The Return of the Pale Pig

When we last spoke, Kyra and I were headed to Long Beach for the International Motorcycle Show, having spent the week prior surfing 38th in Santa Cruz and C Street in Ventura, among other things. The show was exhausting as always, but fruitful in many ways. We talked about motorbikes, shook a few unfamiliar hands, had a dinner party that swelled from four to plus-fourteen, and then talked of upcoming adventures with people who've spent more than a decade riding motorcycles around the world. We shuddered at the obvious excuses people use for why they're not riding, avoided the overzealous individuals that just want to talk, and then eventually escaped. The following week was spent in-and-around San Clemente, surfing San Onofre, slugging Betty's at Gnar Gnar's new compound in Silverado, eating plenty of Pizza Port and visiting a few (old) friends. I suspect the photos will tell the tale better than my re-hashed ramblings...

The 101 South - Mexico

Jack Lynch and Alex Knost sliding south of the border. Motion pictures made by SurfStitch.


Kyra and I are currently in California. Having escaped the sad grey skies of the Pacific Northwest, we've been enjoying waist high waves and that crazy shit called sunshine from Santa Cruz to C Street. We'll be in Long Beach this weekend attending the International Motorcycle Show and then making our way further south in search of surf. Oh, and we'll be eating a ceremonial turkey sammich and drinking champagne with our feet planted firmly in the sand. Other items on the itinerary? More slides atop me swine, perhaps some Pliny with the pig man himself, breakfast at Captain Mauri's, lunch at Pipes Café and dinner at Pizza Port. Maybe a sunset surf in Encinitas followed by a Pineapple n' Chile Margarita at Las Olas? We shall see.

Caio Teixeira em Costa Rica

Missing this shit. Might have to head west next week. Seventy-five and sunny in San Diego. Just sayin.

Odell Brewing Company's IPA

When I was younger, I'd drink just about anything. Milwaukee's Best? Fuck it. Tall cans of Coors Light? Duh. But as I've aged, a man now three decades deep, I've developed an appreciation for the IPA. To be honest, I'm not sure when or how it happened. I remember my first proper pint, poured at the Paragon on Queen Anne when I turned 21. It was an Amber Ale brewed by Mac & Jack's in Redmond, WA. Something you could only drink on draught, it was a beer that made me feel like an adult. "Here, look at me, man of 21 years, drinking this beer you teenagers can't acquire." And so for the next few years that's what happened. A slow and steady transition from malt liquor to craft beer. And then the IPA.

The first one that really grabbed me by the boo-boo was brewed by the Pelican Brew Pub in Pacific City, OR. I mean, I am sure there were others, but that's the first one I blogged about. Anyhow. Fast forward a few years and I am now an expert in the IPA, or so I tell myself. IBUs and ABVs... Yea, I know what that shit means. Cascade compared to Centennial hops? Yea, I can totally tell the difference (ahem, bullshit!). All of that to say, when I find an IPA that I can't stop swilling - pouring one bottle after another into my face (see: Sculpin) - I feel obligated to write about it... being an expert and all ;) So allow me to introduce my latest face-eating friend, Odell Brewing Co.'s IPA, a "bolder and more flavorful – American Style IPA" that is brewed in Fort Collins, CO. At 7% ABV and 60 IBUs, Odell's offering is nobody's bitch. But she goes down all-too-easy and will leave you looking for a place to purchase another six-pack. Also there is a man riding an elephant on the bottle - which obviously makes the beer better. So if you're an IPA expert like myself, do you really need an excuse to drink something different? I think not. Do yourself a favor and find a few.

Yamaha Serow Solo Camp Touring

One minute of motorcycle riding followed by five minutes of camping and cooking shots?! If you've been to Japan, or live(d) there, this video will probably make perfect sense to you. During our time on The Island, a few things became clear: the Japanese love Yamaha's 225cc Serow (they even sell a special 'Touring Edition' complete with a windscreen and tail rack), and they curate their camping kit the way some people color coordinate their closet. Everything has its place, everything has its purpose. Like most things in Japan, camping - especially motorcycle camping - is taken very seriously. Yes, fun will be had, but it will be perfect fun. Cut and pasted from the pages of GO OUT magazine. Garb'd and gathered, overlooked and organized, and then cleaned thoroughly and put away neatly. I both fear this efficiency, this absence of expression, and simultaneously miss those moments when the girl at 7-11 quietly wrapped my pork bun in wax paper, and then bowed graciously as she handed it to me.

Young Turks

What I've been listening to lately...

John Calvin & Thomas Hobbes

Additional words of wisdom can be found here.

Lucid Surf Dreams

This edit is most fucking excellent, as is the shredular-ness showcased within. Up your game, amigos!

Bousou Island - Vol. 2

Maybe a month ago, we loaded the van and headed east across Tokyo Bay in search of a south swell. The spot, a place affectionately known as J-Bu, is located on the Chiba Peninsula and breaks, as you may have guessed, a lot like it's namesake in the States. I'd go into more detail, but I don't want the Yakuza taking any of my fingers for spilling the proverbial soy beans. So you'll have to settle for a few photos. What I can say is that the surf did not suck, and although it rained like a bitch, we managed to find solace in beer and some kind of weird Japanese baseball game show thingy. Stay tuned! Our Bousou Island adventure is not over.

Poler Surf Stuff

Apparently Poler started making "surf stuff," and they sent Mikey and Trevor to PR to do some "testing."

I Have Always Lived Violently

“I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I've lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers as a consequence, not as a punishment.”

- John Steinbeck