A Stratocaster With A Whammy Bar

Today I forgot someone was dead. For a split second, I thought it would be nice to see him. I remembered he was gone and I felt that light go out all over again.

The first time I saw him was against my will. I was dragged by a friend. The lights went down and the band tip toed into a slow 9/4 figure. It was haunting from the first bar. There was an endless pause before he came slowly out, lit a cigarette, and took the guitar from his roadie. They shared a sentence or two, nodded and walked away from each other. An applause swelled, but it was a different applause than shows I had been to. It had a knowing air about it. The noise that rises for a pop star is much different than the sound smart people make for an artist.

He looked out knowingly, like he was greeting an old friend. He took a long drag on the smoke and wedged it into the strings of the guitar, between the nut and the tuning pegs. The crowd stood up waiting for him to play, he laughed and spoke into the mic.

"Siddown, yer makin me nervous."

He played the opening melody of "Watermelon in Easter Hay". The tobacco Strat once owned by Jimi Hendrix sang for him the way it always had, with big round blues tones. I remembered seeing Jimi set that guitar on fire in an album jacket. Now that same connection between Jimi and I was forty feet away. Did he write "Lil Wing" on that? "Castles Made Of Sand"? Was this the instrument that yielded the mysterious "Watchtower" solo?

Through out the night the smell of Colombian virgin bud and cloves drifted together with the musical reorganization of my mind.

"City of Tiny Lights", "Lucile Has Messed My Mind Up", "Muffin Man", and finally they closed the show with a brutal version of "Whipping Post" by The Allman Brothers.

I saw him three other times. The last was on a pier in New York City in the summer of 1984. As the sun went down, he and his amazing band weaved complicated rhythms and impossible melodies into the night so perfectly, I forgot my band was stranded there with no hope of rescue. He reminded me that music could save souls, make them laugh, point out absurdities, and shine the light on hypocrisy.

I was in Montana Studious with the band I was managing in 2002. Dylan, Miles Davis and many other legends had rehearsed there. I was in the bathroom trying to compose myself, before a label showcase. I looked at the wall and saw a hand written quote of his, comparing the music business to swimming in shit. I laughed and put some water on my face. It was going to be alright. It was just a stupid game.

I wonder if there is a kid out there that doesn't want the trappings. A kid that is writing impossibly scary and provocative lyrics. A kid that is dedicated to the art and discipline of becoming a musician. A kid jamming in Joe's Garage.


W.B.Z.N

Down In A Hole

Being mean to grommets (kids) when they are becoming surfers is a right of passage. In Ft. Pierce, it was a contact sport. You keep them from getting any waves, and when they do, you harass them for sucking. You drown them, take their boards and eat their food while they are in the water. There is only one problem: Grom's grow up.

Jay Dimartino was a great surfer from the time he was a kid. He is also one the funniest guys I have ever met. He could joke his way out of an electric chair. When he was coming up, we hassled him pretty hard. He moved to the North Shore of Hawaii and was known for charging in big surf. The first year I went to Hawaii, I insisted on looking him up. My friend Kevin, warned me not to go surfing with him. I really wished I'd listened.

The North Shore was too big to surf and we went to a spot on the east side called "Seventh Hole". You had to walk across a golf course to get to it. Way out in the middle of the ocean there was a wave breaking. Jay kept telling me I would be fine, but I became worried when Kevin refused to paddle out. Jay walked out on a limestone shelf and I followed. When we got half way across, he turned to me and said, "Don't step on the black things, they are urchins." I looked down and the entire shelf was black.

We paddled forever, and I never saw a wave break. We were in the middle of the ocean, when Jay sat up.

"Where's the wave?" I said to Jay, as he looked out to the horizon.

He pointed casually out to sea. Waves rose up out of nowhere. He caught one and I was out there by myself. The current was pulling me into the break. Set two came, and I was too far in. The wave unloaded on the shelf and eight feet of white water came towards me. I let go of my board and swam for the bottom. The water was crystal clear and, you could just watch it go over head and then surface. I came up, got a breath, and thought I dodged a bullet. Bubbles started coming up around me. The air pushed down into the reef, was now resurfacing. Suddenly, I was ten feet under water and figuring out, you can't swim in bubbles. I was in a hole in the reef, looking up confused at the rock walls. My cord was taught, and my board pointed skyward. I climbed my cord hand over hand, and pulled myself to the surface, just in time for the next wave to unload on my head. I was out of air, and in a full body adrenalin shake.

"This is it." I heard a voice say.

Luckily, there were only two or three waves to a set that day. I paddled back over to Jay. He was howling with laughter.

"Whadaya doin over there?" More laughter.

I caught one wave, and paddled for twenty minutes against the rip. Jay caught a wave, cruised past me, and laughed at how slow I was moving. I climbed onto the shelf like a drunk sailor and shuffled my feet through the urchin's. Kevin was there, shaking his head.

Jay writes about surfing for About.com. He is every bit as good a writer as he is a surfer. I haven't seen him since that winter in 1991. Karma sucks.

W.B.Z.N.

One Step Up, and Two Steps Back

I had a great ride Monday. It was like poetry, or flowing water. It was the closest I have come to zen. Art without effort.

Tuesday, I had the worst Bonk in memory. Tonight on the Joe's loop, no air and the familiar shaking hands. I am baffled by the experience. It is impossible for me to compute.

Tom Petty said it best;

"Talk on the street, says you might go solo!"

It's time for me to put in some lonely miles!

Out.

w.b.z.n.

The Road Goes On Forever and The Party Never Ends!

Joe's ride starts tonight. I wish I could share Worms Christmas Eve vibe. I have to admit, the scariest moments I have spent on a bike, were on this ride. I am twitchy on a road bike so, I cannot point and accusing finger at anyone for being a crappy handler. I cannot separate myself from the slow, unwashed mass. That said, I am not sure thinking about your health coverage is the best train of thought in a group of newbies, and over amped roadies, that can't contest a Food Lion sprint.

I long for the days when Big Ray, Snowman, Worm, and other regulars, kept us knuckle heads in line. Maybe this year will be different. I feel pretty good when I am surrounded by my friends. It looks like a lot of BP's will be in the hizzy, so maybe it will all be great. Where did I put those Rolaids?

W.B.Z.N.

Dear God, last nights ride was really bad. Please, in the future, if you could never let me feel that way again, I promise I will try to be a better person. The part I really never want to feel never, ever, again , is the part where my mind and my legs are not connected, and that dizzy feeling that would not allow me to control my bike, that was bad. Also I never want to see Big Worm, Jim Slade, and Porn Stash, go by me that fast ever, ever, again. God, why would you let two guys with no skills drop me on wet rooty trails? I just don't understand. There I was in the valley of death, with a very serious fear of evil, and..... well you know the rest. Also could you wipe that snide smerk off of Big Worm's face?

Thanks for listening.

w.b.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Many of you young whipper snappers may not remember "Slade". They wrote "C'mon Feel The Noise" which was covered by the very lame hair band, "Quiet Riot". Big Jim Slade (the bands name sake) is the dark haired one in the back. He wrote all the hit songs. He was/is a very competent musician, and yet he relegated himself to the back. He believed he wasn't good enough to be up front. It is a problem that still haunts him on our rides....tragic. Humble? Yes. Shy? Maybe. Insecure? Well, he wasn't breast fed, and I think we all know the damage that can cause. It was a genetic twist (no pun) that his wet nurse had inverted nipples. It really sucked (pun) for Jim, but for his wet nurse, it was an occupational nightmare.

Sunday, Jim had a bad ride. Bad like Lincolns night at the Ford theatre. First, he rode off a cliff, and then he tried to see what would happen if he went into a corner real fast, locked his front brake, and turned the bars. After that, he had to lay down for a little bit. Later in the ride, he tried to kill Big Worm by throwing his body in front of him. Worm seemed to think it was funny, but the rest of our gentile crew was horrified. Darien got the vapors!

Now the back story is, we made a pre-spring trade for the Slade. We shipped off one of our MVP's to Cali (because he was an uncaring twit) and in return we got the kind, likable, Slade. Now our crew is a lot like the Mob. We decide who comes in, and there is only one way out DEATH! That, moving, or not riding with us anymore.

Now Slade had a bad outing, and this is to be expected in the pre-season. Call it jitters, jinx or something else that starts with J. Crash (no pun) said it best in Bull Durham; "You gotta a million dollar arm and a nickle brain!" Now that has nothing to do with Slade, but it's my favorite quote from the movie.

Slade, you will suit up tomorrow, and you will ride, because you are with us now! Lube your chain, straighten out that puss (no pun) and we'll see ya tomorrow! We know where you live!

By the way, "Slade's" other big hit?

"Run, Run, Away".

Not this time Jim!

W.B.Z.N.

Might As Well Jump

The hardest thing about surfing in Hawaii (for me) was getting in and out of the water. It could be the difference between a magical day or a trip to the hospital. I had surfed the North shore the year before. Now I found myself at the jump off spot on Maili Point, feeling as though I had never been in the water. For some reason, my whole year was coming to a head. I was in a band I hated, my father had died that winter, I had just married, and now I was unable to get in the water. Some big decisions had to be made and made now. The boys in the parking lot were starting to notice my lack of resolve. I felt the pressure of their stares and the clock ticking on my life. I was thinking of what I would say to my brothers, also surfers, if I backed out. I was thinking of what I would say to my wife, if I got into trouble out there. The reef in front of me rose and sank away again. I watched the the white water hiss up to the ledge and draw back. I put my cord in my teeth, so it wouldn't snag on the rocks, and on the next wave, I jumped.

Once in the water, I paddled hard to get off the ledge and followed some guys out to the point. The next two hours were a blur. I was in and out of position, I had to fight the current to get back into a safe take off zone. I caught a few waves in between the bigger sets. Then a huge set came through while I was too far in. I looked up and all I could see was a big Hawaiian looking down at me on the first wave. I hesitated to see if he was going right or left. When I finally paddled left, he angled toward me and I panicked, pushed my board away, and dove for the bottom. When we came up our boards were tangled by the cords. He was giving me the Nanakuli death stare so, I took my cord off, pushed my board away to free him and hopefully, stop the inevitable beating. He sat between me and my board until a wave came through and took it away. He told me I was dangerous, invited me to leave, and paddled off. There was a lull, so I swam to my board and went in.

When you do something that scares you, everyday stuff doesn't seem like that big a deal anymore. It could be a century bike ride, quitting a job, a bully, pick your poison. In the end you have an arrow in your quiver no one can take away.

W.B.Z.N.