Leigh

Memorial Day Observed

May 28, 2018 Leigh Travel

On this Memorial Day, we pause to remember those who fought for our country, so that we can enjoy the freedom and the beauty they helped to preserve.

“The trail ahead leads into wilderness. It is a place where wild plants and animals live out their daily lives, and where natural processes prevail. It is an area for people to be spiritually refreshed, and physically challenged. It is an area to enjoy. From our visits, we gain rich experiences, and memories, but in return we must remember to give this area another day of unspoiled wildness.”

-Henry David Thoreau

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Six

May 26, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Surfing, Yoga

Note: This is a recap of Day Six of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day five here.

The hotel offered breakfast, so we made the most of the coffee, fruit, and yogurt — the last made by the waitress herself, the night before. The morning was overcast and a little chilly, so we decided to see about getting some laundry done before heading to the beach. While at the hotel, we met a surfer named Chad from Colorado. We had a good chat about surfing, traveling and a little politics. He asked if he could use Edgar’s phone to email his wife and let her know he’s alive. He said he was in the middle of a three-week surfing pilgrimage, and that she allows this once every year. But, she does worry if she doesn’t hear from him, and he was only carrying a flip phone. We shared our technology and got the message through, then told him we’d see him at the beach.

Scorpion Bay has a reputation for being one of the best and longest waves in the world. If conditions are right, you can get on one, take a right, and just keep going. The bug got a warm welcome at the break, where Chad and some other folks were already parked and suiting up. A guy who introduced himself as Bubba, also from Colorado, couldn’t get enough of our Green Machine, and took several photos for the boys back home. He was doing the trip in a VW bus, and explained he belonged to a VW fan club. “They’ll love this!” he said with a big grin on his face, snapping photos like he was with the paparazzi. He also showed us the sticker he had on his bus, which celebrated the journey. It read, “I Survived the North Road!” I wanted one for the bug, but didn’t get around to finding the right shop.

The super clean lines were calling, so we waved to the guys and headed down a little ways to the next of the four points. The rocks and the swell were intimidating for me, so I took a flow on the beach while Edgar climbed down and paddled out. It was breaking clean, at waist to shoulder high, and he reported back that it was super fun.

The sun came and I had plenty of time to salute it repeatedly and then work on hand stands on the beach. I can only hold for a second or two, but it feels like forever. I’m always hesitant to practice on hard surfaces since I know I’ll tumble, but the soft sand was perfect and the bug was also kind enough to offer a steady assist.

As we got ready to leave, we ran into a Japanese surfer with a board tucked under his arm. He was so excited he was running for the beach. “I am at the end of my surfing trip,” he told us. “I think I will go to America and work some more, save up more money, until I have enough to go again.” Living the life.

We needed to get moving to stay on schedule for the ferry, but we wanted to stare at the lines a while longer so we grabbed some fish tacos at a beachside restaurant. While we waited for the food, I pet a tiny dog, who didn’t mind the interruption to his afternoon nap.

Then it was time. We put the bug in gear and headed for La Paz, about six hours away. The road was all pavement, and smooth-sailing, quite the change from our bumpy ride in. Even though we were cruising along with one headlight and two fog lights, we were greeted with quick waves and the “move along” motion at the checkpoints. We found the La Perla hotel for sixty USD, a safe place to sleep right by the water. When we pulled into the turnout for valet parking, the attendant said it was okay to just keep it right there. The workers all regarded our rig with a little smile on their faces.

We walked to a nearby Italian restaurant and ate sandwiches for dinner and watched people cruise down the main strip. For dessert we had cheesecake, which we thought was going to be carrot cake. We could tell the waitress wasn’t sure when we ordered, and when she delivered it she was looking sheepish. “My English is not so good,” she said. But that was okay because the cheesecake was.

Miles traveled on day six: 242 smooth ones on the best road so far

On day seven: We conducted a dry run for the ferry, and annoyed a surf shop owner who tried to lure us away from “her” waves.

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Five

May 19, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Note: This is a recap of Day Five of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day four here.

The first thing we did on Day Five, was get out the toolbox and give the bug some attention. Well, the very first thing we did was get coffee. I ordered from the hotel restaurant, and used my weak but growing Spanish to say “Cafe con leche. Dos. And….(I mimed walking fingers) vamose!” It’s rough, but people seem to appreciate the attempt. The waitress returned with two coffees to go and asked me for 35 pesos. I handed her 40, and she handed them back to me and shook her head. I looked down and noticed I had given her $40 Canadian. Travelers’ problems

We spent about an hour in the hotel parking lot checking oil, reattaching fenders and getting the LED bar to work. Then it was time to set our sights on Scorpion Bay. We drove for a while before deciding to stop for lunch at a roadside restaurant. Tacos, a torta and two coca lites really hit the spot. The bill was a whopping 131 pesos, or $7.

At a gas station stop, Edgar filled up the tank and I went inside the little store for snacks. I spotted a little bag of something called Choco Retas and decided we needed to try them. They tasted like tiny little peppermint patties. Addicting!

On the way out of the store I spotted a small dog, and of course stopped to pet it. “You like dogs, amiga?” the man sitting in front of the store asked. I admitted I did. “I have puppies for adoption. You want one?” I said no thank you and held firm, but I had to speed walk it out of there.

We’d spent some time researching the drive to Scorpion Bay, so we knew we would be a while on a dirt road, then take a left at a fish camp, and then we’d have the option to take the salt flats, or the north road. There were warnings included with both. Don’t stray from the path. Don’t go alone. Take a short wave radio…. and so forth.

We decided to go alone and take candy and a good attitude. The north road needed a grader and it needed one badly. It was washboard the whole way. We tried to weave to a “better” part of the road, but better never really came. A few times we would run into really soft sand, and we’d have to get a run at it to stay unstuck. Other times we had to slowly rock crawl and rattle our way across stretches with no sand at all. It was pretty exciting and we always made it up and out.

A few hours in we spotted a van coming the other direction, and the driver slowed to talk to us. It was a couple from California and they were coming back from Scorpion Bay. The driver offered us directions that included go straight, pass a goat farm, keep going, drive through the creek bed…. “How much farther is it?” we asked. “Oh at least two more hours,” came the reply. We waved our thanks and put the bug in gear.

All told, we were about seven hours on the north road. We passed lots of cows, and a group of wild horses. Of course I wanted to get close, but they were skittish and had foals with them, so they stuck around long enough for a couple long-distance clicks and then took off. The scenery changed from the salt pools to sand to brush and then tall cacti. We got a good long look at all of it, since the road conditions only allowed us to go about ten miles per hour. (by ear)

Finally, we saw lights, and Scorpion Bay was just a right turn away. The town is lovely… small, and developed just enough to have a few places to stay and one selling gasolina. The Scorpion Bay Hotel still had rooms and the upstairs restaurant was open. One note about the temperature – because Mexico is typically hot, the places we stayed had air conditioning but not heat. If you travel during cooler weather, you might want to bring along an extra blanket.

After dinner, we took a walk and craned our necks to see a sky lit up with stars.

Miles traveled on Day Five: 194, including a decent section of the Baja 500

Coming up on Day Six: Scorpion Bay delivers on its dependable reputation, and we meet a group of VW enthusiasts with an enormous amount of stoke. Stay tuned (bro).

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Four

May 12, 2018 Leigh Surfing, Travel

Note: This is a recap of Day Four of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day three here.

Do you ever eat a dinner so delicious, you wake up thinking about having it for breakfast? We greeted the two ladies in the kitchen on Day Four and used our poquito Spanish to explain where we’d stashed our leftovers, and to request they crack an egg on each one for breakfast. Smiles and nods confirmed they understood, and they threw in some tortillas for extra measure. We drove away munching happily on lobster tortillas, and knowing we needed to get some surf time in pretty quickly before our travel pants wouldn’t button.

It was time to fill up when we reached San Quintin, and since we were told there was no gas station for a couple hundred miles after that, we filled up our gas can too. We ran into a few other Americans and Canadians at the gas station, and fielded some questions about the bug. We did some rough math, and figured we could make it to Guerrero Negro if we took it easy. The gas station employee advised Edgar to keep his foot out of it. (Even if he had suggested a max speed limit, we couldn’t have adhered to it. The Green Meanie doesn’t have a speedometer. You gotta drive by ear and feel.)

Before the trip, we’d scoped out a few surf spots we really wanted to see on the way down. One of them is called The Wall. The internet will tell you that this beach is remote. That doesn’t really do it justice. We drove and drove and asked around everywhere we stopped, and at a couple friendly-looking security military checkpoints. (We were never searched, or even paused more than a few seconds just to ask where we came from and where we were going. Eye contact, smiles and polite greetings go a long way, and are always recommended when speaking to men with tactical rifles.) Some of the roads south are great, and you can clip along at a speed that sounds to be around 60 miles an hour. At other times, a swarm of potholes come at you out of no where, and at other points, that swarm contains bees. Real ones. Lots. We smacked into them and left an interesting group of smudges on the windshield, and a group of live ones buzzed right into our open windows. Luckily, they did not appear out for revenge. For some reason they were drawn to the gear shift, and one after the other crawled up the shifter and onto Edgar’s hand. We devised a release method. When the bee got on Edgar’s skin, I would hold us into fourth gear, as the car was still slipping out, and he’d keep one hand on the wheel and use the other to set the bee free. We repeated these steps a few times until the remaining bees had been sent on their merry way. We thank them for their non-stinging cooperation.

Our bee kill-and-rescue mission and our search for The Wall nearly had us forget our need for a gas station, but signs for Santa Rosalillita brought us back into reality. It was a neat little fishing town with a couple of stores and homes. The first shop lady we spoke to didn’t know about The Wall, but she did know her neighbors sold gasolina just down the road. Sure enough they did, out of jugs stored in their shed. While Edgar got that handled, I made sure all the dogs in the neighborhood didn’t miss out on a good scratching.

Gas station, Baja style

An American pescadora who happened to be doing her shopping was familiar with The Wall, and explained the possible routes to get there. “Is that your bug out front?” she asked. We nodded. “Oh, take the coastal road. You can go anywhere in that.”

This was a refrain we heard a lot, but knew to take lightly. The bug has some great tires, and a lot of heart, but she is a ’68. We gave the coastal road a good once over and decided it was indeed the way to go. It was sandy, bumpy and seemingly forgotten. It traveled along the beach, through some ravines and a little inland. We saw some tire tracks, and got a chance to get up on three wheels, but we didn’t see any other vehicles in the action. We did see what was later confirmed as The Wall, but it wasn’t working because of two much onshore wind. What we didn’t see, was an exit.

After bumping along for an amount of time that was just beginning to be concerning, we spotted a camper in the distance. We cruised up to it and were greeted by a man with a beard, hat, open bottle of red wine and purple teeth. He put out his hand and introduced himself as Fibber McGee. He said it like it meant something, but he could tell by our faces that it didn’t click. “Fibber! From Fibber McGee and Molly in the morning!” Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell. Fibber told us he was part of a very popular radio show in LA, and that he’d been on the air for years before they let him go over “something stupid”. He offered us wine from his bottle, and a plate of the chicken and potatoes he was cooking. “I’ve been here six months,” he informed us. “I pay a local $100 a month and I live in paradise.” We declined his kind offer, and he was visibly disappointed, but agreed to point us toward the way out. Literally. “You see that feather ridge, over there?” Fibber pointed at a spot about two miles away. “Take a left.”

It was thinking seriously about dark when we finally saw telephone poles, and then a paved road. It was at this point we realized Fibber’s nickname wasn’t entirely accurate. We turned south once again and set our sights on Guerrero Negro. The bug was really hitting its stride when we hit a stretch of mean potholes – swerving away from one just meant smacking into another, and we heard a dreadful noise that sounded an awful lot like a flat tire, less than an ideal situation for 9pm on a Mexican highway. We found a turnout and grabbed our flashlight for a look. The tires held up, but the fenders took a hit on both sides. Thanks to our stash of zip ties, we were able to zip them back on temporarily, and roll into town. The Halfway Inn had rooms and a restaurant that was open for 15 more minutes. The waiter explained this when he met us in the parking lot. He also recommended the surf and turf, which was pretty good, and we turned in with a plan to get up at a decent hour and spend an hour or so “mechanicing” our little hearts out.

Miles traveled on day four: 285 road miles + 30 on sand dunes and dirt + 40 yards on three wheels

On day five, we survived the north road (but didn’t get a sticker) and were introduced to a tiny green Mexican candy.

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Three

May 6, 2018 Leigh Travel, Yoga

Note: This is a recap of Day Three of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day two here.

We had a nice breakfast with our Philippino friend and innkeeper, and headed to the bank to get some cash. We were surprised to find a bank south of San Diego didn’t offer withdrawals in pesos, which we normally would have ordered in advance. No matter, we got USD knowing we’d find an exchange place closer to the border.

There are a few tricky things about taking a car into Mexico from the US. You need Mexican insurance and a temporary vehicle permit if you plan to go to the mainland. It’s not required for Baja, so some travelers might be in for a surprise after driving around Mexico for a while, then deciding to cross on the ferry or drive around. Permits are required, and you’ll need to be near a border crossing to get one. To save yourself some hassle, look up the nearest temporary vehicle permit office to your border crossing city. Check their hours too, as you don’t want to get stuck arriving just after closing.

Once you find the office, you’ll need to turn in your paperwork. You’ll need originals of your title and registration, and then copies of your driver’s license, passport, and tourist visa, all in the same name as the person responsible for the vehicle. You’ll pay a fee and a deposit to have your car in the country. This deposit is refundable when you take the car back out of Mexico within 180 days. The office will give you paperwork on this, so it’s best to read and make sure you understand the agreement.

We found out that this vehicle office used to give the individual temporary visas too, but stopped doing that at an undetermined time, which apparently took place prior to our arrival. We were directed to go to the Tijuana airport to receive those. I’m referencing those little sheets you fill out on international flights, and that are checked at customs. Just because we didn’t fly in didn’t mean we didn’t need them, and the airline would need to see this when we flew out.

We headed to the airport without really knowing where we would go when we arrived. We asked a couple of folks and got pointed in the right direction. The paperwork required a small fee, of course, but we paid it, showed our passports and were on our way.

Edgar had received a recommendation for lunch at Hotel Rosa in Ensenada. It was another gorgeous setting, with a breeze off the water, an infinity pool, and a bountiful supply of chips and guacamole. With a locale this pretty, I couldn’t help getting into a few poses, and even got Edgar in on the action.

Our bellies full, we headed to the car… which again would not start. We checked the wire that had given us trouble the day before, and it was holding solid. Edgar did a little more investigating, and then I noted that it was making a clicking noise when he tried to start it. Once he heard that, he grabbed a hammer and had me try to turn it over while he hit the starter — boom. Success.

We were headed to San Quintin, but stopped short when dusk fell and followed a sign toward a beach hotel in Camalu. The road was bumpy and littered with stray dogs and a few horses. No hotel in sight. Just when we thought we should turn around, we spotted a large 2.5 story building (the third was in progress) with one lone dog out front. Tell me, does this place look open for business?

Well, we were wrong and it was warm and inviting, with lights on and music playing when we opened the door. Emmanuel recommended the lobster with vegetables. He even allowed us through a back hall and into Room 12 so we could select our own. Check out my plate — this was just my half!

I stuffed myself silly but couldn’t finish it. We asked Manny to put our leftovers in the fridge. We found a “parking spot” under the balcony and settled in for the night.

Miles traveled on day three: 195 (with a few hours paused at the border)

On day four, we drove through a swarm of bees and met an old radio DJ named Fibber McGee, who just happened to tell us the truth….

You’re Doing it Right

May 4, 2018 Leigh Yoga

No matter what business, hobby or fitness regime you’re into, you will always find someone on social media who looks like they’re doing it “better”. Maybe they have the toys you only have in your dreams, or maybe they’re nailing the pose you’ve been attempting for years. One of the things I appreciate about my yoga training is that our instructors emphasized every pose looks different in every body. The length of your limbs and the way your hips are set are not the same as the yogi next to you, or the one looking so perfect on your feed.

So do it your way. Find a quiet spot away from a mirror and practice the way you want to, for as long as you want to. Skip a ridiculous amount of chaturangas. Stay in child’s pose for a length of time you might have previously considered too long. Breathe. Feel how you feel instead of how you look.

My friend Sarah (above) encourages you with this thought:

Accept where you are right now. Never compare today’s version of you with yesterday’s version of you or anyone else.

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Two

April 29, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Note: This is day two of our adventures driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, California to Sayulita, Mexico. If you missed day one, you can read that recap here.

We woke up to find a thief had been at the bug and gone again, and the only thing he or she wanted was the “travelsurfyoga.com” tape on our window. Sometimes even a cheap marketing ploy gets recognized for its value. With a shake of our heads we piled back into the bug and set our sights on Sunset Cliffs, the birthplace of the fish surfboard.

Sunset Cliffs is beautiful. Pictures don’t do it justice, but I’ll give it my best attempt. Something about the clear blue water juxtaposed with the rocks and sky… I couldn’t stop saying how lovely it all was.

As we drove through town, we spotted two gentlemen and a golden retriever lounging outside a surf shop. The guys smiled at our rig, and we swung into a parking spot. Mark and his friend shook our hands and we checked out their boards for sale. They told us about the nearby surf spot, not working that day unfortunately, and we chatted about a couple of places we planned to see on our way down the coast. Mark told us about Richard, a local surfer and VW enthusiast, who was selling coffee out of a bus down by the water. “It’s a blue VW bus, and he’s a surfer guy with long blonde hair. Stop by and see him,” they encouraged us several times. We promised we would and took our leave.

Sure enough, we stumbled upon Richard and his buses down by the shore. He gave us a nod and his permission to park the bug next to his green VW bus for sale. (It’s priced at 30k, in case you have the interest and a little pocket change.) We ordered coffees and stretched our legs, and after a little chat decided to get back on the road.

Except, the bug wasn’t ready to move. We pressed the button, and it wouldn’t start. Hmmm. Tried again. Richard had ideas and so did his buddy, and we all got out to talk them through. The buddy grabbed a can of starting fluid and gave it a go. Still nothing. After a little more tinkering, we discovered a loose wire in the ignition system. Richard’s friend grabbed a crimping tool and viola! It worked. While it was running, we threw out one more question. The first day the bug stayed in gear just fine, but on day two it was wanting to jump out of fourth, especially when pulling uphill. Richard said it sounded like we needed to check the transmission fluid, and we drove off with that mission in mind, and directions to the nearest Auto Zone.

We pulled into a side lot to add the fluid, check the oil and tighten whatever we could access and turn, even just a smidge. When we went to fill the bug with transmission fluid, the fill port was only hand tight, so the fluid suggestion turned out to be a good one. It didn’t cure the popping out of gear part, but the bug drank a bottle of the stuff and we certainly wouldn’t want to run it dry.

Back on the road, we decided we should adjust our original plan, and cross the border the next morning. Our mechanic stop was well worth it, but it did cost us some daylight, and night time is not the best time to get into Mexico and get paperwork sorted. We pinpointed the best place to stay just this side of the border, in a town called Chula Vista. The El Primo Hotel had a confident name and a friendly manager/owner, who professed to be 79 years old “plus tax”.

I didn’t catch his name, but he was willing to share about his journey from the Philippines to the states when he was just 19 years old. He joined the navy right away, and volunteered for submarine duty. He told us he could see the sides of the hallways down below, begin to curve under the pressure at 3200 feet. We could have swapped stories with him all evening, but we were hungry and not the only guests, so we said good night and walked down the street to an Italian restaurant, with 200 more miles under our belts.

On Day Three we required the services of Smack it with a Hammer Mechanics, and found out beach hotels that appear abandoned sometimes offer the best accommodations. Stay tuned…

Taking the baja down the Baja

April 21, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Surfing, Travel, Yoga

To really tell this story, I must first tell you how the Green Meanie came to be. Edgar and I had been to Sayulita quite a few times, and each time paid a pretty steep amount to rent a car. You pay for the rental, but also for the Mexican insurance (check out VdM), since your insurance in the states is not accepted there. This addition doubles the cost of the rental. We talked about how it would be nice to have an older car there just to run around to restaurants, surf breaks and the airport… maybe something like a VW bug.

The idea sounded good, and it quickly moved from mere conversation to an internet search, and to a specific seller who appeared to have just the thing posted on Craig’s List. It was green, mean, a little beat up and a lot loud. It was a baja bug. Our new friend had been working on it with his grandfather, and had even taken a trip to Mexico in it already. It fit our needs and the price was right, so we made the deal. The seller even towed it to my house, since my stick shift driving now is weak at best, and at that time, was non-existent.

I kept the bug at my place for a while, and taught myself to drive it on weekends. I practiced taking it to the gas station, waving folks around me as I stalled at lights. Edgar came to visit and we added gas and water cans, a high-lift jack, shovel, pick ax and all-terrain tires. We ordered a few spare parts, and then a couple more, and stocked up on zip ties and black tape. A stall mat made for a handy back seat cover, and I got my first drilling experience putting in some second-hand head rests. We threw in some floor mats, ammo boxes for the glove compartments, and made sure we had a gallon of oil at the ready.

The Green Meanie was ready to go home.

Day One:

We left Sacramento with a back seat filled with tools and backpacks, and a roof rack topped off with surf boards. I thought people might give us a second glance, but we were surprised to see how much people were really digging it. We saw lots of thumbs up and plenty of cell phones out for photos as we rumbled down the highway.

Our first stop was Santa Cruz and the Ripcurl store. Edgar wanted to pick up a wet suit for the cold pacific water, and I found a shorty that would be perfect a little farther south. Our rig was drawing attention in the parking lot, so we figured we’d let people know where they could read more about our travels, and borrowed a sharpie from the shop. We wrote our web address on masking tape and slapped it to the back windows on both sides. Cheap, but effective. (We actually have TSY stickers, but I neglected to bring them along, so the tape had to do.)

We stopped every couple of hours for gas and to check the oil. The gas gauge was sort of a guide, but not an exact one. If it got to half, that was more like empty. Did I mention we had a big gas can on the side? We were prepared for long stretches without a gas station, and for pretty much daily guesses at how much we had left in the tank. For a trip like this, the proper mindset is key. Even though we had a mechanic go through it before we hit the road, (thanks FIDS of West Sac!) we understood there might be challenges, and we were ready to roll with them.

The first evening was a chilly one, and we threw on a few extra layers as we cruised into Ventura. We knocked out about 400 miles for our first day, and we were pretty pleased. We had hoped to find a restaurant open, but Saturday night was surprisingly sleepy, and we ended up ordering pizza in.

Day two began with a shocking theft, and moved on to a strange encounter with a surfer who sold coffee out of a VW bus. Stay tuned….

Do You Surf?

April 14, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Every once in a while, I’ll mention surfing in conversation and someone will say, “Oh! Do you surf?”

And I hesitate.

You could say that I surf, or you could say that every once in a while I take a board out into the ocean and try not to drown. My relationship with surfing is tentative, which one could accurately argue is not the way to surf at all. But I’ve come to believe that it is wise to approach the ocean with caution. Is it okay?… Is now a good time?… I could come back later, say… when you’ve calmed down a bit…

My first surf adventure began with an offhand comment from a coworker in Atlanta. I was planning my next vacation, and he recommended a surf school in Costa Rica. Warm sunshine, warm water, and a good way to burn off any extra vacation calories. I was in.

I got into my first lesson and learned how to catch white water. Paddle, paddle, paddle… pop up. Paddle, paddle, paddle… pop up. Not too bad. I had balance and body awareness, and thanks to years of gym-going, a pretty easy time paddling and pushing up. The pop up was not the problem. The ocean was the problem.

When my instructor decided it was time for me to surf green water, I felt like I would never get past the break. Even with a decent amount of time between periods, I would always seem to meet the next set coming in, and the next set didn’t like me much. “Get out!” it yelled at me with each wave. I’d get knocked off my board, knocked completely upside down, sideways, take the tumbling washing machine of the current and then pop up, about 20 feet from where I began. “A little farther,” the instructor would yell, from his super cool position kneeling on his board and cutting through the waves like a hot knife through butter. Okay. Yeah. A little farther.

I eventually would make it out past the break, exhausted and coughing up the half of the ocean I’d swallowed. The last thing I’d want to do is catch the next wave headed in the other direction. Even now, I never do. To me, just getting that far is something to celebrate, and deserves a moment to take in. Breathe. Relax. I let my legs dangle in the water and the sun warm my shoulders, and I watch the others paddle into the force that always seem to scare me and beckon to me at the same time. I wait for the burning in my nose and my shoulders to subside, and when I see a little bump come my way I think… maybe this one. I paddle hard… wait for the ocean to sneak under me and the roar of the wave to carry me… it’s never that I’m besting it, or even riding it… it’s more that we have a tentative agreement. The ocean allows me to come in and stay awhile, and I am grateful.

Making Shapes

April 4, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Yoga

If you’re a yogi, have yogis in your life, or even just follow some on social media, you’ve probably seen them get into postures in the strangest places. They might even use a hashtag like #yogaeverywhere or #yogaoutside and to a non-yogi it might seem a little narcissistic… or just silly. I’m sure, depending on the yogi, it can be both, but I think it’s sometimes something else.

I was at a park today and it was filled with interesting architecture and sculptures and I must admit, I thought, “This would be a great place to do yoga!” I saw all these lines and shapes and I was thinking about which poses would go with them, or contrast with them in a visually interesting way. Yoga is one of the ways I try to free up my creative side, and sometimes a doorway or a statue (or an ice castle!) just looks like the perfect place to practice. I guess it’s like wanting to paint there, or sing there, or write….

So the next time you see an interesting space, and you get the urge to launch into a handstand or ease into wheel, go for it. And if you take a picture, share it with us. We’ll understand.