CHRIST A CHICKEN, a memoir

A mad capped adventure of two surfers returning from the beach.

Surfing was the love of our lives, and we surfed every chance we could. Put aside sand, sun, water, and waves one of the best parts of surfing is the camaraderie, being with your pals, sharing an experience. Although I have tried, and I will continue to try, I have never been able to replicate the joy of fellowship I experienced while being a surfer. Surfing is not just a sport, it is a religion, which to this day influences the way I perceive the world; once a surfer always a surfer.

 

My surfing buddies and I lived twenty-one miles inland from the beach at Santa Cruz, California, and would be considered two steps below blue-green algae by any surfer who lived on the water’s edge. Being above average intelligence, and all college bound, we never advertised our point of origin…inland; however, there were times when we were found out. The territorial behavior of a Tasmanian Devil would pale compared to any competitive surfer worth his salt. There were a finite number of waves out there, and everyone wants theirs. Might makes right, and when surfing with characters with names like “Lunch Meat,” skinny guys like me were not right too often.

 

On this particular day, my good friend Tim and I were heading back from a late afternoon surfing session. We were on Highway 17, which was a mountainous road between Santa Cruz and Los Gatos. This particular stretch of road was especially beautiful; it was even appreciated by two high school surf rats like Tim and I. The area was forested by redwoods on either side of the road, with broad panoramas of trees and the blue Pacific far below.

 

Tim was driving and I was sacked out in the back, lying on the surfboards that were protruding through the trunk (we had taken out the back seats, these were old school boards 9 to 10 feet long). I was in a “glazed” state of meditative exhaustion, riding in my mind the waves I had ridden earlier that evening. All of a sudden, a loud BANG, and then the now classic statement from Tim jolted me back to reality.

                

                “CHRIST, I THINK I HIT A CHICKEN!!”

 

By this time, I was on full alert, trying to surmise what the hell was going on. I could hear a rhythmic thump, thump, thump. It was in harmony with the speed of the car; the faster we went the more the thumps increased. Looking into the front seat, Tim was visibly agitated; after all, he was under the assumption that he just murdered a chicken. As we continued down the road, a strong odor began to waft up from the floor of the car. It did not smell like chicken. Being the brainy fellows we were, Tim and I decided it was time to pull the car over and take a closer look at this foul smelling chicken.

 

Tim remained in the car while I craned my neck under to see what was going on. Low and behold what we had was not a chicken, but rather a full sized Dacron sleeping bag, that was now partially fused to the universal joint of Tim’s car, a bluish smoke rising from the emulsified twisted mass of goop. Tim and I had a monstrous belly laugh, the joy of which remains with me to this day.

 

Once we pieced together the situation, it was time to take action, after all, dinner waited for us at home. Up the road a ways, was a gas station in of all places “Santa’s Village,” a theme park for small kids. We limped the car up the road, thump thump…thump…thump. Once we got to the station and put the car on the rack, the sleeping bag had melted considerably more because of the friction of rubbing up on the underside of the car. It was really baked onto the universal joint. The universal joint rotates at high speed and increases in speed as the car does. The “good old boys” at the gas station got quite a laugh out of the two rubes and our predicament. The final solution was to painstakingly remove the baked on plastic by banging it with a screwdriver and hammer.

 

It was after dark by the time we got home, but we were forgiven for being late because of the absurdity of our story. There is more to surfing than sand, sun, water, and waves.

Reviews

[Gray Witch]

That was another great story Zeeke... I will be back!

[emmajoy]

Love it .. shouldn't laugh at this 'chicken' story but am, a lot! Food for thought, huh! I'd no idea this short story would end up the way it did, wasn't sure I wanted to know about the death of a chicken .. but, so glad I did, still grinning!

When you write one of your memoirs, you include so many side details eg., that you're aiming for 'inland', how you felt as a surfer, where you travelled to and from and how .. you converse without dialogue (tho dialogue would be good !)

This is another stunner people should share, please send out RRs so others should enjoy that time .. and the crazy finish!

[Emily Quinn]

A chicken... quite a random animal to believe as road kill. Certainly wouldn't be my initial thought; maybe a squirrel or raccoon but a CHICKEN? That's funny, I'm sure that sentance became a legendary one between you two! I used to live in a larger city and while mybrother and I were walking to this huge park we found a chicken... just walking around in circles on this path we took as a short cut. A chicken in the city. We brought it home as our pet of course...

Anyway, sounds like another fun 'adventure' I've always wanted to try surfing and your descriptions only intensified that. I did notice a few errors/typos but other than that I enjoyed the laugh

[roarke]

So dude, what happened to the chicken? lol.

Nice anecdote. That's the cool thing about doing things you love, the stories that evolve from them create a personal mythology that shapes your life. Thanks for sharing a slice of your mythology.