Channel Islands, enroute to Rio

Beadle, protected from the elements.

Monday morning, a week before my trip to Brazil. Captain Ed invites me on an overnight boat ride to the Channel Islands. Stoked! I am very tempted, and must make a split-second decision.

"But I have a million loose ends to tie before I go to Brazil" retorts my adult, responsible mind. "What about the adventure! What of your true nature!" cries out my romantic side. Of course I accept the offer.

Wise move - we had a blast. Surfing, meandering around the island, studying Zen koans during down time, eating continuously like my life depended on it (sunshine makes me hungry).

Captain Ed, at Santa Cruz Island

But upon return from the joyful vacation, reality hit. "I'll have to hustle big time to get all my chores done." I felt a nudge of irresponsibility, especially since this is a common theme in my life. Prioritizing experience (fun) over chores(obligations). So I spin my wheels non-stop for three days, checking off items on my list, going to work, my eye on the 6:45am train I'm hoping to catch Sunday morning.

Saturday night, I lock up the Raza, my faithful sailboat (and current home) - dry dock the dinghy, which I row out daily to the mooring - pack my bags - then I realize my huge mistake. Crap, I forgot my passport! By this time it's 11pm, I'm at my girlfriend's house and that very important document is aboard the Raza. There's no way I'll make the 6:45am train, which is in 7 hours. I blew it.

All because I went to the Channel Islands and left things for the last minute! I blame the law of causality. After all, one thing leads to another. The trip to the Islands was a Plus, forgetting my passport was a Minus, so... I am now paying my dues. In my mind, at least.

Rowing the dinghy to the sailboat,
daily commute.

All good, there's a 10am bus that I can take. Sunday morning, I say farewell to my lady - how lovely she is - and I attend to the calm sunny morning in Morro Bay. I strip down to my boardshorts and grab my surfboard. Enduring the 55 degree water, and the stares of various fishermen, I believe is better than launching my dinghy and rowing, a mega effort at this stage. So I trudge across soggy mudflats, and jump in the water.

I paddle to the Raza's resting place, before the powerful current sweeps me away. Seeing the Raza again so soon brings a bittersweet-ness to my lips. "My dear friend, I'm not back just yet! I don't mean to tease you - I just forgot my passport." I say goodbye once again, and with my valuable passport in a waterproof bag (errr, not quite waterproof it turns out), I paddle back to shore, adrenalin flowing from the combination of freezing water and burning tricep muscles. A wonderful feeling of aliveness. I consider it is a good omen for the trip - feeling salty and refreshed, there is no better way to start a journey! Thanks to Captain Ed...

Off I go. Grabbing the bus to Santa Barbara, and the train on to Los Angeles, I am no longer in charge; I have no cares left in my mind. After all, I'm going to Brazil! Better yet - I'm going to my cousin's wedding... in four days time.

BRAZIL HO!