The Journey Begins

After a great final weekend with the SF crew, Cousin and Maxy along for the ride, it was finally time to begin my journey.

Why Australia? Many have asked me. The answer is quite simple.

Since Point Break premiered some 15 years ago I have always considered it my life's work to venture to Australia and track down the legendary Bodhi Satva. For those out of the know, Bodhi was the leader of the "Ex Presidents," the gang of bank-robbing surfers from the hit smash Point Break, who wreaked havoc on the Los Angeles banking world throughout much of the early 90's. Last scene surfing into the dreads of the 50 year storm at Bells Beach (about an hour outside of Melbourne), Bodhi was left for dead, another bank-robbing surfer joining the ranks of the faithful departed.

"Vaya con dios," uttered a spent Johnny Utah as he walked away from Bodhi for what he thought was one last time.

But I wasn't as convinced.

Did Bodhi really die? If this guy could thrash thru 20 footers by morning, rob banks by day, and throw wild beach side ragers by night, then why couldn't he survive a decent sized wave, especially, knowing that this was his one means for escaping spending the rest of his life "in a cage."

My time in the paralegal game was not something I am too proud of. But it did leave me with plenty of time for thought and discussion with someone who I now consider a life long friend.

I would take 2-3 hour lunches with my good pal Nick the Voice and we would discuss such worldly topics as Mets baseball, our favorite players to use in Mario Tennis and most importantly, the potential whereabouts of Bodhi. We were like Will and Chuckie, Wild Thing and Jake, or better yet, Utah and Pappas. A couple of buddies from opposite sides of the tracks who depended on each other to survive the harsh world of the New York City paralegal game.


14 months and 6 weeks of short term disability later, and I was finally ready to move on. But not before I made a promise to an old friend:

"Nick, I gotta see about a bank robbing surfer."



The Journey Begins

The adventure began in the SF airport. I had a 10:30 flight but found myself, quite unnecessarily, at the airport about 2 hours early. I found myself throwing back a few
cold ones when I met Tim and Ian. Tim, 43, was about 6'5, 260 LB of old school Chicago electrician. Ian, 33, was a smaller version of Tim and a Chicago fire fighter.

We discussed our respective trips, backgrounds and a little football before entering the plane. It was cordial.

I went down to the flight seating area and was shocked by how many people there were. Maybe 500-600. Made sense, I was sitting in row 52B.

I had always heard myths about these international flights. Tons of leg room, personal tv screens, champagne. Everyone was first class. So when I entered the plane I was ecstatic. I had never seen such big seats. There I was, Row 25, 26, 27. This was going to be heaven.

Only it wasn't.

Row 34 hit and I was introduced to the "economy section." I was Dorothy Boyd in Jerry Maguire.

And it got worse.

I walked toward the back of the plane and found seat 52 B. And the nightmare began. Not only would I get to spend 15 lovely hours in a middle seat, but I would have the pleasure of what was at least a 300 lb Orka Whale flanking me the entire time.

I went into full blown panic mode. I was convinced that the Karma Police had it out for me, that this was a sign of a shitty trip to come.

I looked around for other seats. I went to the back of the plane and pretended to use the bathroom for about 30 minutes, trying to wait out the boarding process to see what seats would become available.

I found a great one next to a teenaged australian girl, a window seat about 3 rows from the back of the plane. The seat had extra leg room as it was where the plane seemed to curve, leaving it too small for three seats across.

This was it.

Or was it?

II walked over to the seat and sat down, striking up a conversation with the young Aussie. I watched as flight attendants continued to bring on people from stand-by. I hadn't felt this much nervous energy since getting my SAT scores over the phone some 9 years earlier. I continued my conversation with Janine, who was retuning from holiday in Vancouver, and watched as people were ushered to empty seats. Finally, the flight attendant brought a passenger to my seat.

FUCK! I thought.

But then it happened. The flight attendant asked if the two of us were together to which we both nodded. I looked at Janine and smiled. She knew of my fears and really did me a solid. I told her I'd get her booze on the flight if she wanted, which she pleasantly accepted. We watched as the flight attendant ushered the stand-by passenger to my old nightmare of a seat next to the behemoth. This was sweeter than the Giants making the Super Bowl.

The flight was a breeze.

I forced myself to stay up through the first movie, Stardust, which was dreadful, before passing out for about three hours. I woke up, had a decent airplane meal (remember those) then popped an ambien a glass of red wine.

Next thing I knew I was 1.5 hours outside of Australia.