jumpingfish

“Dude, where you been?”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you know. I mean where’ve you been. I was beginning to think something was wrong on my end.”

“I’ve been here.”

“Been awfully quiet.”

“Not really, just not at the keyboard.”

“Why not.”

“Tired, I guess. And it’s a mess in here. And … well there’s this pile of books beside my bed that somehow seem more inviting than … than this.”

“Sorry, man.”

“No, it’s ok. I do need to try to reboot this thing.”

Boing.

1. At The Starting Line

They won’t tell you how far back they stood when they stood at the starting line, although if they did, they’d also have to mention how relieved they were when they realized they were initially standing way, way too far back in a crowd that made them feel more like geezers and plodders than in truth they are.

No, they won’t tell you about that. And neither will I.

But I will tell you that the Mockingbirds were singing in the trees, hidden amid the spring green leaves and orange-brown tassels of Oak pollen. Yes, I know I always say that about the birds. And I always say that the sun was shining and the sky was blue. But on this day, the sun wasn’t shining nor was the sky blue. Indeed, the sky was overcast and gray as they stood waiting for the race to start.

But it wasn’t a long wait. And it was made easier by the happy murmuring of the crowd, an Austin Maroons banner held high by a runner with a maroon afro, Scooby and Shaggy milling about in the crowd, much taking of cellphone pictures and great music.

And then the announcer cried, “Go!” as Stevie Ray Vaughn (Who else?) boomed out the speakers.

Far ahead, heads began bobbing. A surge of moving bodies worked its way from the starting line back to marker 1 (6 minutes per mile) to 2 (7 minutes per mile) to 3 (8 minutes) to 4 to … well back to where the two of them were standing. And for a moment they were jogging, but then of course the surge passed behind them as they came to a stop.

And then the crowd began walking. Walking. The two of them began walking from … well from where they had started, walking all the way up to the starting line. For 15 minutes they walked as thousands and thousands of runners crossed the starting line and began the race. 

2. Around Mile 5

Somewhere around mile 5, they were running on the left side of the crowd, because frankly most of the crowd was moving pretty slowly.

This was mostly his fault. At the halfway point he had waited in line at a porta-potty, and of course she waited for him. It cost them 10 minutes.

So by the time they got to mile 5 they were far behind the real running crowd. And it was here that he looked up and saw a man ahead of them with a hand-written sign taped to his back: In Denial — 90 years old.

The fair and industrious Trudy was trying to pick up the pace, but David (Yes, they were them.) moved right up to the man’s left shoulder and held out his hand as they passed him.

The man looked over and smiled and gave David five. David smiled and then turned back to run at Trudy’s pace. But then he did a double take. He turned back, leaning to get a look at the man’s face.

“I know you,” he said to the man.

“Yes,” said the man. He was smiling and very relaxed. “I’ve seen the two of you at a Turkey Trot or two.”

 “And I taught you in a computer class at the library a couple times.”

“Yes,” chuckled the man. “I finally figured out how to get on the Internet.”

“I’m David.”

“I’m Jim.”

“See you at the finish line.”

3. Not In Denial

Maybe he was in the front of the crowd at the start and so got a 15 minute head start on them. And certainly he didn’t wait in any line at the 5K mark. But think of it: he was there running along at 90 years old, and it was not until mile 5 that the two of them even caught up. 

He’s not in denial about anything. He’s doing just fine.

We woke to the green glow of the rain forest outside the cottage windows.

And after a decadent shower with tropical air blowing in the windows, we wandered around the grounds of Volcano Garden Arts.

It was a foggy, cloudy day. Wisps blew thru the treetops. We had a simple breakfast of bananas, bread and cereal, and then we drove the mile up the road for the first of what would turn out to be many visits to Hawaii Volcanoes National Park.

There were steam vents beside the road with white steam rising out of fern-lined holes in the ground. The mist and the fog and the steam were all around us. The forests stood silently in the distant haze. The grasses waved in the humid air. Behind a stand of green trees across a field, large clouds of steam billowed out of the ground and were carried away by the breeze.

At the caldera’s edge, we gazed out beyond the grasses and ferns and trees obliviously growing at the brink of destruction. In the distance thru the haze and clouds and blowing mist, steam rose from beyond the edge of the inner crater.

Halema‘uma‘u. Pele’s home.

So we glided down on Saddle Road in the rain in the dark into the dim, yellow glow of the streetlights of Hilo. We turned right at Hilo Bay, drove by Bayfront Park, passed signs for Liliuokalani Gardens and turned right on Highway 11, prepared for a final climb up toward Kileauea and Ira Ono’s Volcano Garden Arts guest cottage. 

But we were hungry, and there on the corner we spied Ken’s House of Pancakes (jammin’ since 1971).

Frankly, we didn’t know what we were doing. We were just hungry, and the lights were on, and the parking lot was pretty full, so we pulled in for something to eat. As it turns out, we couldn’t have chosen a better place.

The building is a long, one story diner kind of thing. As I remember it (caveat lector), there’s a bar where you can eat if you’re on your own. And there’s a visible kitchen in the back. And there are many booths where you can sit in groups. We sat in a booth. 

The menu was daunting. There was a little bit of everything: breakfast, omelets listed separately from breakfast, entrees, nite meals, island favorites, desserts… We chose loco moco. Trudy had Ono Loco. I had Corned Beef Hash Loco.

Our eyes went wide when the food arrived, and in no time at all our hunger was … poof. It was the best loco we had ever eaten. It was the first loco we had ever eaten. And if I ever have it again, it needs to be at Ken’s.

1. The Summit

We didn’t stay at the top long. We stopped and gawked at the telescopes sitting on top of the world.

And we gazed at a tempting trail along a peak leading to one of the orange cinder cones that dot Mauna Kea. 

There were pockets of snow along the trail, and it led to a summit far off that must have had a wonderful view. But the sun was getting low in the sky, throwing our shadows out onto the slopes.

And I was getting dizzy from the altitude. And we didn’t want to be crawling back down the volcano in the dark. So we walked around a bit more, and took one more good look at the panorama, the southern view of which included the flanks of Mauna Loa, although we didn’t realize it at the time (which is another story).

2. Descent

I breathed deeply to try to make the dizziness go away. We got into the Jeep. And we began our descent.

On the way down, we passed a Suburban with two flat tires. (What horrible luck, but help was on the way.) And we passed two hikers with packs on their backs, hiking rods in their hands and determined looks on their faces. And there were buses and Jeeps carrying tour groups, clearly ascending to catch the sunset.

We descended back into the clouds and mist and rain, leaving the magnificent blue sky behind.

Daytime became dusk. And by the time we emerged all the way at the bottom on Saddle Road where we had started this detour, rain was falling, it was night, the fog was thick, and we had zero visibility.

Still, the road was four lanes now with bright yellow stripes down the side — luxurious compared to the drive up from Kona. And we were going downhill so swiftly that we virtually glided all the way to Hilo.