her positive energy is contagious. She decided she was going up there this weekend to surf. I wanted to go, but immediately told her I couldn't because of the passive aggressive responses I'm always met with whenever I mention I want to go surf with friends or outside of L.A. (Can you tell there's trouble brewing in paradise? Hey, this is my blog for my purposes. I don't quite know how to tell my story without divulging some facts that probably should be kept private. So sue me.) To make a long story short, a very nice family therapist directed me to go surf. Take the day. Do my thing. When was the last time that happened? Truthfully, it's been so long that I really can't remember. So, yesterday's short jaunt to The Gnarshire was like being on vacation. I was completely off the clock.

Today, of course, I'm back on the clock. There's a play date in full swing as I type. Once the other little boy is rescued . . . I mean, picked up by his mom, I'm off to work for a few hours. As for the ramp, I've not had a chance to ride. I'll go lift weights now and try to hit the ramp before work. The kids are keeping each other occupied. If I hear the blood-curdling scream of an injured 8 year old, I suppose I'll saunter back into the house to see which one of them needs a blood transfusion. Kidding.

Thanks for the hospitality, Mike. I know you said I could name the spot. Don't care. I don't name names . . . except yours!