As my close personal friend Huey Lewis always likes to say, "The power of barbecue is a curious thing -- it makes one man weep, makes another man sing." Now, Huey is a wise man in many ways, but somehow he doesn't quite catch the essence of the grill with that pithy bit o' erudition. No. Not even close. You see, the power of the barbecue lies not in its briquettes, not in its propane tank, not even in the implements used for cleaning its grill. No, the power of the barbecue lies in the hearts and the minds of those who would draw sustenance from it. That is why you must come to the barbecue with a pure heart and a clean conscience. Only then will your burgers be basted with just the right amount of sauce. Only then will your brisket remain free of the stringiness that plagues lesser beef. Only then will your ribs melt from the bones in the mouths of the supplicants. Only then will you know true Barbecue Power.
Well, if you gathered from the preceding that I've been riding in the van just a wee bit too long, sniffing propane fumes, you're probably right on the money. Nonetheless, let's court danger and drop just an eensy-weensy bit of the taste of the bass on you. If I get a little lost on y'all, you can just come back sometime tomorrow. I'm sure I'll be better then.
Yesterday's wedding done, we slept in and started the morning with a big breakfast at Coco's. They had the Heart-Attack Surprise on special, so I ordered that with extra gravy just to start the day out right. The rest of our party followed my lead and we soon had enough cholesterol on our table to fell an entire nation of fish-eating legume-heads. Somehow, we survived, enduring at least long enough to buy one of the Caramel Meringue Peach Key Cheese Melba Pies they had on special for $5.99! That came with an extra helping of lard (in Spanish, "manteca"), in case we wanted to spread it over the top of the pie. Mmmmm...that's good eating!
Once the waiter had ferried us out to the van on a hand-truck (four separate trips!), we headed back to the Legendary Residence Inn one last time to get packed and head out to our friend Daryl's place in Newport Beach. It was tough saying goodbye to the Residence Inn -- not only do they make good popcorn at happy hour, they also had a crack housekeeping staff, always eager to supply you with a free copy of USA Today, or a kind word if the situation called for it. Bravo!
Nonetheless, we had to leave. Daryl and the ocean were each calling our names. Plus, after breakfast, we found that I could no longer fit through the front door of our hotel room. Bummer. At least Otto's side door permitted my entrance to the van. We rolled out, headed south for the waves of Newport Beach.
After what will probably be the last refilling of our propane tank for this Odyssey, we met Daryl. He was, quite literally, champing at the bit. Saddled up and ready to go. No reining him in. Ready to be rode hard and put away wet. Insert equestrian reference here. We each mounted one of the two-wheeled steeds which he provided us from his vast stables and rode out, bound for glory. Or, at least, Balboa Island.
Daryl lives in a beautiful area, just about 1/4 mile from the beach. After a leisurely ride down to Balboa Island, we hopped a 50 cent ferry ride on the Smallest Ferry Known to Man over to Balboa Peninsula. The ferry only carried three cars at a time. Rustic. Scenic. Picturesque. We had no digital camera, so those last three adjectives will have to suffice for Today's Scenic Shot. Just imagine them in yellow.
Then, it was beach time. Time to bodysurf with the big boys. I thought I was ready after my time in the minor leagues of the Gulf Coast and the Outer Banks. No way, man. This was The Show. The water was a rather cool 66 degrees fahrenheit, reminding us that we were in fact wet. (Quick fact -- the temperature at which book paper catches fire and burns? 451 degrees fahrenheit. Thank you, Ray Bradbury.) Before I could ask Master Daryl-san for some quick instruction on how to deal with these oceanic behemoths, he was off, a blur of near piscine speed, banging down the face of a wave that would have dwarfed a Hyundai Excel. I was impressed. Then, I was sucking saltwater as the next wave bashed over my unsuspecting dome. "Never turn your back on the ocean," Daryl called out. Thanks, D.
We spent the next half hour or so riding the waves. It was a thorough blast -- some of the best fun I've had on the Odyssey. I wish I was a better swimmer so I could've kept going, but I was getting tired. These waves were actually pretty powerful -- they'd churn you through a spin cycle and crash you into the sand. You had to keep your arms out or you could do a rather painful face plant. I found that one out the hard way the last time I was out here with Daryl a couple years back. Ouch.
After an uneventful ride home, we met Calvin and Rosalie back at Daryl's for a barbecue. D had a new gas grill he was dying to fire up, so we set to chopping veggies and preparing patties. Soon, some other folks showed up, including Extreme Fellow Travellers Matt and Karen, Daryl's father, and other Assorted Party People. Since I hadn't eaten since our Lead Pumpkin of a breakfast, I was ready to snack. Like on a side of beef. Kristanne restrained me, leading me back to the Light so that I might converse with the other folks who were there.
It was there that we received the official Small World Occurrence of the Odyssey. It turned out that not only was Matt from Seattle, he was friends with a schoolteacher in Auburn, Washington, with whose daughter I had attended four years of elementary school (Rozy Clarke, where are you?). Wacky. That's Matt and Karen in the photo at top, along with Daryl, Daryl's father, and some of the usual suspects.
The barbecue was a great time, but it was over too soon, leaving Daryl to do his favorite little dance over his grilling success. There you see him below, moving far too fast for any camera to capture without a resulting blurring of the image. Go ahead and do your dance, D -- those were some darn fine burgers.
Catch us next time as we leave Daryl for the wonders of San Francisco, California. And you know what that means -- workplace oddities as I work onsite in the soft-walled world of my employer! See you then.
Total Miles for 8/16 = 35