The Fabulous Bake(d) Boys

I knew there was going to be trouble when I called the night before for directions to the shop location for my sunrise bike ride down Waimea Canyon. The guy on the phone, who turned out later to be Evan, told me, "yeah, we don't have interstates out here, so whatcha need to do is get on a road that looks big enough to be a highway, roll down the window, and stick your hand out. When it gets cold, that means you're getting toward the ocean and you're close."

I wanted to say: "so you would like me to drive over an hour across your unfamiliar island wilderness at 4:30 am with no sun nor streetlights to guide me, along a road that might look like a highway and will feel 'cold' when I stick my hand out of the window. Are you high?"

Instead I asked politely. "Is there some kind of landmark, so I'll know to stop?"

"Oh sure, sure. There's a yellow submarine." And then he snickered at his own clever little pop culture reference.

Against all better judgment, I rose at 4:15 the next morning, stumbled into the rental car, an absolute magnificent P.O.S. and took my best guess as how to proceed. To be fair, I knew the place was in Poipu so I headed that way as indicated by a small green sign that was roughly the size of a checkbook and obscured by reeds. I did not roll down the window immediately because it was pitch dark out and the road looked like the opening scene of a horror movie where a forgettably pretty girl is cruising down some country road, singing some girly chick empowerment song (totally off-key because somehow that's endearing) and a stranger steps into the road, she swerves, crashes in the embankment. Dazed from the crash she gets out of the car and runs off into the dark woods, only to be cut down in gruesome fashion by a maniac with a hook for hand. No, on second thought, I was not going to drive with the windows down, the door unlocked. Nor would I sing off-key or talk to myself in narrative fashion. And just to be safe, I had checked the backseat for homicidal maniacs prior to climbing into the car.

When I had driven for an hour or so, having seen no signs or turns or any signs of life, I called the shop and Evan said "dude you're like 10 minutes away, can't you feel how cold it is?" He sounded suspiciously amiable for this early in the morning.

Sure enough, in the gloom a little yellow sub appeared and then an adventure shop for kayaking and biking. These shops are always run by hippies and have a certain, gritty appeal. Evan and Devon,* our tour guides, were both adorned in ratty cargos and even rattier t-shirts. Evan's read: "club sandwiches, not seals" (no joke) and Devon had opted for the quintessential Bob Marley. They both wore knit caps bearing the Rasta red, yellow, and green.

The only other people on the bike tour that morning were a pair of newlyweds. They were shiny and gushy and beaming brighter than my headlights. The new wife, a trim CPA from Dallas, inquired brightly, "oh, did you bring someone?" Just the homicidal killer in the backseat I rode down with. But don't ask him how he got a hook for his hand, he's real sensitive, I thought about telling her. But even I could find no reason to be outwardly snarky to newlyweds, they were just that cute and adorable, so instead, I told her my story about how it was my birthday and I'd never been to Kauai and to make sure that I didn't sound like a total loser spinster, added my boyfriend would be coming out to visit for Valentine's Day. She gave me a slight nod of approval. I wasn't totally beyond help and clearly wasn't poaching her man. New hubby was from DC, an attorney at a prominent DC firm, and had lots to say to me when he saw I was sporting my NUSL sweatshirt. Normally, I don't broadcast the school pride, particularly when the student body is waging war over a stupid t-shirt design (hey it's my blog and I'll snark if I want to), but the morning had been chilly and the sweatshirt was hooded.

Evan and Devon piled us into a van with a trailer and then dispensing with the polite formalities ("oh hey, where ya from?" "How long you staying?") launched into a robust discussion of the medicinal and spiritual benefits of pot. Of course, they didn't call it pot, they called it "herb" and new wife, trying to be polite, started making inquiries about the herbs of the island. It took me about 90 seconds to figure out she thought Evan and Devon were talking kitchen herbs. She wanted to know where she could buy some. This misunderstanding was not lost on Evan and Devon. The two embarked on a game to see who could make the newlyweds realize first they weren't talking about oregano and thyme.

Evan: "Yeah, yeah, you know our nickname on the island is the Roach Brothers."
New wife: "that's a lovely nickname. But you two aren't brothers?"
Devon: "No ma'am."
New wife: silence. Crickets chirping.

Devon: "When you guys get done here, you should head up to Hanalei. It's a really pretty area and Puff the Magic Dragon lives up there."
New husband: "that sounds wonderful. We'll get directions from you when we return."

Then finally, exasperated:

Evan: "My favorite movie is half-baked."
Devon: "My favorite song lyric of all time is 'I get high with a little help from my friends.' And I do."
Evan: "I smoke weed like it's my job."
Devon: "Smoking weed is my job."

(Okay, so they didn't say this last part, but they were laying it on pretty thick and I was shaking in the backseat and nearly lost it completely when I caught sight of Evan grinning at me in the mirror. Although I'm a Republican and my idea of a good time is depriving women of their reproductive rights, sealing up our borders with armed guards, drinking the blood of newborns and hanging out at gun ranges with my card-carrying NRA cronies, I am not wholly immune to the irresponsible charm and childlike wonder of hippies. And I did like these two. They were sweet natured. I liked them ever better when we stopped at a bakery and they came out with an entire box of 32 fresh-baked muffins for the 5 of us. Of course, they ate half in a munchies feeding frenzy but that was fine with me.

We drove into the Waimea Canyon and up to the lookout just in time for sunrise. The brilliant orange sun rose over the Canyon, illuminating the lush greens of the trees and the deep red dirt. On the Canyon wall to the left, the sun revealed a hidden waterfall and a bird swooped down into the rays of light and disappeared.

Evan took us on a tour of our bikes and how to properly operate them while Devon went off into the woods for a bit. Wonder what he was doing? Ho-hum, Ho-hum.

Evan's directions were quite simple. Do not crash the bikes. That was the only direction.

Evan led the way and I brought up the rear with the two love birds in between. Ever so often I would look over my shoulder to see Devon driving the dirty white van behind me and praying that all the rumors about pot and how they slowed your reaction time were false. I imagined him losing control of the van and mangling me beneath the wheels. My death would be ruled death by second-hand marijuana use. Pot kills.

We coasted down the Canyon, the morning wind whipping against my cheeks. I was silently thanking my boyfriend who had coaxed me back into riding after retiring from the biking circuit (age 12 or so: skidded to a stop on some grit on the road, went over the handlebars. Decided life was too short for pavement burns). I was thinking about my Dad, who had hiked across the country, hitting the national parks, wondering if how I felt now was how he felt then. This was what it was to be alive, the wind all around you, the red dirt and green trees and yellow sun rushing by and smearing into one color. Finally, I thought of my mother. It was just a little after 7:30. I'd been born at 7:13am in the morning many years ago on a cold February day. Here I was now enjoying this ride because of all her laborious efforts, and for this, I was thankful.

Every half hour or so, Evan would pull us over a turn off and impart some wisdom about the island of Kauai and Devon would get out of the van and go smoke up in the woods.

First stop: outside a little brown hut with a hand painted sign that read "lost dogs":
Evan: "So we got these wild pigs, yeah man. And a few months out of the year, you can hunt them with guns, but the rest of the year, you gotta do with a knife and a dog."
New wife: "that sounds gruesome!"
Evan: "sure sure. Real bloody mess. I got a Leatherman. Want to have a go at it? Nah, I'm just messing with ya!" And then he pealed into laughter, tears coming to his red-rimmed eyes. It just wasn't funny enough to warrant a laugh, so instead I started humming my favorite Talking Heads lyric in my head: "we're on a road to noooowwwhhhhheeeeerrrreeee."

Second stop: Evan teaches us how to huff Eucalyptus.
Evan: "Eucalyptus was introduced to Kauai to help with erosion, but the purists," he says dismissively, "think it crowds out the native plants." He inhales deeply.
New wife: "I hear eucalyptus is just great for chest colds."
New hubby: "This is remarkable. It's really opening up my passages."
Jess: I guess you can huff just about anything, right Evan? (No, I didn't say this aloud. But believe me, I wanted to).

Third stop: Evan points to an island off in the distance.
Evan: "That's Ni'ihau (Nee-e-how). The forbidden island. No can visit and only people who are born there or marry into the culture may live there. If you move away then you can't come back. I hear they do some wild crazy shite out there." He says that last part almost wistfully.
Jess: So let me get this straight, here on this island for fun, the men run around in the red dirt chasing wild pigs with knives and in their quieter moments, huff eucalyptus. Just exactly what kind of wild crazy shite are you missing out on Ni'ihau, Evan? Snark snark.

Fourth stop: Evan teaches us to huff another plant. I can't remember the name but it is squashy yellow with a shiny gleam. I actually feel a little dizzy, but this could be the bike ride. Devon climbs out of the van and makes another visit to the woods.
New husband: "You guys smell that? Smells like something's burning."
Evan: "No man, that's just the woods. It smells that way in the morning."
Jess: (to herself)(Smoky the Bear says: only you can prevent forest fires).

Fifth stop: We are by a small stream and Evan rips into the game warden who's just been caught "reef bleaching." We all stare at him blankly, the silence gets uncomfortable.
Me: (sighing. Okay, I'll bite) "Evan, what's reef bleaching?"
Evan: (looking surprised) "It's when you take your boat over a reef, dump some bleach, cast your net, and catch all the fish that float up dead to the top. It's illegal."
Me: "What do they do with the fish?"
Evan: (looking at me like I ride the short bus). "They uh…eat them. Obviously."
Me: (giving him by best "look pal, if I'm on the short bus, you're my seatmate" look) "So you're telling me, they eat the fish they've just doused with bleach?"
Evan stares back at me blankly. "Yeah?"
New wife: "So your game warden just got caught bleaching the reef?"
Evan: "Yeah man. F-ing Motherf-ing Pigf---ing Pigf---er. And Kauai's letting him keep his job."
New wife mouth opens wide and drops to canyon floor.
Evan: "I know, right! How can we leave someone like that in charge?"
Somehow I suspected the news that the warden gotto keep his job was not why new wife's mouth is hanging open like that.

The bike ride ended too quickly.

The Roach brothers took us up the ocean route back to the shop and the iconic yellow submarine. "That," Devon said proudly, "is the western-most McDonalds in the U.S." He erupted into giggles. "I've had some good times there, man."
"Yeah dude," Evan chimed in "there was this one time, it was like, 3am or something, I went in there and was like, 'this is a life or death emergency, you gotta sell me every apple pie in the place,' and they did, and it was crazy man, I ate, like 16 apple pies. Dude, I was like, I'm loving it!"
Devon, his eyes wide. "Dude! I'm loving it too."

Dude, I was also loving it, loving all of it, but for markedly different reasons. You see, this was just my birthday morning, it wasn't even 9:00 am yet, and really, what better way to start my birthday, than a sunrise bike ride down the Waimea Canyon with the Roach brothers, a wealth of cultural and homeopathic information. If I ever got in the trouble in the woods, by golly, I could just huff Eucalyptus til I didn't care about being lost anymore.

But like I said, it was just morning. Stay tuned for Part II of my birthday in which I venture across the mountains on horseback and encounter actual wild pigs.


* named have been changed and satirized to protect the stoned.