sing to me, your siren song, hwy 1

Open your heart Hwy 1, and show us your golden child, your beloved knight errant, the mythical gatekeeper to every dream we haven't yet had. Take us to Dan.  

Hwy 1, be our sea, and Dan Blocker, our Captain, and the life of adventure, our white whale.

I sit staring from the passenger seat of a Chevy Van, watching the Pacific Ocean hypnotize every asphalt mile we drive, together nodding in a rhythm, lightly adorned by high pitched cries from Steve, Peter and the rest of Humble Pie. I smiled as I watched Critter smile as we both watched the rest of the world smile right by us, a sun soaked conveyor belt of summer dreams flying by us, like kids running past the teacher and through that door on the last day of school.

Summer baby, Summer. So beautiful and so right, I knew that morning when I felt the first tiny, dry timid kiss of summer move down my right ear, that it was time join Dan, the sultan of swashbuckling, our hope eternal, the man that seemed to walk right out of every poster I hung as a kid... every surf spot, that Aerosmith concert your mom didn't let you go to, that older brother you didn't have who had all access to the sweet smells behind the curtains of Cal Jam 1, 2 and all the small boogies held in the faded light hills behind Hollywood. Dan is part of  all the sunsets California ever saw, painted on the side of vans, t-shirts and etched across the minds of soul searchin' free people. He was natural born boogie. 

And yup, you know this, Critter and I want to dance.

I hadn't seen Dan in ages but it didn't take Critter long to understand him, and what he was about.   Looking out over the Pacific, his eyes hidden by the brim of Paul Bunyon baseball hat, Critter turned down the Humble Pie tape and summoned a story from when he was younger about one of his nation who left home young to never return. Critter said his name, losely translated, was Cornelius.  He moved from the dark green of the deep forest to a tiny stretch of coast that rubbed up against the great woods.  As Critter moved into his teens (which is like 85 years old in human years), he and a close friend snuck away from their Bigfoot hometown and walked west, toward the sweet warm scent of the sea and sun.  The trail was soft on their  feet like  an afternoon nap, they moved, drawn to something big bright and open.  Finally, in front of them, peering throw the edge of the canopy, golden curls from the sun pried their way through the trees toward them.  galloping, they tore free of the forest to see a blue vastness they could never guess at, and laying in the fine white sand, propped up by a grey rock, was the Bigfoot know as Cornelius.

All he said to them. in that first moment, was "welcome to sea, sit down with me and you might never come back."

And all that live long day, me and Critter were drinking black coffee, freshly ground and fully packed!

 

I am proud to call this man a friend and one swashbuckling faerie. Meet the "Rammer."

Please allow for a brief intermission from our adventure at Disneyland for, by granting it, you also open the door to a purveyor of great magic and a beacon of great light. This man to the left, who we will simply call "The Rammer" represents all that is fine and good in life. Critter and I were drifting lazily though my past which took shape in a pile of disorganized photographs, most of which Critter rightfully chucked aside into the used bin of the banal...graduations, weddings, birthdays, drunken orgies...all the standard crap we pretend we need to go through to come of age. However, not unlike the Ring in Tolkien's magical masterpiece, this photograph somehow edged its way to the top of the pile, its power, its lustre, pushing itself before all others. Gingerly, Critter picked up the picture and set it opposite to his furrowed, bushy brow.

"Who is this?" he asked. "Who is this sailor of life?"

Only the truth would suffice.

"The Rammer."

"But WHO is he??" Critter questioned again, resolute and almost angry. He wanted more than a name, what he was asking for was an answer, a working truth, a design, an equation, something you could work into working for you. Clearly something this man, the Rammer, had achieved himself. Who else could hold such a dashing pose, both relaxed but stern? The definition of "grace at ease."

I felt like Dennis Hopper in Apocolypse Now trying to describe Col. Kurtz to Martin Sheen.

How could I help scratch the surface of this enigma? What could I point to to help uncover and reveal this human grail, who shirtless and wearing tailored short shorts, brings both welcome mirth combined with rain puddle depth to who and whatever he touches.

Ok, that was too many long words to describe a state of mind whose infectious simplicity buzzes around my head like a deranged will-o-wisp.

Ok, this is who he is...

The Rammer:

*A faerie first and foremost. This is a man who looked me dead in the eye and said he'd never been happier except as a green grocer at a supermarket. That was coming from a man who was leading us into the proverbial battle of a large location shoot in San Francisco. I was surprised, scared but mostly impressed at his incredible candor. He then asked me if wanted to go get "fucked up" after the ad agency meeting was over. I love men over forty who still want to "get fucked up."

*He's a nautical man, a swashbuckling skipper of sorts. Not so much the seven seas, but a master of our heartland's lakes, rivers and causeways. There is a certain spirit attached to man drawn by water and Rammer has it. It is the modern day wanderlust.

*He is a lover. plain and simple.

*And honest to god, he loves squash and backgammon. He loves to play and that will never change.

*And most importantly, he is a kind soul and nothing can bring him down. He will walk with the unperturbed grace only children or blind men usually possess but somehow, day in and day out, Rammer found this bright eyed glee within himself and has never let it slip from his fingers.

In the immortal words Mr. Frampton, Erik, "Do you feel like I do?"

For this I salute you brother!