I'm Currently in Baja chasing waves and looking for fish tacos. If you're reading this post it means I haven't been able to find internet to upload photos. Don't worry, I will be fine. I'm taking hundreds of photos and making my way all the way down to Cabo with a few friends. Check out my Instagram feed @fosterhunting for more updates.
I have scheduled a slew of posts on,
In San Luis Obispo, I opened up my iPad and changed the album from This is Happening by LCD Soundsytem to Pet Sounds by The Beach Boys. A drastic change, but it needed to happen. As a child, my dad played the album constantly. In the rainy northwest, the beaches and girls depicted by Brian Wilson and the rest of the Pendletones felt worlds away. My knowledge of waves was limited to whitecaps on the Columbia River and I'd seen a few girls in bikinis in Mexico once. My family drove old Volvos, not Thunderbirds and I had never seen a Deuce Coupes. Regardless of my experience with the places they described, their music captured me.
Renewable.
Woof.
Bad to the bone.
Fish Tacos.
Downtown.
California Street.
I heard this thing coming two blocks away.
Shooting the shit.
Billie Jean or Money for Nothing?
Sidewalk surfing.
China Town.
Pier.
Swap meet.
Travels with Charlie.
Sunset
As I grew, so did my appreciation of the Beach Boys. Brian Wilson's dark side and the duality of their music made the stories they depicted even more compelling and real. Having spent a good amount of time in this area in the last six months, I'm still intrigued by the image of Southern California they described in their music. Although it's very different today, a lot of what they captured is still alive and well.
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I had nowhere to be and time to kill. The Coleman cooler in the back was packed with enough food and ice to last me a few days. The Syncro's fuel gauge was just north of 3/4. Quick-mental-math. 230 mile range. Freedom.
Reminding myself that I was in no rush, I pulled over to the side of 1 in Big Sur and inspected the surf a few miles off with a cheap pair of binoculars. Closing one eye, I adjusted the focus ring until the lone surfer came into clear view.
"No chance in hell," I murmured, reaching for a handful of almonds from the bag resting in the drivers seat. Munching and peering through the binoculars-turned-monocular at the distant surfer, I sat for twenty minutes deliberating if I should join him. I never saw the surfer catch a wave.
Travel's with Charlie and the Monkey Wrench Gang, both half read, lay in the passenger seat next to the almonds begging for attention. Avoiding them with my gaze, I grabbed another handful of almonds and set the binoculars down. With a turn of the ignition, the Syncro rumbled to a start and I released the emergency brake. Continuing on the single lane dirt road, traffic on the 1 some few hundred feet below whizzed by. Reminding myself that I was in no rush, I kept it in first gear and crawled up the winding road at 10 mph.
Redwoods.
Not a bad address.
Climbing above the tree line, I pulled over onto the shoulder and turned the van off. The analog face of my Casio read 11:35. Time to kill. Grabbing my iPhone, I put on Cortez the Killer and placed it my breast pocket with the speaker facing up. Setting the car alarm out of habit, I followed the trail out onto the meadow. I wouldn't be gone for long I thought, but then again I didn't have to be.
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"How many days do you want to drive it in?" I asked my dad on speaker phone at a stoplight in Ventura.
"Well, at minimum, three but I would like to do more than that...I'm looking at flights right now into Burbank. They are dirt cheap. 60$ one way with tax."
"I'm all for more days. Three days would be a schlep. Plus, the Syncro doesn't like I-5 much. Lets take our time up the 1, or go up east through Death Valley and the Sierras."
"In December? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not flying down from Washington to spend more time in cold weather. I want to see palm trees and eucalyptus groves."
"Ha I guess you're right. Lets do the 1 then."
"Cool. Tim and I will fly down on the 20th and we'll head back up to Washougal for Christmas. This will be a blast."
As planned, I picked them up at the Burbank airport a few days later and we headed north. We took our time meandering up Route 1. Surfing, hiking and skateboarding, we made a few hundred miles each day. At night, we crammed into the back of the van and had snoring contests.
Picture this, three six footers (I'm 6'3, Tim's 6'8 and my dad's 6'1) in VW van, listening to the Grateful Dead and eating at taco trucks.
December denial.
A surf session in Bolinas.
Jalama Beach.
Shred sticks.
Could be anywhere in Latin America, but no, its Lincoln Heights.
Tshirts.
The Channel Islands.
We left the bulk of the driving for the last day and made it back to Washougal early Christmas morning. I couldn't say exactly when, because Tim and I were asleep in the backseat.
Some memories are better captured on 35mm film.
Here are some more links,
I left my job in New York in the summer of 2011 and moved into a camper. Since then, I have driven 100,000 miles around the west, surfing and camping. During the summer of 2014, I set up a home base in the Columbia River Gorge. These are some of my stories and photos.
