The Week In Photos
A combination of inclement weather and injury has been keeping me from my hike. That’s changed with the advent of Spring and physical therapy.
This past weekend my son took me to a crowded early morning car meet at a Santa Monica beach parking lot. Right in my old teenaged stomping ground.
“This is where J.J. did a wheelie on his dirt bike and crashed,” I told Chase. “‘Are you OK’, we asked. ‘I don’t care about me’, replied J.J., wiping gravel from his jeans, ‘I just care about my bike.’”
I dropped Chase off. Drove about a quarter mile up PCH until I reached a point where I could make a U-turn and head back to my “secret parking space”.
Traffic was stop-and-go. I let a motorcyclist pass. He twisted his throttle and smashed into the BMW ahead of me. Flew head first off his bike and landed next to the center guard rail.
People appeared from nowhere. “Are you OK?” they asked. “I’m calling 9-1-1! I’m calling 9-1-1!” shouted a lady.
The rider stood up, dazed. His helmet and professional racing gear saved his life. He walked to the side of the road.
The car event was crowded. I saw lots of people I recognized from past meets, all of whom I never talk to. Lots of new faces. Lots of dogs. Lots of tough grimaces. Lots of vaping.
I found a comfortable place overlooking the water. I listened to a man in his seventies talk about his red De Tomaso Pantera. “Is it difficult to maintain?” “It has a Ford engine.” “I manage property for several fast food restaurants.” “What’s real estate like in Phoenix?” “I don’t know. I have several friends who moved to Phoenix, though.”
In a few hours it was over. The super cars decided to rev their engines on the way out. A McLaren lost control and hit a curb. Teenagers grabbed pieces of the front bumper and ran off in triumph.
Chase and I walked back to my parking space, which isn’t a secret at all, but is unknown to anyone not local or not expressly looking for an easy to reach and easy to leave spot during a high traffic event.
“That’s J.J.’s house,” I told him. “He had two Dobermans. That’s the room where his drums were set up. We’d listen to him play along with Rush’s ‘Tom Sawyer.’”
“That’s where Quinn’s house used to be. I spent a lot of my teenaged years there. It eventually fell down the hill.”
“We knew all the kids in this neighborhood. When their parents would go out of town, they’d throw parties.”
“This used to be an open field, with wild grass, weeds, and scraggly trees. We’d walk down and hang out there all the time. These houses and fences weren’t there.”
All text and images © 2024 Josh Haden. All rights reserved.