Changing Currents Of Beach Life

Keaau, Hawaii

Sleeping night after night with my head and shoulders outside my
tent, and looking up at the beautiful sky, I felt weirdly in sink with
the phases of the moon. Over time, that experience would only deepen,
however, that said, the beach hours, days, and weeks were so woven
together that they were almost indistinguishable.

On the beach, people came and left on a regular basis. Rich, Eddy's
buddy, went back to the mainland because he didn't want to turn into a
Doobie Brother. He thought he was the last real person left on the
beach. He said, "Everyone has already turned," meaning, I guessed,
that over time, people on the beach turned into "Doobies." When Rich
left, he gave me his thick, cushy, pad to sleep on. I slept much
better after that. Rich was a "good Doobie."

The used car people arrived on the beach about the same time that Rich
left. Squeaky Robert (that's short for Squeaky Clean Robert) and Tony
Truthful (these guys picked their own names) sold used cars back in
L.A. They worked for one of the largest dealers in the west, and
because they were good at what they did, they got an expense paid
vacation to Hawaii (the dealers incentive program). This was Robert
and Tony's third year here. They told me, "Everything you've ever
heard about used car salespeople is true. Believe it, its all true!" I
found these guys exceptionally friendly. We did a lot of bodysurfing
together.

Perks Of Community Beach Life

Keaau Beach, Hawaii
March 16, '73


My food stamps finally came, and so did my unemployment. It felt good
to have some money for a change. There was a whole community living at
Keaau now. John and Carol, the Anchorage couple, left behind the
Alaskan winter to come here. They were camped down next to Tom Tree
and Terry the Terror. Those guys were from California and were even
crazier than Eddy and Rich (but no sense of humor). Danny, Eddy's
sister's boyfriend, brought Eddy's nephew, Chucky, with him to Hawaii.
He was a ten-year-old wisecracking kid. His beach name was Chucky
Dumbo. Danny's brother Rick was also camping with us, and, according
to Rick, Gloria, Eddy's girlfriend was on her way over to Hawaii too.
Our little community was made up of mostly Eddy's friends and
relatives. Olympia, Washington was well represented on this beach.

Things were getting better all the time. I liked camping with these
people. We were all friends now. Yesterday, in fact, everybody got
drunk together (everybody but Chucky Dumbo). We chipped in and bought
four cases of wine. I was invited to go to Olympia and spend some
time, and if I ever got the chance, I planned to do just that. The
community influence had me eating better too. Up till then I had, more
or less, been living with just a can opener and a fork. Now it was a
campfire, plates, and box dinners. I'd been reading a lot too. I
started to wade through Sartre's Being And Nothingness. When I bought
it, I thought it sounded Buddhist, but it turned out to be about
consciousness and phenomenology. On the cover, though, it said it was
about ontology. I haven't figured out what it all means yet. It will
take some time I suspect.

God Bless Coconuts

Keaau Beach Park
March 10, '73

Living on "beer can beach" was getting to me, so I packed up and moved
back to Keaau. I missed the solitude, but not the inconveniences. The
weather had been super. I bought a swim mask and snorkel and would be
diving right now, except the surf was too large. It was good
bodysurfing, though.

My food stamps had not arrived and neither had my unemployment. I
was down to my last dollar. There was no wild fruit growing at Keaau,
but in a subdivision not far from the park, coconut trees were used to
landscape the front yards. I would walk around on the streets until I
saw a fallen coconut. When nobody was around, and the coconut was
close to the road, I would take it. If, on the other hand, somebody
was around, I would ask permission before I took it. I was never
refused. The only problem I encountered was that I was getting sick of
eating coconuts.

Down To My Last Dollar

Nights in White Satin
Cold hearted orb
That rules the night
Removes the colours
From our sight
Red is gray and
Yellow white
But we decide
Which is right
And
Which is an Illusion


Makua Beach

As one Civil War nurse (Walt Whitman) said, “I am large, I contain multitudes.” When we pay close attention to who we really are, there is no one else, no one who is left out. At Makua, with time on my hands, I put together a couple little poems:




If I Were A Poet
(A tribute to Walt Whitman)

If I were a poet,
chaos and confusion would cease,
inconsistencies vanish with the setting sun,
the abyss would fill with luminescence,
and the mustard seed would sprout.
With a whiff of a flower,
malice and hostility would dissipate,
enigmas would become harmless,
pain and suffering would diminish.
God, I envy the poet.
The poet inhales nature and exhales humility,
caresses life with every breath,
celebrates variety,
experiences unity,
and obsesses love.





Hunger Again

On the stage of the absurd,
attention freely wanders,
elapsing into fanciful dreams
A brief interval by any stretch.
Desire's pains attack, panic ensues,
occupation becomes eminent,
the hand reaches for a cigarette.
The palliating surrogate offers
a short-lived reprieve.
Hunger always waits.

Beer Can Beach

If you smile at me, I will understand
'Cause that is something everybody everywhere does
in the same language.


I wait outside the pilgrim's door
With insufficient schemes.
The black queen chants
the funeral march,
The cracked brass bells will ring;
To summon back the fire witch
To the court of the crimson king.


Makua Beach
Feb. 28, '73

What was happening on the beach now that I had moved into "no man's
land," could be put into three words, sand, surf, and me. Oh, not to
forget Mr. Sun, he's been wonderful. I had been reading Desmond
Morris's book, The Naked Ape, and, when needed, I had Walt Whitman to
hang with. I just bought another book too. It's thick. It will keep me
busy for a long time. It was Jean-Paul Sartre's book, Being and
Nothingness. I hadn't started reading it yet.

I had seen only two people. Both were shell gatherers. There were a
couple of beach structures standing on the beach, but nobody seemed to
be living in them. Well, that was almost true. There was this dog, a
white mongrel terrier hanging around. I think she belonged to one of
the vacated places. She was hungry because one day, when I returned
from beach walking, I found her rummaging through my tent looking for
food. Yesterday afternoon, when I returned from one of my walks, she
had eaten all my bread. I got mad. Not only was I low on money; it was
six miles to the nearest store. I wished that mutt would just go back
to where she came from. In better times I would have fed her, but now
I could barely feed myself.

Using the remains of a deserted camp, I had managed to put together a
pretty nice camp. I had a chair and table. I was eating hot food, and
best of all, the weather was great. In the daytime I walked the beach,
played my recorder (I played best when nobody was around) and looked
for shells. The shells that I found were mostly the little ones that
were strung together to make necklaces and bracelets. Everybody in
Hawaii wore them. They had a natural hole, which made it easy to
string them together. I wasn't into jewelry, but when I collected
enough, I planned to send them to Carol Sue. I thought she would like
that.

Since I was a long way from anywhere, water and food were somewhat of
a problem, but I was managing, barely. I spent a lot of time listening
to my favorite radio station. KIKI was an AM station, but it played FM
music. It played progressive rock, the best kind too. Every afternoon
at sunset the DJ's programmed special music. Last night was super
fantastic. When the sun was above the horizon, King Crimson's Court Of
The Crimson King was played. At sunset, the Moody Blue's Nights In
White Satin came floating over the airwaves. The DJ's finished off the
gorgeous sunset with Crosby, Stills, and Nash's great song, Wooden
Ships. I had no idea that God's gift to humanity, the sunsets, could
be so improved upon.

Last Bicycle Mile Drunk Again

Makaha

All that rain made my bones ache and my bike rust. As soon as the
weather cleared, I got on my bike and started for Honolulu. It was
time to send my bike home. On the way there, my shifting cable rusted
through. In Kailua, me, and the kid working at the bike shop,
dismantled my bike and put it into a shipping box. I had to hitch hike
with a huge box by my side to Honolulu. I felt ridiculous, but after
shipping my bike out, I felt much better. I no longer had a bike, but
I knew when I got home, it would be waiting for me. Mission
accomplished, I stuck out my thumb and headed back up to Makaha.

Not too surprisingly, it stopped raining when I reached Makaha. Keaau
had to be the best spot, weather-wise, to camp. Back on the park
grass, I camped next to Bob, Eddy, and Rich. Apparently, they liked
Keaau too. They had a welcome back party for me. We got drunk again.
The big debate was whether my name had to be changed. It was decided
that I would remain Bicycle Dave even though I no longer had my
bicycle. Eddy and Rich hadn't lost their dry sense of humor. Those
guys were great if you needed a distraction, but after a few days
back, I just wanted to be left alone (I suppose it didn't help that
the effects of the "big drunk" hadn't totally worn off either). I
didn't have a permit, so I used that as my excuse to move down to
Makua, or "beer can beach," as it was now affectionately called.

Party Like You’re Hawaiian

Punaluu Beach Park

On Saturday the clouds moved, and it rained. In the afternoon, when
the rains let up, a Hawaiian family camped about fifteen yards from my
tent. They invited me over for dinner. The wild pig was good, but next
time I'll pass on the poi. It tasted like spoiled yogurt. After dinner
I was treated to a Primo beer, the homegrown beer of the Islands. The
beer had an interesting flavor too, kind of like vinegar. After three
or four, though, I had no problem drinking it.

By nightfall, the Hawaiian campsite had grown considerably. There were
aunts and uncles, cousins and neighbors, all partying on the beach. I
stuck around for a few more beers and just when the party really got
going, I went to bed. Based on what I saw, partying Hawaiian style
left no room for party-poopers. I bet the word wasn't even in their
language. In the morning when I went back for breakfast, some of the
hefty men (the Hawaiians were very large) were drinking beer with
their bacon and eggs.

After I left Bellows beach, I peddled to Punaluu. By the time I
arrived, I had three broken spokes. The weather wasn't good either,
but it didn't start storming until after dark. Forty-mile an hour
winds battered my tent, a tent not large enough to lie down in and not
rain-tight either. In the morning I found myself completely alone in a
very large beach park. I spent the rest of the day sitting under the
bathroom overhangs. They blocked most the wind and rain, but again the
atmosphere was lacking. By evening the storm softened a bit, ten mile
an hour winds and the rains turned to a constant drizzle.