Reason Number 667 Why San Diego Is My Chief Base Camp Numero Uno
This all took place on a random Friday afternoon:
Woke up late and got a text from my good buddy M. Lee Porter about gettin' grub at Las Cuatro Milpas which is thee best Mexican food this side of the border. It's been there since the 40's, they hand make the tortillas fresh every day and you can stuff two people for under ten clams. You didn't hear that from me. We feasted like kings then I acquired the hair-brained idea of heading straight to the San Diego Zoo to walk off the righteous mexican standoff in our guts. Living less than a mile from the zoo and having a season pass is quite the luxury as you can just take impromptu thirty minute missions and you never know what you're gonna see. Caught a keeper walkin' a giant porcupine...
...and watched freeloadin' Egrets taunt the captive inhabitants and snag free handouts from the zookeepers. Majestic, wise and lazy all at the same time. Kinda like most of us humans.
Headed home and hopped on the murdersickle....
...towards Pacific Beach to drop off a gift zoo pass and take a grand and inspiring tour of the Guru Tattoo Shop by Katherine Brannock who is apprenticing there and is using me as a human guinea pig next week. She's gonna apply a traditional panther tattoo on me under the guidance of her mentor Coop. Had no idea how incredible all the artists are at Guru and how BIG the compound is! Radical all around. After that I motored to Crystal Pier to check the surf and peep some of the pre-sunset goodness. Wicked as always especially since it's been raining off and on. From there I swooped through Mission Beach towards Ocean Beach. Cruising the bridge over the San Diego river with my knees in the breeze I caught a Nat-Geo-wet-dream of a sunset reflecting off the river mouth into the sea. Combining the sunset, storm clouds and salty air injecting into my lungs via high-speed motorcycling created a wicked, temporary bliss. Rolled up onto Newport Ave, parked in front of my go-to spot Jungle Java and ordered my custom drink when I wanna get shit done: The Double Dirty Chai Tea with a mini bump of chocolate. WHEW! Jammin'. Helped the cute newbie barista that made said drink change out a propane tank for the space heater then walked up to the thirty year old head shop The Black to pick up some acoustic guitar strings for my '59 Silvertone I found in a Golden Hill alley a few years back. Learned from the clerk the correct way to pronounce "D'Addario" which I thought I had figured out on my own all these years but it turns out, the clerk got schooled by the rep who just couldn't handle the way he pronounced it on the phone when ordering. Glad I got my lesson third hand. "D'Dare-e-oh". Proceeded to slurp down my glorious, highly caffeinated sludge juice and hopped on the bike towards home. On the 5 South along the harbor I was blessed with the most beautiful lightning-storm show over Mexico dead ahead. It was so vivid and random, illuminating the skyline of another country so close to us. I always feel like my band name Low Volts is gonna result in some tragic electrical mishap like an onstage electrocution or being... struck by lightning. But tonight I felt like I kinda wanted it to happen in a strange way. I actually braced myself on my bike to get struck and somehow pull safely to the side of the road, hair and skin fried but heavy electricity coursing though my veins and turning me into some kinda super-human villain musician. Strange wishful thinking. Ended up rolling the bike safely into the garage and covered her with a mexican blanket nicer than the one on my bed. The warm wind picked up and it began to rain again while I closed the garage door, hung up my helmet and jacket and praised the town I chose to dwell in over 20 years ago. I wish I could say I called it day but hot damn, I'm here writing this after a whole evening re-con mission that included great times with an old bandmate sipping Tecates and watchin' local band friends bash and wail on their instruments to room full of familiar and new faces. Finding love in all the right places. San Diego, you are my chief base camp NUMERO UNO. But you didn't hear that from me.
Woke up late and got a text from my good buddy M. Lee Porter about gettin' grub at Las Cuatro Milpas which is thee best Mexican food this side of the border. It's been there since the 40's, they hand make the tortillas fresh every day and you can stuff two people for under ten clams. You didn't hear that from me. We feasted like kings then I acquired the hair-brained idea of heading straight to the San Diego Zoo to walk off the righteous mexican standoff in our guts. Living less than a mile from the zoo and having a season pass is quite the luxury as you can just take impromptu thirty minute missions and you never know what you're gonna see. Caught a keeper walkin' a giant porcupine...
 |
| Photo T. Lowman ©2013 |
...and watched freeloadin' Egrets taunt the captive inhabitants and snag free handouts from the zookeepers. Majestic, wise and lazy all at the same time. Kinda like most of us humans.
 |
| Photo Tim Lowman ©2013 |
Headed home and hopped on the murdersickle....
 |
| Photo T. Lowman ©2013 |
...towards Pacific Beach to drop off a gift zoo pass and take a grand and inspiring tour of the Guru Tattoo Shop by Katherine Brannock who is apprenticing there and is using me as a human guinea pig next week. She's gonna apply a traditional panther tattoo on me under the guidance of her mentor Coop. Had no idea how incredible all the artists are at Guru and how BIG the compound is! Radical all around. After that I motored to Crystal Pier to check the surf and peep some of the pre-sunset goodness. Wicked as always especially since it's been raining off and on. From there I swooped through Mission Beach towards Ocean Beach. Cruising the bridge over the San Diego river with my knees in the breeze I caught a Nat-Geo-wet-dream of a sunset reflecting off the river mouth into the sea. Combining the sunset, storm clouds and salty air injecting into my lungs via high-speed motorcycling created a wicked, temporary bliss. Rolled up onto Newport Ave, parked in front of my go-to spot Jungle Java and ordered my custom drink when I wanna get shit done: The Double Dirty Chai Tea with a mini bump of chocolate. WHEW! Jammin'. Helped the cute newbie barista that made said drink change out a propane tank for the space heater then walked up to the thirty year old head shop The Black to pick up some acoustic guitar strings for my '59 Silvertone I found in a Golden Hill alley a few years back. Learned from the clerk the correct way to pronounce "D'Addario" which I thought I had figured out on my own all these years but it turns out, the clerk got schooled by the rep who just couldn't handle the way he pronounced it on the phone when ordering. Glad I got my lesson third hand. "D'Dare-e-oh". Proceeded to slurp down my glorious, highly caffeinated sludge juice and hopped on the bike towards home. On the 5 South along the harbor I was blessed with the most beautiful lightning-storm show over Mexico dead ahead. It was so vivid and random, illuminating the skyline of another country so close to us. I always feel like my band name Low Volts is gonna result in some tragic electrical mishap like an onstage electrocution or being... struck by lightning. But tonight I felt like I kinda wanted it to happen in a strange way. I actually braced myself on my bike to get struck and somehow pull safely to the side of the road, hair and skin fried but heavy electricity coursing though my veins and turning me into some kinda super-human villain musician. Strange wishful thinking. Ended up rolling the bike safely into the garage and covered her with a mexican blanket nicer than the one on my bed. The warm wind picked up and it began to rain again while I closed the garage door, hung up my helmet and jacket and praised the town I chose to dwell in over 20 years ago. I wish I could say I called it day but hot damn, I'm here writing this after a whole evening re-con mission that included great times with an old bandmate sipping Tecates and watchin' local band friends bash and wail on their instruments to room full of familiar and new faces. Finding love in all the right places. San Diego, you are my chief base camp NUMERO UNO. But you didn't hear that from me.
 |
| Photo T. Lowman ©2013 |
Comments
Post a Comment