Stanley's Surf Literature

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Felix and Gypsy's curse

What a wild winter raining 24+ inches in just few days. We approached the 118 bridge at Vineyard ave. A few baricades blocked our path across the Santa Clara River to Saticoy. Stopping the car we checked it out. Gone, the whole span of concrete bridge washed away, our access to the 126 west cut off. Shit hopefully the 101 bridge is still passable as we shoot west on Vineyard. We merge onto 101 observing the water licking the bottom of the 101 Santa Clara River Span.

The waves were a storm torn muddy mess. The campgrounds were flooded but we hung out anyway hoping for a break in the weather. We spend two days linking up camp tables to walk elevated above the water. Van's and cars all linked for a wet night of partying. We'd try to awake beore the arrival of Felix the Danish ranger who idiotically insisted we pay camp fees under these ridiculous conditions. His irritating banging on the Van screaming gypsys! gypsys! pay!, pay! always yielded the same results, Fuck You! we'd reply in unison. Gypsy would take a collection and thrust out a hand with change in it. While Felix counted the coins he'd fire up the Van and make our get away. Making our way south we headed down Harbor Blvd. The Santa Clara River jumped it's banks flooding Olivas Golf Course filling up a good portion of the Ventura Harbor and boats in their slips with mud.

Swinging into empty chatsworth park in the rain we must have looked suspicious. Bored by no surf we took the fins out of our shortboards dragging them up the rain soaked hill of grass. Our attempt at shooting the hill was immediately curtailed by the arrival of LA's finest. "OK what goes on HERE"! they squealed. "Just a little hill surfin" didn't sound kosher so the cops decide to search us and the Van. Hmm where did that bag o weed go? Not mine anyway, oh well! The Vans a mess of blankets, wetsuits, sleeping bags and camp gear. The rain turns to misty as the Van is searched the last towel is grabbed by the man in blue lifted skyward... nothing.

We all look at each other as we're instructed to leave and not come back. Driving out of the lot the towel is shaken and holy Mc Puff there it is. When the cop grabbed the towel he got the baggie with it! We all howl. As we make a rapid left hand turn the Van's side doors fly open spilling 1/2 we own out onto the boulevard. We paused only long enough to gather it up glancing up the street hoping the cops wern't on our tail.

Johnny Rigo

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