Chapter Seven: Be quiet and drive (with appreciation to the Deftones).

I don't know where you're from, but if you don't know where I'm from, I'm from California - Southern California to be exact (and exactness is everything when showing off your roots). I've been out here in the Las Vegas desert since the end of 2011. Sure, Vegas has its pros and cons like any other American metropolis, but in my humble opinion, no place equates to the versatility and uniqueness of SoCal. 

I grew up in Torrance, a suburb about thirty minutes away (depending on the traffic) from L.A. While I have been to Downtown plenty of times, my home has always been closer to the water. I grew up at the beach. I lived on Avenue I at Redondo Beach. It is considered to be the lesser of the beaches as it is not as classy as Manhattan or Hermosa, but class has nothing to do with the taste of salt water crusted onto one's lips; the alarming yet soothing caress between the toes from a sand crab burrowed in the wet sand; and an incoming set of decent height. Most of my childhood was spent trying to build up the courage to glide down the many expressive faces of waves, as well as find the balance to do so. Surf boards and I have never really been concurrent in our rhythms unless we both lie perfectly still on a glossy, seemingly lifeless surface, and it was in those moments that the world seemed so tangible and relevant, and probably the equivalent to being plugged into each other like the Avatar people and their horse-beings (major nerd fail here). I took a lot of these moments for granted being that I was young and did not understand the purposeful necessity of just sitting still for a moment. I relayed heavily on my body board and body surfing skills to navigate a great ride through the break zone, generally ending my ride with a self-inflicted wipe-out. 

Wipe-outs are fun, especially when self-induced. There is nothing more exhilarating than pushing oneself into the mysterious beyond, adrenaline pumping furiously and fear lurking off in the distance. Wipe-outs always make for the best memories and stories. On top of riding the surf, I have always been a roller coaster junky. I have been beyond blessed with a love for heights, flips, sudden drops, stops and everything in between - except spinning. Spinning and me are sworn enemies. I have no shame in saying no to spinning. Anyway, while I love the whimsical nostalgia Disneyland brings, Six Flags Magic Mountain will always hold a special place in my heart ... because I am sure my love of tossing and turning was honed at that theme park (as was the tiny bit of street cred I possess). 

I was able to leave the desert this past weekend for a time down memory lane with the manfriend, who also shares a love for those metal monsters. The best part of the trip was re-learning how to be "hardcore." Of course Rey and I chatted up our mutual experiences growing up at Magic Mountain, chests puffed out like two male peacocks with plums full and high. Well, that chat was good and fun until we actually parked in the lot and faced a glimpse of what was to become.

Well, on the bright side, Bugs Bunny Land is still up and running.

Plums a bit meeker and our stomachs doing weird things only older people's should be doing, Rey and I realized our mortality in an instant. I must admit, it had been a while since I had been on any substantial coasters. I was definitely feeling my age as we decided that our first ride to break back into the swing of plummeting from the sky to the earth (or concrete) was going to be Goliath. Now, Goliath doesn't seem too bad on the scale of Magic Mountain coasters. It isn't a chaotic labyrinth like my favorite ride of all time, X2, but the first drop - a lovely 255 feet - is quite the bucket of ice cold water on the head of someone who has essentially been in a coma. But much like taking, albeit slightly reluctantly, that abnormally larger and more erratic wave, not sure if one can balance properly or even maneuver a more painless wipe-out, we stepped onto the platform, buckled our safety restraints with blind bliss (we had to remove our glasses of course!) and did not look back. 

And boy was the first fall sheer, terrifyingly sweet bliss.

Full Throttle: the second best coaster.

I tried to make Ninja cooler by placing the track from Viper above us.

Me, Rey and randomness.

My future ride.

On top of rekindling my love for roller coasters, I got to reignite that old flame with the love of my life. We ended up buying passes and intend to add some loops into this year by visiting the park as often as possible. 

Among all of the craziness, this was the first time I was venturing out into the world with very limited access to vegetarian/vegan options. If there is one theme park that is not going to accommodate this lifestyle, it would be Six Flags (not that this is on purpose). Theme park food is all about being fast and easy to vomit. Thankfully, manfriend suggested something easy, intimate and sweet: a picnic. I was able to eat comfortably without breaking the bank. It was also nice to take a break from the noise of the park to sit and listen to the fun in the distance, the birds chirping and spending some quality time with Rey.  

Tofurky ... sexy.

Food, love and coasters.

Lunch was served in the form of tofurky sandwiches, Trader Joe's flaxseed tortilla chips and pita chips and hummus. It was actually really nice. I was full of energy for the day and didn't vomit once - yay for good life choices!

All in all, my Sunday was a fun day of back flips and front flips, sudden drops and climbing hills to do all of the above. But while these memories are engraved into my mind in the form of steel tracks hugging my brain just as tight as I did to my lap bar, I found myself back on the water's surface that Monday afternoon on the long drive back to the desert. No, I cannot say I was thrilled to be heading back. But it wasn't because of the fact that I was going to miss the park. I sat quietly, driving through the outskirts of my home and I was brought back to those long-forgotten moments I had often shared by myself in the water. The sun shines differently in SoCal. I don't know how to explain it, but it does. I am not talking about the smog, either. I mean it actually shines differently. The color of the atmosphere reminds me of a time from long ago, back when I was young and life was simpler. I was breathing in the past, its breeze flooding through my opened car window, and my lungs could remember exactly what it felt like when I used to breathe in that air. I was sad for a moment but it passed, as I'm sure it always will. There is a comfort in finally connecting with a familiarity that one never knew was there because one never sought it out or was simply too busy consumed by the chaos around - even positive chaos. Finding that time to reflect in that perfect moment is magical. After a long time, I have finally experienced that long forgotten triumph in everything making sense. And while it was not as though I had some kind of miraculous epiphany, I finally found a piece of my former self along the trail I had blazed a while ago. That in itself is magical.

I miss Torrance and the beach and all that I was back in that life, but I know that the pieces I've shed over this season are preparing me for the person I am going to become; the person that will be a bit worn in the desert heat but very much educated by the chaos. And when I return to familiar ground, I will be a great new version of myself, hopefully with a better understanding of how this all works. Of course I will endure all of my wipe-outs, environmental and self-induced, with fear lingering in the back ground and in a hesitant step, but I will step onto that platform, lock in my lap bar and make the plunge. That is a part of what life is all about.

But more importantly, I will make sure to find that moment to simply be quiet and drive.