FROM PLAYA DEL REY TO HB PER, SURF IS UP!!
B
arney was as tough as a
tree stump, and as funny
looking, and from pure
instinct, I don't care who
you are, you'd laugh. Not out of
meanness; just out of gut reaction.
Barney stood at four feet ten inch-
es, just about five feet. His head,
neck, and upper chest belonged on
a man that would presumably
stand at six feet something. Well I
guess that don't make the most of
sense 'cause some tall guys have
little skinny heads or are scrawny
up in the shoulders. What I meant
to say was that Barney had short
legs I'm talking tiny-and a big
chest. He looked similar to the
Tasmanian devil on the cartoons.
Barney was up early since.
his father had no working car.
Barney offered to deliver him
to his job before sunrise.
Barney's dad worked at
LAX that stands for the Los
Angeles
International
Airport. Barney's dad was in
charge of driving the snake-
like luggage transporter.
"See you, Dad," Barney said.
His dad tapped on the hood.
"All right, son, be sure to
check the oil. Make sure the
car has water."
"Jesus, Dad," Barney said.
"It's my goddamn jalopy. I'll
do with it as I please."
"OK, son. I just thought I'd
remind you."
"OK. Thanks Dad," Barney
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said. "Thanks for remind-
ing me. Have a good day,
Dad." Barney sat there
watching his dad walk off.
Now that Barney had let
his dad off, he cranked up
the radio. It was stationed
on 106.7-that's KROQ,
the rock of the eighties.
Nothing good was on, so
Barney pushed in a cassette.
His song came on. He sang
with the tune as he circled the
airport and watched for the
Sepulveda Blvd South sign.
Barney's voice was shitty.
At least that's what he
thought, but it really was-
n't. As a kid they'd have
him sing at family get-
togethers. Each relative would
call out a request and he
would do it. "Panic in the
streets of carnival, it's dipple
dipps delay 'cause the music
they constantly play says
nothing to me about my life."
As Barney exited the tunnel
he slowed to a stop at a red light.
His window was down and his
voice was loud. "Hang the DJ,
hang the DJ, hang the DJ."
Suddenly Barney realized he was
not singing, but rather shouting. He
looked over to the right of his
junker and saw an older business
lady in her car watching him in his
own world, completely amazed.
She continued staring. This threw
Barney off. Suddenly his voice
halted and his face took on a look
similar to hers, only in his mind he
was thinking, "What's her trip?
Hasn't she ever seen someone
enjoy music before?"
Eventually the light turned
green and they both took off.
She, in a sports car, jetted out
eight to ten feet ahead with one
single acceleration. She was
driving a stick shift-Barney, an
automatic. A Ford LTD Deluxe
with power windows that still
worked. The only thing Barney
had over this woman, car-
wise, was that his was American
made-hers was foreign.
Being left in the dust subcon-
sciously made Barney feel horrible,
so the only thing he could do was
pull the big heap into a gas station
and check the water and oil. At
least he took time to look after his
car. He checked it all by himself;
while he was at it he checked the
air pressure too. Everything
seemed to be cool, all but a little
misting on the inside of the radia-
tor near the fan belts.
Barney closed the hood and got
back into the car. He didn't think it
would give him much of a prob-
lem. "Shit," he thought to himself.
"Life is a journey. You got to enjoy
the ride." He drove along, mostly
viewing landmarks, not noticing
other people's reactions to his out-
of-date semi-float. The names of
the things he passed by went
through his mind: the Ramada,
Corduroy Flower Store, H&R
Block, UMI Cineplex, Blockusher
Video. He was in Manhattan
Beach. When he hit Hermosa,
Barney knew there would be a
Jack-in-the-Box on the right. He
thought about going there, but it
was still too early. No daylight out
yet. Maybe a truck making a deliv-
ery there though. It was still too
early for morning traffic. Barney
loved the coast. He could remem-
ber far back as a kid driving up and
down the coast with his mom and
dad. Barney stopped eyeballing
landmarks and began to look at
cars. He felt bad. He wished he had
a place of work to go.
Speaking of work, Barney
opened up the glove compartment
and searched for his mini power
broker cassette he found on the
street. He listened to it once or
twice and I really motivated him,
so he was thinking about giving it
another try. Beep! The person
behind him honked.
"OK, OK, you prick. When I'm
the new JP Morgan JP Barney,
don't come knocking on my hood
for advice."
His car drove off. Suddenly there
was this clacking noise.
"Fucking prick, happy on the
horn son of a bitch." Barney
looked in his rearview mirror and
blamed whoever was back there
for the clacking noise. "If the prick
hadn't honked, I wouldn't have
tried to take off so fast. Can you
believe this shit?" Every so often
Barney talked to himself like that.
His LTD pulled into a Chevron.
Good thing the garage was open
so early. Barney pulled right up.
He put the car in park and left the
motor running. The clacking was
still there; Barney popped the
hood. When he did he immediate-
ly saw the problem. A long strip of
metal was hanging off the hood
and hitting the radiator fan. The
attendant at Chevron said, "That
piece of metal don't look like
nothing important. I'm sure you
could just rip that off and solve
the problem."
"Yeah," Barney said in a confi-
dent voice. "Just some reinforce-
ment steel probably."
"Yeah," the attendant said.
"Reinforcement steel."
The attendant and Barney both
worked together to remove the
steel trim. Don't think they're stu-
pid-Barney and the mechanic.
The motor was definitely turned
off before they tried to remove the
hanging trim of steel. After that
Barney tried to pay the
man, but he wouldn't
take any money.
"Come on," Barney said.
The man said. "All I did
was help you take it off."
"At least five," Barney
said. "Here's five. Come on, take it;
it's just my way of thanking you for
your help."
The mechanic looked at
Barney's car and then took the five
quietly. Now, all along the coast,
around PV, then across the
Vincent St Thomas Bridge, every-
thing was smooth. Then into Long
Beach, Belmont Shore, Seal
Beach, Sunset Beach, Bolsa Chica,
the cliffs. Barney's face was all
smiles. His junky ride had made it
to Surf City USA, AKA Huntington
Beach. By the time Barney got
there, the sun was tiptoeing into
our world's living room. Barney
saw guys crossing the street in
wetsuits with their boards in their
arms. Eventually the sound of the
surf and the smell of the air made
him pull it over. Right by the pier
he got out and walked over to the
pier. Wait a minute-it was too
early. The pier was closed. So
Barney watched the surfing from
the sand. He liked what he saw:
the speed and all the little guys out
there all huddled up in one area,
all waiting to catch the same wave.
Barney watched and tried to guess
which black little seal-looking
thing would catch the lift and get
pushed along. As one surfer was
coming out of the water, Barney
asked, "Catch a good ride?"
The surfer laughed. Barney
wondered if that surfer was fin-
ished for the day. He thought
maybe he could borrow his board
if he was. The guy walked too fast
and was gone before Barney
could get up the courage to ask.
After watching a couple guys
come and go, Barney could sense
the mood. Each guy kinda kept to
himself. If he saw another that he
knew, he'd just a scream a subtle,
"Hey ah Screwy," if that was his
handle. Then Screwy would look
over, very carefree, and say,
"How's it, Kava?" if Kava were
the other surfer's nickname. That
was how it worked.
Barney, itching to give it a go,
searched around in the
trash bins for a throw-
away board or some-
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thing. "Fuck, life is a journey."
Barney was trying to enjoy his ride.
After a good hour of searching,
Barney came up with a four-foot
section of half a board. Barney
lugged it back to his car, where he
planned on getting something
together. First he opened the back
trunk. His dad's tools were in there.
Barney could think fast like
McGyver. He could think of a res-
olution to the word solution. He's a
real wizard in the magical sense,
an admirer of Eric Wise, familiar
with Houdin, Rodin, and Sudan.
After Barney unloaded his father's
tool box from the back, he popped
the front hood. "You fucking
hood." He could see bits of instal-
lation hanging off, which probably
was hanging because he had just
removed a strip of metal that was
holding it in. Even though he
was angry it wasn't.
gonna bother him.
He unbolted the
latches
removed
and
two
CLARK FOAM
springs. Suddenly
the hood was able to
come away from the
car with no trouble.
A few people
watched Barney for a
second and then just
continued on with
what they were doing.
Barney couldn't help.
but imagine what he
would say to a police
officer if that should arise. "What,
officer? It's my junky car. I can do
with it what I please."
Now that the hood was off and
resting upside down on the side-
walk with the hinges sticking
upward, Barney worked fast so as
not to attract any heat. With his
right foot he kicked and busted off
the hinges. After those and all the
installation was clean torn off,
Barney examined it to see which
side was smoothest, the under-
neath or the top. Sometimes
Barney pretended to be dumb,
even to himself. It kept him hum-
ble. Of course-the top side is
smoothest. That was the side.
Barney chose to be the top of his
board. This hood was about seven.
or eight feet long. You ever seen a
Ford LTD? After Barney threw the
hinges, installation, and springs
into a dumpster, he rushed back
fast, always glancing to make sure
no one ran off with his dad's tools
THIS CLUNKERS
or his stripped hood or the big find
of the four-foot piece of Clark
foam. He was back now, trying to
figure where the foam should rest.
In the center? Or more towards the
back by his tail? By the tail, Barney
decided. Once the foam was in
place, he dug around in his dad's
tool box until he found some
quick-dry liquid cement. He need-
ed to make sure the foam wouldn't
budge when he tried to wrap the
steel hood around it. After Barney
thought the foam was stuck to the
hood securely, he bent the edges of
steel around the foam, using the
back trunk closed on it to give it a
straight, clean, even bend. It was
difficult, but Barney managed to
pull it off. Also he tried his best to
make it look like a surfboard. He
even broke off a side mirror and
stuck it to the bottom to try and
work as a fin.
Now with his board
complete, Barney head-
ed towards the surf.
Other surfers headed
towards the water
beside Barney looked.
at him and laughed.
Some made comments
and snickered. Barney
did not have a wet-
suit-he simply
ripped his pants into
shorts and as far as
traction goes, he did-
SGA66 n't use wax. He was
planning on surfing
with his tube socks on, pulled up to
his knees.
COOL
"Check out this barney!" Of
course, the surfers had no idea
that Barney was actually his
name. Most of the mean stares
and things, Barney shrugged off.
He was way too excited. He was
planning on having fun. The
waves looked good. When Barney
first got right up to where the
water was, he set his board down
and wet his feet. He watched the
other surfers that were out there
to see if he couldn't pick up any
helpful pointers from
absorbing. He watched
the ones he thought
had just called him by
his name paddle out.
"Hmm," Barney
thought to himself. He
saw how when the
white water came the
surfers disappeared and
then reappeared on the
other side of the white suds. "OK,"
Barney said to himself. "I think I
can do this." He picked up his
board and jumped into the water.
He was waiting to see how it float-
ed. Well, it floated OK. He then
paddled on it. He was amazed. He
did a good job shaping it! The
damn thing seemed to paddle
straight. Now here came a wave. It
broke. Barney saw the white. He
tried to go under it, but the damn
thing took his board and left him
behind. "Damn," Barney said to
himself as he moved around cau-
tiously trying to reach his feet to
the bottom of the floor. Another
surfer heading out was nearly
smacked by Barney's nicely home-
crafted board.
"Jesus, man," the other surfer
said. "What in God's name kinda
board is that?"
Barney, struggling not to swallow
water, answered the guy, "It's a car
hood wrapped around a broken
board. I made it myself."
The surfer, one of the only cool
ones out, told Barney, "Good luck."
Barney went under, touched
his feet, came back up, and
said, "Thanks."
After Barney swam back to shore
and retrieved his board, he
watched some more. "Fuck,"
Barney thought to himself. "I
should have made a leash." He
watched more and studied. This
business about going under the
white seemed impossible to
Barney. Finally he had an idea. It
seemed perfect. Here's
what it was: Barney
walked to the
entrance of the pier
where the fence was
closed and tossed
his
board
Barney wasn't wor-
GOOD FOR SOMETHING,
THIS STORY IS FOR MY UCLE TOM AND MY SURFER FRIENDS IN H.B VOLT CLONE COLT
over.
KI
ried about dings; the board was
practically all metal. After the
board clanked down on the other
side of the fence, he went over.
Once Barney was over he went to
where the waves were breaking.
He watched some more and
observed. He noticed how the
waves came in sets, and then he
noticed how a lifeguard truck was
stopped at the entrance to the pier.
Barney figured he had better do
something fast, so he jumped. His
board went first and then him.
"Fucking kook. Watch what the
hell you're doing," one dark-
skinned blondie said.
"I am. I couldn't paddle out so I
just jumped."
The guy spit on Barney. Barney
didn't notice the guy spitting on
him. He was way too busy trying to
position himself for the set of
waves about to come in.
"Look out, barney!" one tan fel-
low screamed.
Barney, surprised that the guy
knew his name, moved aside. The
next wave of that set was
approaching, and this one looked
good. Barney paddled his big buff
shoulders like there was no
tomorrow. Swoom! He was being
lifted by the wave. His face had a
big smile as he struggled to
stand. Finally he was up with
both his arms extended. He had
no trouble balancing.
"Fuck yeah!" Barney screamed as
the wave broke and he coasted to
the shore riding the white water.
-Mark Gonzales
BARNNIE
99