Rock On

All in. It’s about all I can hear from the holdem game that my coworkers play next to me. I decided to take down a few things before I forget. So yesterday was a good day. A very good day. So I got up early (8) since I slept early the night before and went for a run. I ran on the beach to downtown. I saw a nice church so I went in. It must’ve been Catholic with all the lovely Mary memorials. It was a very nice church however and I probably spent a half an hour just observing the various art, including stained glass, architecture, and people. I find it so intriguing to go from the busy downtown atmosphere with crazy taxis, super salesmen, and bars still being cleaned from the night before to such a quiet, peaceful, “spiritual” place all by just walking through the front doors of the church. What a wonderful place. So after that I got hyper and ran around the corner to find a hill of ultimate proportions. I ran up it. I then found myself in a place that I would imagine that not many white people have found themselves before. It was the real Puerto Vallarta. No more of the touristy crap. Roads and staircases that let to nothing. Cats and dogs that were actually thin, unlike the common fatty pets that Americans have. I don’t think they had seen white man before either though because they wouldn’t let me get too close. Chickens that would run through the streets. Stream crossings. Children having fun playing, even though they didn’t have toys to play with. Just plain fun. Good times. A few homeys gave me funny looks but I just smiled and waved and then ran a bit faster . Anywho, so I got back to the hotel just in time to call Gerren’s room and be told that they were leaving for a place called Jurupa in 15 minutes. I said okay, packed my bags and off we went. So we took a taxi down to old town where we took a water taxi south for half an hour. We ended up seeing some whales on the way down which was an unexpected treat. Upon arrival we were given the choice to walk around or just go chill on the beach. We had three hours. Guess what I did. Wrong. I did neither. Well I actually did walk about 100 feet up to the waterfall which is where the other 3 (Gerren, Jeff, and Justin) turned back to chill on the beach. The hills called me again. And I’m so glad that I heard their call. I actually had to do some rockclimbing up the side of the waterfall and then I found some trail at the top. Along the way I found some cave full of butterflies that was pretty cool. So I walked along the trail a bit only to find some very tan white gentleman with no shirt on and a waterbottle tucked into his shorts. I decided to take the unbeaten trail again at that point and made my way along the rocks through the stream. I somehow found myself back on the trail after a few and then again ran into the man. Mike was his name. I have since coined him mountain man Mike. Although he didn’t really live in the mountains. In all actuality he (currently) was living in a tent down on the beach, where he had been residing for a few months already. He just decided to listen to the hills that day as well. And I’m so glad he did. So I found him picking mandarin oranges off a tree and he offered me some and I ate and it was good. The beginning of a beautiful friendship. Too bad it only lasted for a few hours. I’ll probably see him around though . So we walked and talked up the stream to a mini waterfall. I learned of his adventures and he learned of mine. I must admit that he had quite a few more in his lifetime, but then again, he was 62. I got a few years to go. On our way down we found ourselves on the wrong side of the barb-wire but I’m glad we did because we able to meet a native, Dan Whitley (I think) who has been “renting” this cabin-type structure for a few years now. There was another gentleman there who had just gotten there and was going to “sublease” some land there to pitch his tent for a few. He was playing the flute (which I later found out was Native American) and Dan was playing some drums that he made (which I later found out was how he made money: woodworking, and playing the drums at Mimi’s café (no not part of the chain) down in the village. They (the 3 of them, including Mike) were some of the most peaceful people I have ever met. We talked for half an hour or so about our adventures and the adventures of others, including the “Peace Pilgrim.” Dan left us with a few fresh mandarin oranges off his tree, and we were off. We hiked down a bit, until we got past the point where I remembered coming up. Not long, and we found ourselves on a super eroded trail which Mike told me was called the Shit Creek Trail. So there we were. Going down shit creek, without a paddle. (slapping knee) And then. The beach. He showed me his tent. We shook. He left me with a saying that I had heard him say a few times in the past hour. “Rock on.”