Name these guys and win a prize.

This picture is significant for two reasons. The first reason is that one of these gentlemen greatly influenced my life. The other is that this picture was taken in the year I was born, 1957. Who do you think they are?

Hint: The picture was taken in Spain, and their last names both start with "D".

I'm not sure yet what the prize might be. Maybe a rock, or a leaf. I'm going green. Think real hard before you scroll down for the answer.

Answer: The two men are Walt Disney and Salvador Dali. Growing up in Southern California, some of my fondest and earliest memories were going to Disneyland. Mom and Dad would bundle us up in the car, get us all excited about going to Disneyland. Dad would then drive around until he found a burned down warehouse and exclaim "oh my gosh kids! Disneyland burned down!" He would drive us home as we cried.

Seriously though, the Magic Kingdom visits were are wonderful part of growing up. I still tear up remembering the Matterhorn emerging from the smog. Or maybe it was just the smog that made me tear up. I would have loved to hear what Walt and Salvador talked about!

Dream Diary #6

I dreamt that Sherry and I were with my family. We had our bikes, and told the fam that we were going on a bike ride. Then, I was in a garage (I think it was ours but I'm not sure) working on a motorcycle engine. I had received it in a box (known by the colloquial term as a basket case) and was rebuilding it. It was a four stroke engine and I couldn't find the valve lifters. I finally found them and they were caked with old grease. I began to clean them when dad came into the garage.

"I'm going on the bike ride with you", he said. He had gone to a bike shop and purchased an unusual bike. The bottom of the fork split into a wishbone, and there were two small tires instead of one. The tires were not arranged in a tricycle fashion, i.e. next to each other but inline with each other (picture a rollerblade). It was very strange looking. Then mom came into the garage and said she had bought a bike. Then my brother came into the garage, he already had a bike.

I was pleased to have a garage full of bikes, even if they weren't all mine. I continued to work on the engine as everyone got ready for the ride.

Then, I was driving my truck. Into an apartment complex. On the walkways. In my dream I had done this before, it was a shortcut to the parking lot that I used. But the walkways became narrower and narrower, and soon I could not go forward and had to reverse my way out. As I passed one apartment there was a guy packing up. I knew him and I can't remember the reason that he was leaving but it was a sad event.

Next, I was still trying to get into the parking lot. Having failed at the walking paths, I used a neighbor's driveway. It was a huge expensive house with a huge driveway big enough that some cars were using it as a racetrack. So there I was, in my truck; driving on a stranger's driveway in the middle of a race.

Then I woke up.

Everybody's gone surfing, surfing USA

Honolulu, Waikiki Beach c. 1989

I fought my way to the surface, gagging and spitting seawater. Rather than riding the wave, you might say that the wave rode me - pounding me down into the ocean where the little fishies live. I fell into a pattern - I would wait for a nice juicy wave, and then paddle furiously as it lifted me into the air and then I just floated off the backside, sitting idle as the other surfers caught a nice ride in. Or, I would see the wave, paddle furiously and have it come crashing down over me.

Once in a while I would actually "catch the wave" and enjoy a brief (less than 15 seconds) moment of sheer liquid bliss. And then fall, the tether would smack the board against my head and we would start the cycle over again. I was grateful that my friend lent me his board, but I did not realize that it was a competition board made for true surfers and not a poser like me.

Lahaina, Maui 2007

The sensation made me giddy - gliding atop the water, the slightest forward movement made the board go faster, shifting my weight and using my back foot to steer the board I managed to barely avoid the seawall as onlookers ran for safety and popped out their cell phones, fingers poised to dial 9-1-1.

I was surfing! I WAS SURFING! Let's look at the backstory. First, I'll admit to being a bit clumsy. OK, uncoordinated. Well, to tell the truth I was always the last kid picked for a team in school - "I'll take Henry" "I'll take Pete" "I'll take Dave's Mom" "I'll take Dave's sister" " OK, I'll take Dave". So, to surf (an action requiring a modicum of balance and coordination) was quite an accomplishment for me.

It started with a guarantee - I would get up on the board on the first lesson. No way! How could I NOT sign up and take a surf lesson! Could I change the past and not have a surf lesson turn into a surf "lesion"?!? I could. I plunked down my hard earned cash and began the lesson.

We had a small group of about 10 people. Our instructor Kenny explained how it would work - with our boards still on the sand we practiced centering, getting upright and how to steer. When we went into the water and started paddling I could appreciate how much work it is paddling out to the waves. My shoulders were sore after about 20 minutes! It was hard enough work that one couple abandoned the lesson just because of that.

It took a few times, but I did get up! It might have had something to do with the training, but maybe more that the board was long enough to land an F-18 on (short board = young crazy kids, long board = old crazy men). I began to exercise a small amount of confidence, and soon Kenny said "hey Dave, you want to go ride some bigger waves?" I looked at him and snorted "sha, Eddie would go!"

He thought that my show of bravado was hilarious, and said my new name was Big Wave Dave. I revel in the glory of my accomplishment. Look at how big this wave was!

Run Like Hell Half Marathon

Fresh from running the Maui Marathon in mid-September 2007, I decided to sign up and run the Run Like Hell half marathon here in October. The race was just over a month from the marathon, and my spur of the moment decision led to a rigorous training routine in which I executed faithfully. I ran two times. No more than 5 miles each time! Seriously. Yeah, that's gonna win me a prize.

But, I was out to have some fun and fun it was. My next door neighbor Jesse, who ran his first Hood to Coast with me in August 2007, joined up with me on the spur of the moment and off we set for downtown. It was a chilly morning, and if the temperature is above 40 I'm ok with wearing shorts, as long as my upper body is warm. I used to buy cheap white cotton gloves to wear at the closest convenience or grocery store and just toss them afterwards. But no, couldn't find any but they had bulky black ones. OK, they'll do!

At packet pickup the coolest (no pun intended relating to how cold it was) thing happened - the number bibs were vertical! Maybe I'm just naive but in all the races I've done I've never seen bibs like that. It was perfect to put on the leg of my shorts instead of my top. As you can see I was very proud.

As we ran, I overheard a conversation that three young ladies were having regarding different translations of the Bible. Wow! I get to run and have a theology discussion too! I politely inserted myself into the conversation and we had a good discussion.

By that time Jesse had already pulled way ahead of me, go Jesse go! We began a gradual but long hill up Barbour Boulevard. The sun actually peeked out from the clouds and the fall leaves gave a vivid tableau of beauty that I enjoyed.

As I ground my way up the hill, I noticed the footfalls and panting of a runner that was attempting to pass on my right. I made some room but ever so gradually picked my pace. Sneaking a look over my shoulder I saw a girl probably 30 years my junior. She picked up her pace. I picked up mean. This was all very subtle, but it was clear that two runners would make it to the top of this hill, one would be first - and one would not.

I'm realistic with my abilities, and knew that it was inevitable that she would beat me. I could sense that she was the stronger runner. However, I'm pretty strong on hills and knew I could make her fight for it. And I did.

At about mile 11 a young kid, probably no more than 18; flew past me. I plodded along and then saw him with his hands on his knees, chest heaving at a dead stop. I plodded past him. About a 1/4 mile later - wham! He passed me like I was standing still. About a 1/4 mile later I passed him - he was, you guessed it - at a dead stop in the middle of the street. The cycle repeated itself twice, and by now the finish line was less than a mile away. I steeled my 50 year old muscles, dug in hard, played the Chariots of Fire theme song in my mind and ran past him, picking up my pace as I did so. It worked! I beat the young whippersnapper. However, I have no illusions that he will learn how to pace himself and become the threat to all us old guys.

Jesse ran out to meet me at about 5 city blocks from the finish. He gave me some gatorade and a good slap on the back as I ran across the finish line. I was tired, cold, and my knee hurt - and I'm sure I'll do this one again in 2008!

Highway Haiku

Patiently waiting

at on ramp light, lady primps

Wow! Lots of face paint.

Orange glow up ahead

could it be a big bomb blast?

No, just a sunset

Dream Diary #5

I have weird dreams, but even this one was a doozy...

We have a new guy at work, and I dreamt I bought a pickup truck from him. It was a 1970's era Chevy stepside, metallic blue and sported high end, aftermarket stuff. It had a 454 cubic inch engine in it and a turbo hydromatic 400 transmission with a high performance torque converter. With Hedman headers and a Crane camshaft, at idle the engine would rumble and snort as the Holley 750 CFM carburetor with dual feed would, like a blood transfusion into Frankenstein's monster; feed the engine with lifeblood.

I pulled out of my driveway and went down to the local US Bank (my dreams are very specific) to get some cash out of the ATM. There was no drive up ATM which surprised me. I parked the truck and walked around the building, no walk up ATM! Another guy showed up and he too was looking for the ATM. We went inside the branch but saw no ATM. We saw a door and walked through it, and found ourselves in a hallway walking past the employee break room. No one seemed to be panicked by our appearance and offered us some lunch! We politely declined and asked if there was an ATM at the branch. They said no.

Then I got back in the truck, but noticed some dents on the rear fender (it was a stepside). Don't know what that may mean but they were there. I drove off and enjoyed the feeling of the powerful engine pushing me back into the seat as I accelerated into...a traffic jam. Finally I was able to extricate myself and roared off onto a freeway, looking for the Glisan street exit. I saw the exit, but it turned into a skyway that drove us high above the city...to a fountain where kids were splashing and playing. I asked someone there for directions, but they couldn't provide any. I set off driving around again, still looking for a way to get to Glisan street.

The freeway then turned into a highway that ended with me driving up into a "T" intersection. I could only go left, or go right. At the base of the intersection was a tiny little shoe store. I was shocked to find that I was in La Canada (Flintridge) California. This is significant I suppose, if only a throwback to the past. When I was a child we lived in Lancaster CA and when we drove to LA we would drive over the Angeles Crest Highway and drop down into the valley through La Canada. As a kid it was always significant for me to see that little shoe store because I knew that fun times we're not far away as we took the left turn onto the Foothill freeway with relative's homes in Pasadena, El Monte, Arcadia all very close now.

Well, instead of the Foothill freeway I was finally on Glisan street! I don't remember why or where I was going on Glisan, but I was so relieved to be there.

And then I woke up.