A sea lion's bark emanated from the fog covered shoreline some three thousand feet bellow as Trevor and I walked up the empty dirt road one late afternoon in July. Shifting my skateboard from my right to my left hand, I paused and listened for a second call. Nothing came.
"Did you hear that?"
"Yea... How the hell can we hear that up here. The ocean is at least a mile away. Crazy"
"YYahh, well, there's no waves to drown them out. Still wild though," I said, continuing my march up the hill towards a long flat section of compacted dirt.
Dropping my board, it bounced off the ground in a cloud of dust, finally settling on its side. I kicked it back onto its trucks with and angled it into position by moving the tail.
"Grip and rip it, Bra!"
"If you want the ultimate, you have to be willing to pay the ultimate price!" I said, doing my best to mimic the late, great Patrick Swayze. With half a push, I started rolling down the road. Rocks popped and shot out from under my polyurethane wheels. Shifting my weight to my back foot, I bounced over a washout and caught my front truck on a strategically placed rock.
Sprawling, I caught myself after a few steps and looked back up the hill. Trevor took the queue from my fall and pushed off.
Trevor clearing a gap.
Building up speed it rushed by in a cloud of dust and rocks.
Rooster tailing it.
Approaching the turn/wave.
Pulling into the dirt wave. Trevor is pretty comfortable on a surfboard too.
After Trevor rounded the corner, I repositioned my board and followed. As the the sun settled into the fog, we made laps up and down the quarter-mile stretch of dirt road. The occasional distant motorcycle on the PCH punctuated the relative silence, but then again, they may have heard our hooting and shouting too.
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