Edge of Torrance
Today I walked south from the edge of Torrance beach (below the Redondo Pier) to Malage Cove in Palos Verdes. I wore my canvas workout pants and my new sweatshirt. I walked alone with no radio. I parked my truck at the top of the bluff and walked down the narrow railed path to the beach. The offshore wind was cold and reminded me its still Winter. I took the pedestrian path south but quickly cut out to the sand to get away from the bikers and joggers. The sand felt good and honest. I was wearing my New Balance, well worn after walking across Europe, and I felt good crunching across the sand.
As I walked, Palos Verdes became more detailed. I could see nice houses on the green hills, and craggy coves jutting down to the sea. As Torrance beach petered out, the cliffs rose up to the rich mansions and I dodged between piles of seaweed and driftwood. Suddenly I had gone from sandard South Bay beachbreak to wild coastal coves, like something from northern california. It was weird. The coast curves around to Malaga Cove, and the sandy beach becomes a rocky shore. I walked the winding path up the cliff, passed the Palos Verdes Athletic Club. looked in saw some kids in the jacuzzi, they looked very cute and were probably very rich.
I walked up the cliff and found myself on the bluff across from a lovely park. Kids were playing baseball and a few junior high girls were watching them and gossiping. Where was I? I crossed the green grassy park and walked along a ridge of expensive mansions. Everyone drove a brand new SUV, Lexus, or Mercedes. Nothing old.
In town I was my first Palos Verdes local. He looked like a surfer, but real clean cut like some surfer from a 50s movie. Kind of like the pictures of my uncle as a teenager in Newport Beach way back when. Anyway, this guy is grabbing a newspaper from the machine and he sees me and stares at me. I stare back. He looks pissed. It was weird. I was gonna say, "What? I can't even walk through your fucking town?" The South bay rags are up in arms because some Palos Verdes locals beat up some Hermosa Surfers who charged their break. It's been this way for a long time, but finally it happened to an adult. The funny thing is the local cops didn't help the hermosa surfer. He was all bleeding and even his knee got busted, but the cops didn't take his story, and later the guy saw the cops laughing and joking with the surfers who beat him up.
Localism is a bad word now, and I can see why. I walked into a liquor store and bought a Gatorade. I felt like John Rambo walking through that small Oregon town; feeling unwanted. I walked through town and followed the green curving hill back to PCH. My car was somewhere near Redondo, and I wanted to find it before dark. I walked on the left side of the road, with no sidewalk, walking on grass and looking down at the ocean below me. A green hedge almost blocked my view and I was reminded of all the times I walked to elementary school, and how I intimitely knew every intersection on my way, every bush, every fence, and every dog. Suddenly I was back there, walking home from school.
Life slows down when you walk. I felt slow and small, but I felt free. The PV people were driving home in there new SUVs and Mercedes and I was walking back to Redondo, learning every intersection, every bush. Did they know them?
As I walked, Palos Verdes became more detailed. I could see nice houses on the green hills, and craggy coves jutting down to the sea. As Torrance beach petered out, the cliffs rose up to the rich mansions and I dodged between piles of seaweed and driftwood. Suddenly I had gone from sandard South Bay beachbreak to wild coastal coves, like something from northern california. It was weird. The coast curves around to Malaga Cove, and the sandy beach becomes a rocky shore. I walked the winding path up the cliff, passed the Palos Verdes Athletic Club. looked in saw some kids in the jacuzzi, they looked very cute and were probably very rich.
I walked up the cliff and found myself on the bluff across from a lovely park. Kids were playing baseball and a few junior high girls were watching them and gossiping. Where was I? I crossed the green grassy park and walked along a ridge of expensive mansions. Everyone drove a brand new SUV, Lexus, or Mercedes. Nothing old.
In town I was my first Palos Verdes local. He looked like a surfer, but real clean cut like some surfer from a 50s movie. Kind of like the pictures of my uncle as a teenager in Newport Beach way back when. Anyway, this guy is grabbing a newspaper from the machine and he sees me and stares at me. I stare back. He looks pissed. It was weird. I was gonna say, "What? I can't even walk through your fucking town?" The South bay rags are up in arms because some Palos Verdes locals beat up some Hermosa Surfers who charged their break. It's been this way for a long time, but finally it happened to an adult. The funny thing is the local cops didn't help the hermosa surfer. He was all bleeding and even his knee got busted, but the cops didn't take his story, and later the guy saw the cops laughing and joking with the surfers who beat him up.
Localism is a bad word now, and I can see why. I walked into a liquor store and bought a Gatorade. I felt like John Rambo walking through that small Oregon town; feeling unwanted. I walked through town and followed the green curving hill back to PCH. My car was somewhere near Redondo, and I wanted to find it before dark. I walked on the left side of the road, with no sidewalk, walking on grass and looking down at the ocean below me. A green hedge almost blocked my view and I was reminded of all the times I walked to elementary school, and how I intimitely knew every intersection on my way, every bush, every fence, and every dog. Suddenly I was back there, walking home from school.
Life slows down when you walk. I felt slow and small, but I felt free. The PV people were driving home in there new SUVs and Mercedes and I was walking back to Redondo, learning every intersection, every bush. Did they know them?
posted by Nicholas Gustavson @ 11:45 PM
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