Don't Push

It is mid -summer in So Cal and hot. It’s into the 90’s in LA and even Malibu has reached into the mid 80’s. I took a late morning, sweaty hike under the blazing gold, up the parched dry and crispy Leo Carrillo trail. Even the lizards aren’t talking to me much now. I did say hi to one big, black fattie - but he was already worn out.

It’s super hot really early now, D (no exclamation)

I know my friends, everything is so quiet now. I can’t even find a wildflower to cradle in my hand on my way up -

Mad dogs, Englishmen and D, huh.. Get out of the sun you crazy old coot. Don’t push it. We’re just scurrying for insect crumbs here before we go back underground –

I was feeling faint and seeing a few spots but of course I had to slog to the top for my precipice view. I did my stretches, my thanks to the hills and headed down at a slow steady pace, looking forward to getting in the water afterwards with my friend DA. I came home and had a big glass of water, two medjool dates and an iced coffee. I put on my board shorts and headed to Pescador state park down the road. I love the feeling of driving in board shorts, with no shirt on and the windows open. It’s that full on summer feeling of going to the beach.

When I drove down the small hill to the gravel parking lot at Pescador, I was relieved to see only one kinda old grey Chevy sedan. The weekends get insanely crowded and most Saturdays or Sundays there are no spots left – but during the week its always mellow. Summer mellow: that is a poem I would like to live in. When I parked my car and got out with my goggles and short fins (because DA likes to search around the rocks off shore to spot sea life), I noticed a young Black dude near the Chevy, with a bleached out afro, sitting in a wheel chair. He had a worn back pack on. His right leg was bandaged from his right calf, all the way down over his ankle and covered half of his foot. I thought it must have been hard to drive with that injury and I asked him if he was okay.

“Yeah, I’m all good, I’m, all good,” he said.

“Musta been hard to drive your car with that leg,” I said.

“I wish that was my car,” he said.

There was no other car in the lot. I was kinda perplexed on how he got there in a wheelchair and came down that hill – and how he was gonna get back up that hill. He watched me trying to figure it out and waved his hand into the air.

“Yep, I’m homeless in a wheel chair at the beach,” he said. “It’s alright, sir, I wasn’t always like this and I won’t always be like this.”

Fuck. I drove there in my board shorts. I had no wallet, no money and only a half a thermos of water in the console. I leaned back into the car and got the thermos.

“You want this?” I said. “It’s all I have. Sorry, I just came down here for a swim…”

He waved his hand in the air again.

“No, that’s cool. I have a gallon a water in my backpack. I’ll be cool. You go enjoy your swim, sir.”

I guess I shrugged. I didn’t know what else I could do.

“I’m gonna figure this out,” he said. “I’m gonna get my ass in this wheelchair, back up that hill. I hope there’s a bus station close by.”

“I can help,” I said.

“Don’t push dude. I don’t need it,” he said. “I’ll be cool, I told you.”

He began wheeling himself towards the steep short hill, when DA came down in his brown van and parked next to me. When he go out, I told DA in a low voice about the Black kid and motioned to him wheeling himself towards the hill. DA is half Mexican, half native American. He was a street cop for 30 years in the Rampart district of downtown LA. He has seen some things. He’s retired now. He has hair down to his shoulders, does sweat lodges with his Chumash friends, smokes weed and micro doses psilocybin a few times a week.

“He told you not to push it. He told you he was cool,” DA said. “Let him be cool.”

DA and I walked down the wooden stairs to the sand. We got in the water. It was a warm 70 degrees. We had a long swim out to the kelp and around the rocks. I had my goggles and my one old bogey board fin on. DA has a proper diving mask, snorkel and fins. He went ahead of me and called me over when he saw something. He spotted a few orange garibaldi, a calico bass and one good sized sheepshead hovering around a rock in the kelp about thirty yards off shore. He used to catch fish. I used to catch fish; rod and reel or speargun. Both of us would rather just see the fish now and not kill them.

“How sporty is that, killing a fish?” he says. “You’re reeling it in like a bigshot and the fish is terrified. Spear fishing the same. Sneakin’ up on em’ and sending a metal rod thru their brain. Nice. Maybe if ya gotta eat it, like you need to feed yourself with that fish. Otherwise…”

We spent about twenty minutes out there searching around. We are both in good shape but well over 60 and both know how to take it easy and not push too far. We got back to the beach. DA picked up all the litter he could to throw in the bins in the parking lot. I took a few scraps of paper. I coulda taken more. We agreed to meet tomorrow for another swim because the waves are down until Sunday when they are forecasted to jump up to 7 ft. All next week it’s gonna be pumping overhead almost every day. I hope to get out one of those days; maybe not on the biggest days but hopefully I can handle a 4 to 6ft day and take the smaller ones. I won’t push it. Things just work out better that way -