Dogcake and Tossum Purkey

Sleeping in the forest and drinking from mountain streams we're no more then slowly rolling eyeballs; observers of life who have little effect on the worlds we pass through.  Other then the flat patches of grass left by our tents no one would know we've come or gone.

But like everyone knows, some day's fall outside the bell curve of life, some days we have a dramatic impact on the worlds we pass through; and this, this was about to be one of those days.  So sit back, take a deep breath, grab the arms of your chair and get tense, this is not a pleasant tale, I should know, I was there.

But first, let me start with a funny story; how about I'll end with one too it will be a nice way to keep the mood light.

We didn't nick name it Gorgia, short for Gorgeous Georgia (pronounced Gore-gee-ah) for nothing.  Come to figure Gorgia's got everything, we as cycle tourists, could ask for; good friends, amazing weather, spectacular back roads, many of them hard pack dirt, exceptionally curtious drivers, varied terrain, swimming spots, good food, a church every ¼ mile equipped with a functioning outside tap so that you never need worry about water and most importantly, at least to us, a seeming infinite number of free camping spots; yes Gorgia is great for cycling!

On this particular afternoon we decided we'd had enough free camping nights in a row and that we'd venture into the Sinclare National Park campground on Lake Sinclare, happy to pay a small fee so we could swim and take showers.  With the Global Gallivanting moto being, 'Today is out lucky day!' this one fell in stride; the park was closed, to everyone but cycle tourists that is.  The heavy metal gate was locked a good ½ mile away from the camping and lake access so that anyone in a motorized vehicle probably would have just given the place a miss.  Not an entrepreneurial trio of cyclists; bicycles easily find their way under, over, around and through closed gates, there is no such thing as closed to a cyclists, yah, the reason we are on these slow, awkward, painful contraption in the first place.

With 50 or so perfectly flat spots to choose from it was hard to make up the collective mind but we, Mango, myself, and our good buddy Borgosie, ie Jim, who was joining us for his spring break from teaching, decided upon two that were hidden away from and snooping, nosy motorboatists but still only a few feet from the waters edge.  Time for a delightful dip and soap up with our hippie soap; who needs a shower, this is Gorgia and we are creatures of the earth!  Next up deep friend chicken fingers, salad, cornbread and 1.5 lbs of cream cheese coated carrot cake, we were stuffed, at least I was, 'purging' crossed my mind more then once. 

What better way to make room for the new arrivals then to visit the wwwoopp, world wide wonderland of outside places to poop.  Borgosie headed east and Mango and I west.  Unable to poo within close proximity of others I dug my hole an adequate distance from Mango.  CRASH!  BOOM!  BANG!   The forest erupts into a cacophony of sound.  Mango flips on her headlamp and scans the surrounding darkness.  Oh-my!  There are two golden beady eyes headed straight for her.  "A PIG!" she screams as she jumps up to run.  What can I do but laugh; there is Mango, pants around her ankles, managing 6 inches a step.  Then as abruptly as the racket began it ceases, ten feet from where she stood the eyes froze in space, apparently the 'pig' had only just spotted us and was as terrified of us as we of him. 

"What should I do?" whispered Mango.  "Umm…throw a stick at it?" I replied.  Only missing by a foot the beady eyes don't flinch, then don't even blink.  Who's ever out there is playing a very convincing 'dead'.  Finishing my business I sneak over for a closer inspection, it does look an awful lot like a pig but the culprit is actually an overfed Gorgia campground possum, haha.

Later on we learn that when possums get scared they do 'freeze' in their tracks and play dead.  That's why their carcass are covering the southern roadways; they step onto the tar, get scared, freeze up and wait to be run over.  We we're also told that old timers who supplemented their diet with possum meat would venture into the forests, make a lot of racket, scaring any nearby possums, then walk over and chuck em in a sack.

Ok, time for the bad story:

Dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs!  The South's got dogs; and lots of them of the wild, snarling, cyclists chasing variety.  Not that we don't have our fair share at home, we do, but nothing compared to the backwoods farmland of the South.  I figured as much and so have a handy dandy canister of mace zip tied right to my top tube ready to teach any dog who's keen a lesson.  Truthfully I've been kind of looking forward to the occasion, I want to see what this little can of 'moose juice' is capable of.

With attentive eyes and a pretty cruisey pace we usually manage to spot the vermin before they get very close and are able to scare them off with intense shouting.  It has been working so remarkably I haven't had an opportunity for macing.  We've actually gotten kind of blasé about the whole 'dog' problem, let em close in, shout really loud and they buzz off. 

The town of Cherokee, North Carolina is autonomous Native American land where gambling is legal; it looks like Wierse beach on steroids.  It is run down and dumpy except for the malls and the 30-story casino serving as the city's heart.  Half of the signs are about reporting child abuse, domestic violence, and voting no to alcohol.  All good things, yes, but on their own evidence that the people of Cherokee are fighting an uphill battle. 

It just so happens that Cherokee is the jumping off point for the Blue Ridge Park Way; the reason we're here in the first place, 600 miles of twisty mountainous roads and quiet National Park solitude.  Traversing through the town and up the river we discover that the first section of the BRPW is closed!  Some bull about tunnel repair, f, ok I guess there is such thing as closed to cycle tourists, darn.  Back down the river, through Cherokee again and onto a busy road around the closed section to the next place we can get on the Park Way, 20 miles on.  Ever think of posting a bloody sign?

Rt. 19, as we've found ourselves on, isn't that bad but it isn't that great either, steady-ish traffic, no shoulder but luckily it is pretty straight so the drivers can spot us a ways off; they aren't the only ones!

200 yards to our left, across a field filled with calf high grass, we can see a man working on his lawn mower or tractor, that I cannot remember that part clearly.  With him he has got two dogs.  Once we are perpendicular with him I actually think to myself, 'wow, the first guy on the trip with well behaved dogs, they are not even paying attention to us, nice work guy!" Come to find out they were not chasing after us because…they hadn't seen us yet.  Then they do, and it is off to the races, which can get to us first.  One's a big bulldog and the other a black mut, there is not much of a contest, the bull dogs legs are twice as long. 

Astonishingly the owner actually looks up to watch his dogs chase down two cyclists and doesn't even once try to call his dogs back, 'fucking redneck idiot', I mutter.  They are still a long way off but the closer the bull dog gets the more we realize, 'this dog means business, he ain't in it for the chase!'  His heckles are straight up, he's snarling like he's got rabies and he is coming at us as fast as he possibly can.  And he's not trying to come from behind like they typically do but he's going to hit us side on, like he's going to leap straight for one of our throats. 

In hindsight, fear certainly got the better of us, we should have just pulled off the road, stood behind our bikes and maced and stoned the bastard but we didn't, we speed up instead so that he couldn't actually hit us side on.

Crossing into the road the dog is only ten feet behind us, we simultaneous let out the loudest sounds we are capable.  For a moment he is undeterred and then unbelievably our second scream momentarily distracts him.  He dodges to his left, our right, straight in front of the car behind us, luckily the driver isn't on his phone and has actually been paying proper attention to the road and has already slowed down, having watched the whole seen unfold.  The driver taps his horn, I think in an attempt to try to scare the beast off the road and away from us but instead the dog dodges left yet again, this time into oncoming traffic.  The other drivers have also slowed but not enough; squealing rubber, blaring horns, 'thwack' and it is all over, glancing back I see blue tire smoke as the truck skids into the breakdown lane and nothing else but two dismembered dog legs lying abandoned in the road behind.

We are both badly shaken, I actually think that I might throw up, but don't.  So what do we do next?  You might not think it is the right thing to have done, a week after the incident, actually able to write about it, I don't really think that it was, but it is what we did.  Not wanting to have a confrontation with the redneck dog owner who just watched the whole thing happen or the driver of the probably smashed up truck and mostly not wanting to have anything to do with the mangled dog carcass; we lifted our chins, set our eyes on the horizon and kept peddling, neither one of us even looks back. 

For the next half hour I was positive the dog owner was going to pull up in his rumbling farm truck and either run us off the road or pull over and try to fight us.  I figured the mace would probably help out though what were we going to do next, mace some dude and then peddle off, we only average 8 miles an hour.  Ok, we'd mace him, tie him up with the string in my bag and then call the cops, shit this sucks!  But he didn't and screeching rubber was the last we ever heard of that horrible incident.

Back to fun:

A few days later, after having cycled on the BRPW proper for a hundred miles or so we find ourselves at the base of the largest climb of our trip. 13 miles of unrelenting up, a park ranger slows to wish us luck, says we'll need it, um thanks, I guess.  Some how it is already 4pm, we've been in the saddle for almost 7 hours and a mile into the climb we've both had it.  It is not a good thing to ride until you have both had it; decision-making breaks down, especially when you are looking for illegal places to camp.  Unlike the flat farm land of Gorgia, the mountains of North Carolina do not easily lend themselves to stealth camping.  There is basically no where flat; in the Blue Ridge Park Way if it's not uphill it is down hill.  Arg!  We start scouting for a flat piece of grass but there is nothing; we need one of those hangie rock-climbing cliff platforms for sleeping. 

Ah, ha! There is a stream passing under the road and beside it a hiking trail.  I duck down to check it out.  Descending the embankment on the other side, I glance back into the tunnel the goes under the road.  It is dark but I can see where some skate boarders have built a little bar to slide on, that is weird, and then further into the tunnel I spot two people, oh my, they appear to be partaking in some very rude public behavior, one is standing, one is not standing, wouzers!   Peering in for a closer look, why not, that's not it at all, they are spray painting graffiti on the cement walls, wait a minute, that is not it either, they are simply walking towards me.  Holly shit, we defiantly rode to far today, I'm loosing it.  I turn and walk the other way, watch them ascend the embankment, get in their car and drive off, just a couple of hikers.  We need to quit earlier tomorrow.

Sauntering down the trail I find a switchback with a landing just big enough for our tent! Yes!

After a good nights rest, Mango, being a tad gun shy, has dug a hole just on the other side of the tent.  CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH! Go the dried leaves; it is only 6:30am but there is undeniably a train of hikers already coming down the trail straight for us.  "Is that hikers?" Mango hisses.  "Sounds like it," I reply.  They couldn't be more then ten feet around the bend.  The crunching leaves are so loud now it sounds like someone might be playing a practical joke on us and has actually set up a speaker just out of sight and is blaring a crackling leaf recording.  Only time for one wipe, Mango whips up her pant, flicks some leaves over the hole and stands 'at attention.'  Then, not on the trail, but 20 feet uphill, in the woods what do we see…an e-freaken-normois turkey strutting his way along the turkey path, and then another, and then another, in front of us there are three of the largest turkeys on earth out for their mornings constitutional.

Love Mantis and Mango 

Get out there!

Should I go out? No definatley not! But I think I kind of want to. That doesn't matter, don't do it! Good point, looks dangerous doesn't it, and this is our last day, no need to get hurt on our last day, especially when tomorrow we start peddling our carcusas 1500 miles north from GA to NH. Holly Shit! Did you just see that guy on that wave, it was enourmous! And he just got completely wiped out. Wooo, check out the next wave in the set, it's even bigger and someone is going, hollllyy ssshhiiitt! Nice wave!  he even made it, wouzers! I have to get out there!  But remember what happened your last day in Indonesia, don't wana repeat that. Leash snapping first wave, big wave, ¼ mile out to sea, that was scary, real scary, and hello you were in your 20's then, you are not in your 20's now. Fk, ok, good point I certainly don't want to repeat that...Or do i? I mean, I lived, it was exciting, once id made it back to shore i had a good story to tell rachael.  I don't think I'd take the experience back; infact, no way would I take it back, does that mean I should do it again; well not deliberately of course, no one's gunna let their leash break to find out if they can really swim to shore.  But should i go out with the distinct possibility of that happening. Ahh, we've been standing here watching these waves for an hour. If you are going to do it, do it! Does seem to be getting better out there.  I wish I had 'my' surfboard here, but instead our two good boards are on their way back to NH, curtasy of the parents, and all we've got for our last few hours in PR is this fat, wide, little wave board that we only take out when it is tiny. Just brought it along incase the surf was small and we wanted to take turns in the little waves. Not the case, not at all. Numbly all I've also got is this narrow gauge competion leash, I sent the other two bigger wave ones with the boards, sht!! That means if I go out the board is going to be difficult to duck dive and if I fall the leash will probably break, arg.
Look, you've got to surf two or three times a day for the past month, you've had an amazing trip, countless waves, neither of us have been hurt, lets keep it that way, just pretend like you don't have that crappy board in the car with you and enjoy watching the other guys out there. Ok, breath deep, enjoy the show… nooooo I absolutely do not enjoy watching other surfters get bigger and better waves then im getting.
I feel like im going crazy here! I have to get our there! Fk it! I'm going out! My mind is made up.  Instantly now I've got to visit S.P.S. one last time. Digger rock is still there, sniffie dog and police man apparently didn't take it as evidence, haha.
Wax up, rashie on, toes in the water, one last chance to reconsider, no way, it is on! "Try to time it right" hollers Rachael from the beach. Good idea, that is the way we, as surfers, always try to do, time your entry into the water to coenside with a lull in the waves so you can make it out the back with out being munched. But how in the heck am I supposed to do that, out the back is a ¼ mile straight out into the middle of the ocean. Paddling that far could very well take me 20 minutes or longer depending on how 'lucky' or 'unlucky' I am at timing my entry.
Another surfer walks by me and plops in with out even scanning the horizon, that was dumb, I can actually see there is a huge set only minutes away, you are going to regret that.
I see my window, leap on and paddle like hell. My arms are going hard but my mind is clear, nows my chance to reflect, why am I out here when i could be safely on shore? Good question, maybe some desire to feel alive, which i do!
Duck dive, duck dive, duck dive, I hope a big one doesn't come, I hope a big one doesn't come, duck dive, duck dive, duck dive, I know this leash won't hold if a big one comes, duck dive, duck dive. Look over my shoulder to judge my progress, I'm getting there but the cross current has washed me a few hundred yards off point, Paddle, Paddle.
Hahahah, with a guilty feeling I make it to the spot where the other surfers are sitting.  Yes! Though this by no means guarantees my safety as they are only guessing too as to where the next set is going to break. And when you are a ¼ mile to sea and there is a cross current it is a total crap shoot. Though they do always love to sit in a pack, 'lemming', I think as I paddle another 50 yards further out.
Sitting up and glancing to shore, my lemming pack isn't much of a pack after all, infact there are only three other guys in the water, all on really long big wave boards, they smile and nod as I look their way. I take it back, you're not lemmings, sorry boys, infact, 'did they just nod and smile' you seem like nice guys. Surfing bigger waves is weird, there are 50 plus people on shore watching thinking about going out but once you take the risk and make it out the back and there are only four of you, you feel a kind of bond with the other people in the water. 'Hey brothers' I think as I nod back.
Then the waves start rolling through, no time for nestalga now! I am talking big walls of water, if I tried to describe how big it felt youd for surly think me a fool so I won'Should I go out? No definatley not! But I think I kind of want to. That doesn't matter, don't do it! Good point, looks dangerous, and this is our last day, no need to get hurt on our last day especially when tomorrow we start peddling our carcusas 1500 miles from GA to NH. Holly Shit! Did you just see that guy on that wave, it was enourmous! And he just got completely annialiated! Wooo, check out the next one in the set, it's even bigger and someone is going, hollllyy ssshhiiitt! Nice wave! And he even made it, wouzers! I have to get out there! Remember what happened last day in Indonesia, don't wana repeat that. Leash snapping first wave, big wave, ¼ mile out to sea, that was scarry, real scarry, and hello you were in your 20's then. Fuck, ok, good point I certaintly don't want to repeat that! Or do i? I mean, I lived, it was exciting, I don't think I'd take the experience back, infact, no way would I take it back, maybe that means I shold do it again; well not deliberately of course, no one's gunna deliberately let their leash break to find out if they can really swim to shore. We've been standing here watching these waves for an hour. If you are going to do it, do it! Does seem to be getting better out there. Ahhhhh! I wish I had 'my' surfboard here but instead our two bigger wave boards are on their way back to NH, curtasy of the parents, and all we've got for our last few hours in PR is this fat, wide, little wave board that we only take out when it is tiny. Just brought it along incase the surf was small and wanted to take turns in the little waves. Not the case, not at all. Numbly all I've got also is this narrow gauge compition leash, I sent the other two big wave ones with the boards, shit!! That means if I go out the board is going to be imposible to duck dive and if I fall the leash will probably break, arg.

Look, you've got to surf two or three times a day for the past 34 days, you've had an amazing month, countless waves, neither of us have been hurt, lets keep it that way, just pretent like you don't have that crappy board in the car with you and enjoy watching the other guys out there. Ok, breath deep, enjoy the show… nooooo I absolutely do not enjoy watching other surfters get bigger and better waves then me.

I am going crazy here! I have to get our there! Fuck it! I'm going out! Instantly now I've got to visit S.P.S. one last time. Digger rock is still there, sniffie dog and police man apparently didn't take it as evidence, haha.

Wax up, rashie on, toes in the water, one last chance to reconsider, no f'in way, it is on! "Try to time it right" hollers Rachael from the beach. Good idea, that is way we, as surfers, always try to do, time your entry into the water to coenside with a lull in the waves so you can make it out the back with out being munch. But how in the hell am I supposed to do that, out the back is a ¼ mile straight out into the middle of the ocean. Paddling that far could very well take me 20 minutes or longer depending on how 'lucky' or 'unlucky' I am at timing my entry. Another surfer walks by me and plops in with out even scanning the horizon, that was dumb, I can actually see there is a huge set only minutes away, you are going to regret that.

I see my window, leap on and paddle like hell. Nows my chance to reflect, why the f am I out here? Good question, I have no idea, maybe some desire to feel alive, which you do, when you test yourself with the earth, but I am and there is no turning back, well actually I could easly turn back but I aint gunna, so I PADDLE! Duck dive, duck dive, duck dive, I hope a big one doesn't come, I hope a big one doesn't come, duck dive, duck dive, duck dive, I know this leash won't hold if a big one comes, duck dive, duck dive. Look over my shoulder to judge my progress, I'm getting there but the cross current has washed me a few hundred yards off point, Paddle Paddle.

Hahahah, with a guitty feeling I make it to the spot where the other surfers are sitting. Which by no means guarantees your safety as they are only guessing too as to where the next set is going to break. And when you are a ¼ mile to sea and there is a cross current it is a total crap shoot. Though they do always love to sit in a pack, 'lemming', I think as I paddle another 50 yards further out.

Sitting up, my lemming pack isn't much of a pack after all, infact there are only three other guys in the water, all on really long big wave boards, they smile and nod as I look their way. I take it back, you're not lemmings, sorry boys, infact, 'did they just nod and smile' you seem like nice guys. Surfing bigger waves is weird, there are 50 plus people on shore watching thinking about going out but once you take the risk and make it out the back and there are only four of you, you feel a kind of bond with the other people in the water. 'Hey brothers' I think as I nod back.

Then the waves start rolling through, no time for nestalga! I am talking big walls of water, if I tried to describe how big it felt youd for surly think me a fool so I won't. Go, yahoo, shouts another surfer to me as a peak comes my way, hhhoooolllyyy ssshhhiiiittt goes through my brain this time as I take the drop. My adrenalina is pumping and I'm prepared for something like a shark attack to take place, on the contrary, it is no different from surfing little waves, you've just got a huge wall of water to carve around on with a little more conciquence. Now I know why I'm out here, "THIS IS IT!" Just like in the dream only real this time! Another right, then a left, a really nice left! Then a huge one, I paddle, I'm not going to make it, I pull off, my board is sucked out from under me, for a moment I'm a plastic figure frozen in time, my board is on its way down while I'm perched atop the falls. Unfreeze, I back stroke like I've never backstroked before and luckily for me, the wave releases its tentacles and I shoot back, my board pops up as the giant rolls on. FEW! And the leash held! YES!

Another wave, paddle, drop, burry the nose, free fall, fuck! This is going to suck! 2.2 liters, that is the volume of air in my lungs, (I know because once I took a how big are you lungs test, mine were bigger then average) I'm going to need it, boom!, I hit the bottom of the wave, woosh, I'm ready for the wash cycle to begin, only…it doesn't, some strange current pops me up behind the breaking wave, that was a first, though it still has my board, my leg is being tugged pretty hard, certain the leash will break I close my eyes, only today really is my lucky day, my board pops and my leash is in tack, only it is 12 feet long instead of its usual 6. Typically they stretch and then recoil but this one's been overstretched and certainly won't take that kind of pull again. Which means, DO NOT FALL! Shit, that's a tough one, no one ever means to fall, sometimes it just happens.

You might think that I would have thought, I've had my rides, I've been luckly, this is my chance to get out surfboard intact and injury free. But surfers don't think like that so I paddled back out.

Another wave; turn off the back and what do I see but the largest wall of white water I've ever been placed infront of before. No way I'll be able to duck dive it, my board will be stripped, washed in, smashed on the razor sharp coral and I'll be a bobbing pea in a stormy fishbowl; or I could turn for shore, take a deep breath and hold on. I opt for the later, lots of times the wave will engulf you, strip your board any ways and you'll still be a lone pea but not this time, I'm spit out of the frothing giants mouth at mock 2 and I point for the 6 foot wide safe exit from the sea. I miss it and have to drift 10 minutes west to the only other safe exit, don't miss this one, I don't. A bit of blood on my ancle but other then that I'm fine, infact I'm much more then fine! I AM ALIVE and I KNOW IT! Wouldn't take that back for anything!!

As I get to the car Rachael gives me the thumbs up and sprints off in the direction I've just come, shouting she's going to try and save some guys board. That same set I got washed in on apparently snapped his leash and left him a lone pea. I feel bad but there is nothing much I can do to help my brother of the sea except wish him the same luck he'd wish me were our leashes swapped.

Rachael rescues his board, though its been severly bashed on the coral and he climbs safetly from the fish bowl. First thanking Rachael the next thing he says is, "gotta go find another board so I can get back out there!" Sounds like he wouldn't take it back either.

Love Mantis and Mango

SLIFE

 Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' Oh my god! The waves are perfect! The swell is head high, the wind is off shore, we're the only two people out, the ocean is hot, the waves are endless! 'Groan!' Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' As soon as we paddle back out there is always another wave right there for us! 'Groan!' Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' Unbelievable, neither of us has even fallen once. Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' Rachael's cut back looks amazing! 'Groan!' Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' Just did the nicest floater of my life! Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' What the hell is that obnoxious 'Groaning' noise? Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' The water is so clear we can see all sorts of fish , turtles and colorful coral under us. Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' Shoot, the wind is just starting to pick up. 'Groan!' Nice drop in Rachael! Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' I never knew waves even got this good. This is the best I've ever surfed in my life! The wind is getting really strong, yet some how the waves are still perfect! Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' I love surfing! PR is amazing! We're moving here! 'Groan!' That 'Groaning ' sound is starting to get on my nerves! Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!' Shit, the wind is approaching gail force yet the waves continue! Weeeeee!

 'Swosh'. A gust of wind blows the curtains back and light streams onto my face. Hu? What on earth is a curtain doing out here in the surf with us? Hold on, why am i horizontical?
 O wouzers! I'm in bed, that was a dream. Damn!
 Smack, 'Groan!' Woops! Paddeling to catch these perfect dream waves my arms have been flailing around whacking into the nearby wiffie. It is she that has been emitting those 'Groaning' sounds every time she's hit, though oddly she doesn't seem to have woken up.
 Once it sneaks into your subconscious it is a part of you, you are a part of it!
 I am surfing, surfing is me!
 'This is it', i thought as i drifted off to sleep, 'life doesn't get any better!'
 Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave, Wave! 'Groan!'

 Love Mantis and Mango!

Back Up Poo Lizard Smuglers

Down to our favorite surf haunt, Wilderness, aptly named for its location; at the end of a the most arcane of roads at which point you find yourself appropriatly in the midst of Puerto Rican wilderness.  Minus the fact that you are or on the airport runway aproach path which has full sized comercial jets passing a few hundred feet overhead.  Minorly alarming but you get used to it.   The waves where throat high but so were the rice, beans, chicken, potato salad, coalslaw and papaya juice we'd just scarfed, as such a little RnD was necessary, rest and digestion that is.   Mieandering to our daily shade, 'hey check that out, a boat washed up on the rocks, ha must have been a fishing boat that floated off its morig, kind of odd seing as yesterday was the smalled surf and the least wind in a month, hum...be right back, gunna pee in the jungle.' 'Come check this boat out!  It is constructed of 2x6"s and sheetrock screws.' Woo wierd boat you're right!  2x6 framing with the worst grade 1 inch pine planking i've ever seen all held haphazardly together with ungalvizined sheet rock screws.  Puerto Rican fisherman must not put much value on their lives, i'd bet those screws would rust out in a  matter of days; something don't add up.   Four wheelin', many a Puerto Rican's most beloved past time.  Come the weekend come the demons.  Trailers filled with every sort of four weeling machine you can think of.  Ones for 6 people, ones with cromed everything, custom exhaust, monster truck tires, air horns, police sirens, weelie bars, front break lockout so you can do endless burnouts, muffler disconnect for quarter mile radius croud deffening.  If you can think of it, it probably already exists.   So...out in the water when a normal looking four weeler with a helmet clad rider and more suspiciously quiet exhause comes cruzing down the goat track we figured something must be up!  This became poiantly more apparent when he got a bit closer and we could see his full camo machine, army fatigues, blacked helmet and bullet proof vest, 'someting tells me this isn't your average drunk suicidal red neck Puerto Rican rev-monger! One bike, two bike, one truck, two truck, two men, four men, six men, eight men, gun men, rubber gloved men, camera men and sniffer dog too.  The boat was certaintly getting its 10 seconds of fame!  Things were becoming a bit clearer; dat ain't no washed up Puerto Rican fishing boat, built with sheetrock screws for a reson i'd say, a purpos built one voyage vessel.  I wonder if they were smuggling drugs? I very well might be the only surfer on the planet torterued with this affliction but when ever i get to a surfspot and there are waves, 'i gotta poo!'  No exception!  It doesn't matter that i didn't have to go before seeing the waves, it doesn't matter that i just visited the jon 10 minutes before getting there.  Maybe excitement makes my body excrete intestine lubing juices, i don't know but there is no denying it.  Sometimes I try to ignoor the urge but usually  it just can not be ignoored.  Frequently i find myself ducking into the woods before a surf.  At this preticular location, Wilderness, it has been happening so frequently that i've now staked out my own secret poo spot with a secret poo hole digging rock hidden at the beginning of my path.  I'd prefer not to poo in the woods if avoidable, not in the least because i dislike pooing in the woods, infact i love pooing in the woods, sometimes i poo in our yard back home just for fun, but because once i see there are good waves i just want to get out there and surf, not screw around out in the woods trying to dig holes with a rock.   A couple weeks ago, before I'd staked out my secret poo spot, i chose to ignoor the urge to poo.   After an hour out there in the surf i could no longer concentrate on the waves, all i could think about was not pooing myself.  All of a sudden it became apparent that i had T-45 seconds to 'blast out'.  You can paddle pretty far in 45 seconds but not all the way to shore with enough time to ditch the board and dash into the woods.  I only had one choice, get as far down current of the other surfers as i could in the time I had left and do an aqua poo.  Ahh...Not actually all together that unpleaset of an experience, almost enjoyable really.  Strange salt water burning sensation but that went away quite quickly. So this preticular day, before getting in the ocean, I visited secret spot and what did i find?...My private space had been invaded...What the f'...all my poos had been dug up had totally vanished, only a few tattered pieces of toilet paper (biodegradable of course) remained.  Who the?...What the?...Where's my poo gone?...I've never encountered a poo theif before!  Aaa Haa!  Closer inspection revealed the culpret, surrounding my secred spot where lizard tracks everywhere, apperently my poo had been eaten.  How Lovely!! "You're going to get in trouble!   You're going to get in trouble!" chanted Mango while we bobed around in the ocean waitin for another wave.  "You took evidence from a crime sceen and sniffer dogs gunna find where you put it and then they're gunna arrest you!"  Come to think of it, I had picked up a bunch of rubbish from around the boat, two stroke engine oil quarts and Malta India bottles.  "Yah but I didn't know it was a crime sceen."  "Sniffer dog doesn't care!  He's going to get you the instant you get out of the water!"  "Shit!" A couple hours later, arms turned to rubber, we got out of the ocean.  Sniffie didn't even take notice.  Crazy wife, always trying to get me in trouble!  The investigators were still combing the boat for evidence and sniffie and his men were out snif sampling the surrounding jungle.  Quite certain I would not actually be arrested if i fessed up about removing vital evidence from a crime sceen before they figured it out themselves i walked off in their direction.  Only as i started approching sniffie got a sent and they all headed the other direction.  Not wanting to make a sceen and break out into an all out run i followed at a moderate saunter.  Then they were around the corner and out of sight.  "Excuse me!"  I hollered, thinking it might be even wierder if i continued into the woods following them.  Rounding the bend, sniffie had found something... Sniffie had come across the secret rock i use for digging my poo holes and was giving it a very serious investigation.  Ahhh?...There, flashed before my eyes, i could see the future.  In a few steps sniffie was going to connect poo rock to me, unable to speak he'd yap to the gun toting investigators that i was poo rocks owner, confused, they would think I was the drug smuggler trying to sneek up on them and then right there i would be arrested and thrown in jail.  "F' me!" i thought "avoid approaching sniffie at all costs!" "Yes" came the reply to my holler.  "Ohh...um...hello...just wanted...ahhh...to let you...ahh...know...um...that well...ahh..yes...over there..."  "Sir, are you ok?"  (shit now they are suspicious)  Taking a few steps back, "I found some bottles near the boat, thought they might be important."  Just then sniffie leaves the rock, spins a 360....  "Nah, but thanks."  The gun toters replied.  And then you wouldn't believe it, sniffie locks onto my secret poo spot trail and pulls the men off with him.  "K, see ya", i casually turn take a few steps and then book it. The End... Turns out the boat was indeed a smuggling boat, but not for drugs like we had initally thought sniffie was after, but people.  We were later told by locals that sometime up to one hundred Hatians (i think that may had been an exaduration) will cram into boats like the one we'd sceen in an attempt to cross from the Dom. Republic to Puerto Rico.  We were also told that suposidly if they make it they can simply present themselves to border patroll and they are granted refugee status, though this by no means explains why sniffie and his men would have been hunting them down.  Humm... Love Mantis and Mango

Gun man

> --'CRACK!' A deafening shock wave shatters the still afternoon silence. Instantly we are both face down in the sharp thigh high grass. "What the fuck was that? Holly shit that guy leaning out the window right there just fired his riffle! Lets get the f out of here!" Army crawling we sneak back into the thick wall of jungle from which we've just emerged, snap to our feet and book it. Not that there is any need as the jungle is so thick there is no way the gun man would have any bloody idea where we've gone but the adrenaline is pumping so run we do. Back through the spiky vines, past the thorny trees and over the rust barbed wire Rachael previously cut herself on, to the edge of the ravine we'd just scaled and where I'd said," good thing we arnt gunna have to decend this thing, might be impossible!" --

>

>

>

> On our 22nd day in paradise it happened, (no the swell didn't die), i rolled out of bed, my sholders sounding like unoiled wwll tank treads, and feeling the same way, i declaired," TODAY WE ARE RESTING!" With no voiced opposition the declaration was ratified and we promptly fell right back to sleep. Yes!

> Only after some food and caffeen, what were we to do? I was totally fine with a rest day from surfing but not a rest day from adventure! Every idea we came up with had to be shot down simply because they all involved driving, and getting in the car on a rest day just seemed wrong. Hum?... That didn't leave many options, snorkeling or walking and there was to much swell for snorkeling so all we had left was walking. We'd already walked west...we'd already walked east...we wernt walking north unless Mosis showed up but we hadn't walked south. And, well, that was for the obvious reason as south of us there was one small road to cross and then untamed jungle, and from the looks of it about half mile or so back the jungle went vertical, up an imposing band of cliffs which were topped with a string of million dollar mansions.

> "Rachael, grab your flipflops, we're going south; in hindsight I'm not sure why we did not bother to consider trading our flipflops for some real foot wear, maybe simply because we hadn't unpacked them yet, but we didn't.

> "Ha, this is going to be easy, look I've already found us a track!"

> "Some track huzzie, more like a dump!"

> "What's that? Oh, yah, a fridge with its shell torn off leaving exposed yellow foam insulation. Eww, a decomposing trash bag filled with baby dipers! Yuck!" Microwave, printer, bags of leaves, an old phone, tv used for target practice, cans, the springs of an incenerated bed.

> "I'm sure glad we didn't go to the waterfall, or the caves, or the worlds largest radio telescope, or snorkeling, or god forbid layed on the beach and read our books!"

> Lucky for me the trash heap dried up and our surroundings began to resemble real jungle, complete with everything a proper jungle should have, including a seemingly outrageous number of vines, of the large, small, thick, skinny, prickley, spikey, and stingy variety. We wern't simply walking, more like someone from one of those Matt Damon heist films thats released dryice smoke so that they can see all the red lazer beams they have to contort themselves around to succesfilly snatch the jewles. Over, under, around, through, snag, ouch, wait for rescue,as people with long hair seem to get caught more often then those with shorter hair.

> Lookie, lookie here. Another path, or do i mean...road. Hum, that is odd, seemingly growing from nowhere we are on PR widest and smoothest, doubble yellow lined freeway. Keep right wouldnt want to encounter any oncomming traphic. Not much debate, its a lot easier then tromping in the jungle so we follow. How bizare, it goes for a few hundred meters and then ends as abruptly as it began, only it dumps us into a field of chest high jungle grass. Seems like the road was part of some development that never got off the 'vine' and our field is clear cut jungle housing plots that never got built on.

> The grass is alarming to walk on, its substructure is so intertwined that it can support our weight and gives the sensation of walking on a squishy cloud except that you never really know when there might be a cloud void and sometimes your legs just disapear. 'So glad we're not wearing shoes!'

> Wild bananas and papayas, yum yum! Now a meir hundred feet from where the jungle goes vertical and then with out warning the cloud density begins to exponentially decrease with proximity to the cliff. All four legs vanish and the only thing keeping us from dropping right through is our crotches, 'i knew my huge crotch would prove useful one of these days!' We've discovered where they piled the clearcut jungle, directly underfoot. Parting the grasses and peiring down we can see voids large enough for genuine Hudenie disapearing acts, zouzers! On all fours the going is much easier.

> Now for the up and up, beer cans and cement blocks are testimate to the explorers who have braved this nasty ravine before us. OUCH! Flipflops provide little protection from the tangle of rusty barbed wire Rachael has just discovered.

> Slip, skid, grab, pull, slide, crouch, duck, yank, bob, wieve, tumble, horizontal, we made it, no rock climbing moves necessary, that wasnt so bad. There is daylight beaming through the dense jungle just ahead.

> Miraculously we managed to pop out in one of the empty fields surrounded by ceo second homes, how lucky, the view is spectular, the going is easy, none of the homes even appear occupied, we have got full run of the place. Over, under, around and through barbed wire fences, past an old PR man tending his crops who looks up long enough to say 'buena', and past another young man calling his cows to change fields. Back on some side streets we clock up 5.37 miles, of course i brought a gps, haha, before we bump into our surf buddy who offers us a ride home, we graciously accept, thanks Edwin.

> Bakery time!

>

> Later over lunch upon discribing where we'd just ventured our waitress exclaimed," i know just where you were, i live right by there, you are lucky that guy wasnt home, he has threatned trespassers in the past, nasty man!"

> So where does the alledged gun man sceen come into play you ask? Haha, actually it doesn't...that was a bit of parallel universe hypothetical extrapolation bullshit! But if you read this far then the gun man scene served its purpose, make a surf bums life sound a bit more thrilling.

> Love Mantis and Mango

>

Chickens

Strange Handwriting

Sales pitch

Sales pitch! Want a tan? Wana swim? Want to relax? Want to surf? Eant a different culture thats not to different? Want the jungle? Want to explore caves? Want good food? Want to try out your spanish? Want amazing bakery cheese pasteries? Want to be salty? Want the heatt? Want the sun? Want your spanish hair to go blonde? Want to waide waist deep in a protected cove drinking a beer while watching the surfers? Want to listen. To salsa? Want to stay ten feet from the ocean? Wamt to make it come true? Then get your ass to Puerto rico! It's close.  It's cheep tp get here.  Three twenty bucks from Boston. No u cant stay with us but there are empty aptz in the same complex. Plus we know others near by. Dont live vicariously through us. Come live vicariously through yourself. Call in sick for a week. We are here until march thirty. Everyday is 82 and sunny. Everyday the waves are great. Our place even vame with a huge deep fryer. What the hell are you waiting for. Get your ass down here and we will cook you up some mofongo.
Love mantis and mango.

Dia numero uno

Electric hot water off. Furnace down to fourty f. Lock front door. Zurfboards under aems. Walk downtown. Shiver in our sandles and summer atire. Hop on bus. Boston. Smile real big. Check surfboards for free. Tortous night flivht. Smooth landing. Puertoricans cheer and clap. Charlie var rental. UnlOck front door. YES. Sleep to sound of pounding surf. Wake at two pm. Hot hot hot. Fifty spf everywhere. Doubble overhead. Nervious. One goes surfing. One uses better judgement. Turtles. Reaf. Sun. Heat. Spanish. Waves. Waves. Big waves. Safe on shore. Stock shelves. Tacos. Rum. Read. Sleep
Sorry bout spelling. Typing on a smart phone is a b.
Love mantis and mango

Mantis and Mango; THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES!

Wouzer!  I can't believe that again another year has vanished.  "Yet in some ways i still feel like my stomach is still full of pistashieos. Ha"

But alas it has and we are off on another adventure!!  Ooo? "Where are they going?"  You might not believe it, or if you read all of last years Indian stories you might.  

Usually about November, December we start brain storming the most ridiculous adventures we can think up and then in the end we pick the one that everyone says, "don't do that, it sounds horribly dangerous, and possibly not even fun, you'll get sick for sure."  "We'll show you", we say.  "Mantis and Mango can make anything fun!"  And.. Usually we do!  And..  It's always fun, though there are always moments when we think, "shit, they were right, this is dangerous, why again are we here?"  "O yes, in the name of Adventure!"

Well on that note.  November and December conjured up these ideas;

1.  Fly back to Indonesia, purchase a 125cc motorcycle a couple of surfboards and attempt to island hop it east to Timor and then south 3 or 4 thousand miles through the desert to Rachaels home town.  

2.  Meet our friend Will, who is currently cycling around the world, in the Stans part of the world and ride with him for a few months

3.  Cycle N to S through South America, emm, that was high up on the list

But then the more we thought about it all we really wanted to do was surf!  Not just here a surf, there a surf, but, everywhere a surf, surf!  We wanted to get back to our roots.  We wanted to be surf bums!!  We wanted no responsibilities!  We wanted salty skin! We wanted dirty hair!  We wanted tans!  We wanted warm water!  We wanted the sun!  We wanted to shut our brain off and not think about anything but the most important thing, surfing!  We wanted to wake up and go surfing!  Eat breakfast and then go surfing!  Take a nap, drink some tea and then go surfing!  We wanted to nap in the hammock, read our books and then surf with the setting sun!  We wanted to take our passion back!

Goodness me.  That really should be so difficult.  Pick some where with a high surfing potential for the month of feb and march, get there and don't leave!  

Emm?  Central america, been there, loved it, but already been there.  Hawaii, lots of surfing, but lots of surfers, and aggressive surfers at that.  California, emm, to cold.  South America, ooo, to much adventure involved.  Indonesia, yes, indonesia, the surf meca, but we already been there and it is 24 hours and 1200 dollars away, ahh darn.  Brazil, em, nope.  Florida, to small.  

Yes!  I've got it!!  Why didn't we think of this in the first place.

Starts with P ends with O.  No it is not Poo!

Puerto Rico!!  It is close! The are tons of waves! Its cheap to get there.  The sun it shining in PR!!

There you have it.  We're not venturing so far from home this year!  We've rented a house on the ocean, on the surfs up side of Puerto Rico for five whole week!!  

And along with our trusty surf boards we'll be living the surf bum dream!!

Who knows, if every thing goes to plan, and all we do is surf, i might not have much to write about, but then again...nothing ever goes to plan!  It could go flat for a year, we could have a hurricane, tsunami, earthquake, military cue, taken hosage, ooo geee, maybe we should stay home!  I don't think so!

Puerto Rico here we come!!

To the point...i'm sending this email to make you aware that more may be on there way.  But more importantly every year after the adventure has begun i get quite a number of folks asking me if i'd mind adding so and so to my email list.  No, i don't mind at all!  The more people reading nonsense the better.  But once we are on the road the internet isn't such a certain thing and so it is far easier for me to add peoples email address to my group list before we go.   So, if you know anyone who you feel might appreciate this type of b grade literature please send their email address to me and i'll be sure to add them to the list. 

O yes and one other thing...I know i mentioned it at the end of our Indian adventures, it wasn't finished then, but now it is.  Mantis and Mango have their own blog site.  This means if you are ever hanging out, thinking, i'm board, i wish i had something to read...now you can read any old mantis and mango tale you wish.  Not that i really expect anyone too, i mostly did if for my self so that i can keep all my creations in one place, but it is there and you are welcome to it!  Not to mention they are also accessible on all your smart phones out there, ooo!  I made it mobile device compatible!

go to     http://globalgallivanters.blogspot.com/

O yes and the other other thing.  As if 5 weeks of surf bumming in PR weren't enough we're cycling our bicycles a few thousand miles from Georgia back to Plymouth through the mountains so i'm sure there are bound to be some tales.  

Love Mantis and Mango

Here's a few photos a what we got up to in 2011