PWCoffshore.com Team: Training for the 2009 Mark Hahn 300

Shawn Alladio · 02-11-2009, 11:39 PM

Don’t Tell Belton
The guard at the main gate says ‘I know what you are going to do, get out of here!’, we drive away laughing and I watch him smiling in the side view mirror signaling us with a hand wave and a compensatory head shake.

We order a sandwich at Subway, eat ½, get to the launch zone and walk the ramp. The sand is a wet line that recoiled so far out I was thinking of a plan B. The stub end of concrete dropped off and yielded an incomplete access. Sand had built up on the south side. I told Kim we would pit in there. It was not favorable. I knew we had to get this monster trailer in and off load the boats fast to relieve the weight. Basically I was going to sink my trailer and it would be in deep water. Could I get it out? I didn't know really and I wanted to find out. And that’s pretty much what happened, a little 4x4 boost and some burnt rubber, the trailer was dragged back on a tack hard deck. I knew the tide was coming up, that was going to be in our favor later, because this was not doable now.

I opened up the back of my truck. Kim Bushong peered in. I told him, ‘Don’t tell Belton’. I giggled, he laughed. You see Belton is the crew chief of dreams. Precise and orderly, he follows through to the truest of endings. My ending looked like a train wreck. I grabbed gear and began sizing up for our training session. Belton was the main topic for a spell, as we marveled at his 110 hour engine that was showroom quality. Belton’s discards are truthfully upgrades. “Don’t ever let Belton take a stab under my engine compartment’, I stammered, we laughed because we respect Belton. He is the one to look to for pre and post operations checks. This came about because I had a case of the wrong spark plugs for my boats and was unable to change out a set today. How many years have I been doing this? Just don’t tell Belton. Oh yeah and I do use a stock tool kit, you know the little rusty ones under the riding seat? Sorry Bushong!

I texted ‘Ski’, our joint training was to begin at 2PM, he was on a jump and they should be done by 1:30, should be hearing a ‘head’s up’ from him shortly. RXTUSMC bugged out had an unexpected vehicle to manage; we were going to miss him. Ski sends a text….’sorry we’re hitting a second jump, packing parachute again’. A Text to Sgt. B, he’s ‘in Area 41 training no go’ for today. We’ll pick it up again later this week. That’s reality in a world of warriors, days are ending on the next beginning, there are no broken promises, there are just measures to administer and complete. We will muster accordingly, just different a weather slot.

We hit subway. Time to eat as much as possible. We launch into the sink sand spit I chose as the best route to dump our boats. I liked the cozy atmosphere of being a rogue dog on the ocean and just making things happen on our own time. We pass through the jaws of the harbor mouth and head north on the Pacific Ocean. Tracing the fringe of the continent we live on, the surf is slightly yawning. Nice crisp small head high waves, gentle, consistent and dubious thumps on occasion made the inshore area a treat.

The sun is shining with that brilliant expectation that hovers with glee after a steady storm just dumped energy in all directions, splayed like a whirlwind, this blue sky was inviting. The ocean was not asleep the dormancy of the past two months was yielding a rolling cross hatch with glass swaggers and chippity flak that issued forth some flecks of irritation that translated into some downright hard hits on the PWC.

We picked up the pace on this inside of the surfzone. The impact zone is a great training area if you know what you are doing and respectful of yourself, environment and boat. Our speed was safe and slow, taking waves broadside, giving the helm and confidence boost to both of us, a good training element with great water to work with. I checked Kim every few seconds; he was holding and seemed to be managing the multi tasking required of him. I had spelled out some directions for him, and he naturally adopted them and ran on a level of athletic instinct that is innate to top dawgs such as himself. He’s easy going and tenacious without any draw of unnecessary attention. In my experience these type of riders are students usually are those designed for excellence. He can hold well a rough sea and switch out boat hulls and not fuss. He can go a long distance without complaint or notice outwardly. I heard all the legendary tales of Kim in the Kona Ironman and beyond. I try to visualize the 10 hours of grueling distance and I see why he adapts nicely to the offshore PWC element.

Inshore training is a technical development of confidence of our training principals in water rescue, now for our type of training I tell Kim we are going to focus on mindset and technical skills, not WOT. We’re going to balance port/starboard and forward body positioning, recovery and helm/hull control. We train in triangular patterns, quick zips an a mix of drills. Our bodies are used to forward and stern lunge movements. Today we focus on mid range to high range recovery and off ‘center’ strength building. Later on our Spec Op’s training takes us to the hidden realm of ‘instinctual riding’ over perception.

I watch Kim score deeply on the inside a breaking wave caressing his port beam. He turns and runs into the flats. He’s doing really well and is tasked to take a challenge, he never complains once. Repeatedly I see the flight response, and as I look back over my right shoulder I smile deeply. His face is serene but stern, eyes are focused, he’s trying to figure out his next tactical move. After a few of these repeats I have a written vision of a description that comes to mind. The measure of every man’s depth of pride, Kim rode that inshore shallow spit with true abandon. I looked back and said ‘training boats’. ‘Skimboard’ challenged the narrows and rode the film of sand and grit running from the devil.

Dead ahead the LCAC leaves the sand berm and plunges into the surf zone. I hail Kim and we watch this hovercraft get its wind shear sorted. Breaking through the shore the plume of mist sifts back 300 yards, the hovercraft straightens out and heads out to sea to a supply ship, makes a pass and disappears into the horizon. We run alongside it for a spell then break into a different canter heading 30 degrees southwest. The sun is chasing low on the horizon as the earth moves opposite it’s set.

We stop often and talk about navigation, not with a GPS. We discuss our bearings, how to chase a swell, run in fog or any other potential needs of self reliance. We run offshore and shut down the Jet Skis. I marvel at the openness and vast expanse. My thoughts always return to Jeremy Hoyland. I spend a few minutes on every ride contemplating our friendship and his life.

We run our last moments in silence, chasing shadows. The beat is a somber one of sensation, feel and intuitive measures. I check Kim and he’s always stable and steady on a sprint run, he holds any account on his trademark smooth style. He’s got one of those forms that looks good. I don’t promise to have such great form, so I truly appreciate the movements of those who harness fluid momentum.

Helicopters pass by from time to time, there is no other vessel traffic say for a Naval ship far away on the cusp of the water line. A dim gray shadow, small in stature but closer inspection would reveal its might. We run back to our launch zone and now there is barely enough water to put the boats back onto the trailer. It’s a fast hot run onto the rails, we pull up topside and flush the boats, store the trailer at the boat basin and eat the other half of our Subway sandwich, which now tasted better than before.

We banter back and forth on our race experiences, with the topic ‘racing ain’t fair’, and so it isn’t but that negative charge is another kind of human challenge that keeps us coming back for more. Our pwcoffshore.com team is passionate, that is a word I give them, real true open water warriors. Each person is a relic in individual form. Getting to know my brothers is a great experience for me, as each of us has our strengths and character that make our team phenomenal.

The moon has crested full on the horizon. The Mark Hahn looms. Our team has made the commitment. They have paid their dues, spent their money, built their boats, coordinated with their engine builders, acquired their annual sponsorships, promoted the events of choice and they ride the ride. The RIDE after the RIDE as my friend Darrick Doerner always tells me.

The talk shop after the ride is the afterburner effect.

We are burning rubber baby up the I-5. Home again, one day closer to the Hahn……300 miles of endurable fun.

http://flickr.com/photos/k38shawn/se...7613603296369/

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Shawn Alladio · 02-11-2009, 11:57 PM

Incoming 15-F
Chasing Interstate 5

Today we ride. ‘Ping’ my phone alert sounds, The Boss has sent a text, and it’s 6:31am. “Raining hard here right now may need to push out or cancel, what do you think? I respond “you call it”.

“Raining hard, let’s play by ear for later’. A half hour passes, ‘Ping’, 6:50am. ‘Wanna Run?’. I type on the small pad ‘Yeah I’m game.’ I kiss Shaniah goodbye, she’s sounding off in a delightful explosion of joy. She quickly draws me a picture before I leave to take with me. It’s a picture of both of us standing together holding hands and smiling. I place it on my dashboard and a piece of Shinny Shoo stays with me, close by.

Clouds are moving swiftly, there is a fast current pushing the cloud cover, it’s heading duly east. I remind myself the Earth is already pushing over 6,000 miles per hour on its own rotation axis, getting down into the atmospheric layers, everything is moving. I’m now on the 5 freeway, fueled up and heading south to Dana Point. My wetsuit is damp and clammy from yesterday’s practice. I won’t mind putting it on the parking lot, I tell myself as this is probably the hardest thing I ever do, putting on a cold wetsuit. The mystery of it is I always survive, it’s always cold and my body heat always changes the thermal temperature, so it’s a repetitive complaint that has no merit.

I arrive at the launch, intermittent skies splay voluminous cloud cover, some building up and colliding and some drifting free to open space, but all tracking quickly to land. I wonder how long it will take this section to arrive in Oklahoma. The Boss is staging in his stall and I pull my rig next to his. We begin all preparations. Dubz is coming down to ride with us, it will be a threesome.

Our race team, www.PWCoffshore.com is the only action in the lot, it’s a somber energy, there is no rush to anything, Cloud bursts rumble and lay low their rain stock from time to time. Dubz is going to tack out on one of my Kawasaki 15-F’s, we’ll have 2 on the Big Blue today. The Boss is going to run his New Blue Ultra he just bought from Belton, it’s so super clean that it is reminiscent of a family heirloom being passed on with fond appreciation. I’m asked to come over and inspect the engine compartment, gleefully we chuckle at the obvious meticulous care this boat had in its former lifetime.

I tell the Boss a little story about boat ramps, watching the surge, the water line and timeframes. It’s one way of ocean familiarity and observation. I am learning to gauge this riding zone by reading the boat ramp. My own adaptation of water experiences in a collective design of swell patterns, spacing and how my boat and I are going to merge environmentally. He asks me how much swell today, I respond with about a 9 second interlude and about waist high in the troughs between swell peaks. It’s like reading the lines on a palm. But not for fortune, rather for adventure.

The three of us get kitted up, launched and the last check is conducted. We’re good to go. And so we do.

Outside the harbor, we nod in agreement and point in the direction of travel. It is agreed we will ride to Oceanside harbor. We’re off and running.

We head parallel to the swell on a slight degree drift to starboard. The hull loads up nicely early on as I’m feeling testy and I want to shed some aggression, I know I’ll settle into a comfortable pace early on. I pull WOT, there is nothing left to give. My only true drive can come from keeping the pump hooked up with the rolling seas. On occasion I let the boat run ahead of me, and then I pull myself in, back to the centerline of the boat. By the end of the day I would have done this several hundred times, if not a thousand.

Heading into the southern trackline of the sun’s reflection, a perfect shimmer dazzles brilliance. I smile, one of absolute satisfaction. A moment of clarity appears. I am riding into the infinite with 2 people I would share any front with for protection. I am running into oblivion, the abyss of existence. The dancing prisms of refracted light crack splices of light that burst like diamond laden bombs. I am watching thousands of souls dancing upon the surface of the water, cheering us on. I am so happy to be greeted this way. It lasts the entire ride.

Dubz is running red hot; the Boss and Ultra are pulling slightly ahead. The seas are wobbly and my hull and I are working hard to soft load into the rhythm of change. It is barely consistent and our speeds are very fast for the conditions, if not optimum. This is testimony to the skill level between the three of us. It is apparent that our riding is above average, above great, it is simply superb. To maintain that fast of a forward ascent is hectic business.

The 5 freeway has steely moving vehicles passing north and south. It’s on my port side. I watch a vehicle and track its speed alongside ours. Sometimes water travel is a quicker mode of transportation. Hundreds of vehicles pass along the Camp Pendleton corridor. We pass no one on our journey. The vehicle line snakes on the turns of the coast and we stay in step on the top of fast moving swells coming at us. The forces of all this energy are competing for an ending. We have new beginnings and endings every few seconds, a constant adjustment, a brilliant dance between disaster and mastery.

Dubz form is set solid, despite his frame. You see he is tall, and the shorter your body height, the lower the center of gravity. Center of balance and gravity are favorable for people of my size, both Dubz and the Boss have height to throw into their assault. The sea stays steady with a few exceptions where the swell matches the underwater geomorphic changes. We run outside to avoid a large kelp patch, then back on track heading south, sure and steady.

Several miles ahead the Navy and Marines are conducting training evolutions using their amphibious vehicles. There is a steady supply line from the beach to the ship. We stop and reconnoiter to head out and around the training exercise. 1,000 yards off the ship, which our berth is extended, and we interrupt our path and yield.

The ocean holds all the characteristic of the aftermath of purges that occur from rainfall. Bart had a saying once that has stuck in my mind like an old song, ‘Right as Rain’. I look around and rain certainly has made the land right, and washed out all our mistakes which are now floating in oblivion trying to decide which direction they want to head. Out to sea, to the bottom or back to shore.

I’m trying out a new helmet the Boss tossed my way, and I like it. Dubz is trialing one of my Force 6 lifejackets. Gear test time before the Mark Hahn 300 mile endurance race, it looms a short 3 weeks away. February 28th marks the anniversary of my sister Andrea’s death. Subsequently years later my other sister, Daria is born on the very same day. I will be running my boat namesake in their honor. One leaves and one arrives. Always with me.

Shawn Alladio · 02-11-2009, 11:57 PM

My hands hurt on occasion and I take a few heavy hits to the upper body. These hits compare to getting clocked by a very aggressive and unforgiving opponent. The stun I get sometimes is hectic enough I have to either stop and collect myself or slow down until I can collect myself. No, I’m not crazy, I’m just good at what I do and I enjoy the challenge. This is my challenge, to push a fold, to get outside of my comfort zone and move beyond the eclipse of familiarity.

My teammates are the absolute best. I can’t say this if it weren’t true. We arrive in Oceanside with a fast and tedious pace that certainly draws attention. Three helmeted riders appear as if from nowhere. Who are those People? I image as people look at us with puzzled faces trying to put together a mind strategy of where did they come from, what are they doing, we are certain to lodge a paradox.

Equal opportunity is alive and thriving in PWC offshore endurance riding. There is no excuse being female, in fact it’s an advantage. Any time a woman can face a fear, compliment a challenge or go outside of normal comfort zones, she increases internally. That translation is transferred to the world, literally ‘outward’. Where are all the sistahs? The real frontier lies within. 'Stay hungry for removal of abandoned dreams, for they are the killer of any spirit. Rebel against mediocrity and give all, not your best.' This is my conversation I am investing in myself. I need to go where it is uncomforatable and make reclamation. i remind myself that a dream has many ways of manifestation, sometimes the altruistic hope lies hidden in the realistic attributes of purpose.

Fueled and outside of the harbor, its back to basics. I run with a bit of the chop right handed to feel my center balance points; it’s a bit dangerous in the chopped section. The lobster traps buoys dot the entire coastline. I start to recollect the colors and can make out the strands from fishermen.

This pace is furious; there is nothing left to get from our boats. We’ve been given all. I’m way too hot in my kit. I feel good to be with my brothers. There is something grand about excellence in teams. When you find a vein that splits and divides into more plausible wealth, the multiplication of talent increases the synergy. We are flying undeterred upon a liquid world.

I hope that my body responds tonight with a relapse of muscle memory and pain. If this happens I can gauge my weakness. I must find my shortcomings. Age has defiance to it; the experience of failings becomes a contribution towards evolution. I want to notch another level with less effort distributed.

We were not gone very long, running at speed, time evades reality. There is a shift of heart and soul when role players become rule makers. New rules apply when the old ones are broken.

Boats are back on the trailers, gear cleaned and everyone is sorted. Time for lunch. We head over to the fish counter and the skies explode in a blue brilliance of clarity. The past week’s storm has passed. Dubz and I are waiting for the Boss. We're steeped in talk and I look through the canopy of trees overhead and a large military transport plane is making a steep port side banking turn, and low. The sound is what caught my eye. The magic was their turn, a heavy bellied lined dark shape lumbering through the sky. Followed by a second and then a third. It was a parade lap. They immediately fell into another bank turn completely a S turn in the sky. Their wings were so off scale I wish I could have been inside to feel the force and watch any kind of strap or webbing stay inline with gravity to render Earth below. I imagined the men up there. They were having the same experience we just completed, but they were on airwaves.

We enter into an open forum of checks and balances. Dubz survives an attack from a foraging bird. Now mind you this bird was so fast that looking straight at Dubz during the assault, if I blinked I would have missed the contact. It was a brilliantly executed raid. Both of us impressed by the skill and daring of this small bird. Now mind you, not a bird of prey either. If this small bird can take on a table of humans, imagine.

Tactful ideas and concepts flow across the fish and chips. Our brethren team riders are at sea or coming home about this same time further due north. The phone rings, the Boss answers. Team riders are pairing up for the Hahn, boats are breaking, people are sorting their strategy, and I’ve been given some great invites by top class athletes in our field to team up. I tell the boss I am going to ride a stock boat in the Pro Open and mess around with that, Ironwoman style. The real Ironman rings in. Wants to know if we can team up, the Boss hands me the phone. I will not tell most of the dialogue as it is unfit for those who don’t run our waters. I tell him to Ironman, because well, he really is the ironman.

I look over at Dubz and confess my pastime today was writing while riding. They both laugh, I promise not to give away any of our real stories, protection at all times. I describe how I came to the nickname today for Dubz. He’s got a big heart, he’s tall, always in a positive groove and you cannot underestimate his strengths. TIN MAN. The ‘tin man’ from the Wizard of Oz. I could plug our entire team with characters from that movie.

We all agree that Trawlercat is going to have a chronicle of epic descriptions today. I am looking forward to visiting their adventure. It proves to hold similar aspirations for the unity we all enjoy, no matter how many nautical miles separate us, we all find our groove.

Driving home I listen to bagpipe music. My last mission is to text the boss.

‘Tin Man…LOL' is transmitted to his line space.

Final transmission received: ‘LMFAO’.

Carry On.

Shawn Alladio · 02-12-2009, 12:36 AM

RXTUSMC
Black Skies Invite

A storm finally broke up the calm summer winter we've had the past 2 months. Even my plants think it's spring and are bursting out blooms. I was starting to get depressed with the nice weather. Finally a burst of chill, and it was time to ride!

The conditions were right, time to head offshore. Emails, phone calls and many texts later I get one confirmation to ride during the passage of a black sky. A few quip sentences, one confirmation call and it's a go. One comes up south on the 5 and one goes up north, our destination is mid point at the Dana Point boat launch.

The sky ahead is thickening with masses of dark highlights, the skyline descends as if it is falling to mate with the ocean, a perfect mirror mask. A crack between two folds of clouds and a brilliant thick colored band of one end of a rainbow draws down towards Earth. A good omen if I want it to be.

I pull into the parking lot. It is empty. The asphalt has a thick sheen of puddles hugging the pocks. I put on my hat and jacket and jump out into the splayed moisture dropping in a steady cadence. I start rigging my safety gear. I pull out my wetsuit from a compartment and it's rancid. I'm going to have to wear it, see what condition my skin decides to crawl after a few hours of humid friction. I line the interior with some hair conditioner just so I myself can bear the stink. Soon it will draw into my skin like osmosis and I'll have to scrub diligently later to clean up.

RXTUSMC pulls in drawing his Sea Doo. It's a fine boat, clean, unblemished and well cared for. We dig into the formalities and he's fast on the draw to get to the water while I'm still poking away at gear. My usual beat. We look around at the harbor, it's all ours. Nobody out. What better time to ride? The steady light rain continues to stir the puddles into musical rhythms.

Inspection on his boat, some riding technique discussions, some old shop talk stories swapped. A few vehicles slowly drive by, no trailers being drawn, we're the only ponies in the meadow. He's a big boy, exactly the kind of image your mind would construct of how a Marine should look and act, but they are actually always much nicer and more solid than the attitude of imagination. I haven't met one yet that isn't, and the old school Marines have something that is missing from the newer generations, they've got 'bite'.

RXTMARINE is retired, but not really, he's just in a position now at Camp Pendleton where he can run game face, run the deck, run the training skills, but have the luxury of exemption by civilian standards. There is a lot to be said about experience, millions of dollars are invested into the men of the speciality vent, and that is experience that can't be bought at any price after so many years. It shows.

We're going to do a triangulation type of training, its not very systematic but it's a way of training that pulls hard on the body and takes you down fast. It doesn't matter how much muscle mass, how big or strong you are, this kind of training draws. It's not easy and it's storming. The best time to train, practicing these skills leads to excellence if one has the mindset. I haven't met a Marine yet that doesn't.

We break out of the floating garbage on idle. We shouldn't have to drive through this at all. Bart said to me once, 'people will walk by a piece of garbage, imagine if they took care of one piece each per day'. His words resonate as I drive through the detritus of discards. He is right, so pick something up will ya? My last LB2CAT training sesh I collected 8 balloons between here and Catalina, with their trailing strings. Those things are fun but what a nuisance for marine life. Whatever garbage I see within reason of containment, I bring back.

The outflow of the river is a distinct brown curl expanding outward like a nasty plume. The delineation line is blue green to brown with a kelp and garbage line that appears to be a necklace of disaster. We look over at one another and cross into clear blue waters. Ahead lies a dark plunging squall.

I talk about how we're going to ride, what to expect, why and off we go on a steady clip. I look over and his posture needs a little improvement..He'll find it by the second stage today, let him have his reigns and find the comfort zone of throttle. I tell him we're heading out to the squall. Which we do right away, chasing weather. The rain changes out and the sting on my face between my motorcycle vents is irritating. I don't like rain on my face at fast speeds, it feels like I'm getting pelted with chicken feed thrown spit from a shotgun just out of harm's range. Goggles are a must as well as all our other PPE, my kit is still being trialed for the Mark Hahn, so I'm checking it.

The swells are rolling sideshore north and they're fast and the peaks or not steep, but they are deceiving, and not always clean. It's either a safe slow speed or a fast run with potential hits. Today is not a day to get hurt, and he's stuck with a thumb throttle that is going to weaken his starboard side in a standing position. Have to watch his impact load in these conditions.

We have plenty of stops to change off the run pattern. I like the mood far offshore, we stop and chat, breathe, relax and then we see a huge sunfish. Motor over to the amazingly slow and fascinating creature, shut the boats off and watch it meander. It actually looks like it is living trapped in a life of pain, a body that just doesn't move fast enough, or true enough, a vastly awkward existence. It is an amazing creature in it's own right of size, this one is several hundred pounds, he's huge and he's slimy. His mouth gapes and he just doesn't look right, but he's fine.

We head on out to sea and fast running pod of spinnaker dolphins are running at the speed of any fast open boat. Their sleek lines look all business and they take turns diving ahead of the next and stop by RXTUSMC and slow down to check him out. I am sure it is mutual.

Off we are again to the Southern compass and we switch out some of the training building blocks. I won't bore you with the training details, because it's only good if you are the one at the helm. We head back in, cross over the murky pollution line, and idle back to the dock. Boats are on the trailer and it's time for a lunch to fill the empty hole burning in my gut.

The stories are swapped and I know I talked too much, and honestly his stories destroy mine. I love to hear about people's experiences who have gone beyond the measure of mediocrity or been forced to produce on deeper levels of our human condition. A perfect morning. I ride again on Sunday with the Boss from the PWCoffshore.com race team, same location, maybe a different personality from the ocean.

RXTUSMC and I are heading back to train next Tuesday. We'll collect further south on base, launching out of Camp Pendleton and we'll do some surf operations combined with offshore. Next round we'll have another Recon sidekick joining us. The energy will shift significantly due to the personality mix. What a blend of humanity. I hope we get another kick back storm.

Carry On.

Semper Foking Spero

Shawn Alladio · 02-12-2009, 12:45 AM

WIDE OPEN WATER

Sunday September 21, 2008My phone rings. Mark Gerner called to remind me 'bring a ten dollar bill, the ATM machine is broken'. My rig is ready, everything packed, went to Home Depot with my girls and bought grass seed and topsoil to finish setting off the back yard, and a bird bad earlier that morning.

To shake off some time we stopped in at Barnes and Noble. I wanted to pick up a War book to read on recent events in Iraq. Shaniah picked out a book on Fairies, and we all got a hot drink and cake.

I was anticipating the interview today, and hoping my PWCoffshore.com teammate would want to do a fast little Klip afterwards?

I arrive at the Queensway boat ramp in Long Beach. Mark and the film crew are finishing up. It's my turn to spin the reel a little. Mark runs off a bevy of quick questions and bingo, we are done.

I ask Mark, 'you feel like going out for a 10 mile jaunt". He enthusiastically responds 'yeah I do'.

My elation hits my face immediately. I get to launch and ride! Before I left, my daughter Kyla said 'Mom you should go for a ride'. With her vote of confidence I feel steeled for a good time on the water.

We get our gear ready independently, both on the launch, years of launches and anticipated rides, we move like a machine. Mark is a man with a mindset to match any Devil Dog on lead.

I admire him for that quick warrior instinct and integrity that is bred, not assumed.

I can look over at him, nod and we're 'good to go'. Simple as that.It doesn't hurt to have a big brother watching your backside, all strings attached.

His bride Christina is in spirit with us as we ping the start button.

Mark says, 'I have about 25 miles of gas in the ski, you want to go to Catalina?'I stare at him.

Catalina! Hell yeah I want to go to Catalina, I respond 'sure let's go'. My interior is getting jumpy, I got an invite to ride Shawn style with our own little Recon on the Pacific.

He asks me 'do you have GPS?'

"No, 2 radios and a cell phone".

He nods. Affirmed, we'll go.

Marks says, "I'll refuel in Catalina'.

I start breathing to relax and steady myself for the run ahead. I love this. I am so happy at this moment, I didn't think Catalina would be part of this day. Riding with a person you trust makes these serendipitous opportunities grander.

The world seems a very big place and I get to run with one of the big boys. Mark holds his Kawasaki Ultra 250 to a 5mph pace till we hit the perimeter buoys. On our right is the Queen Mary, silent and cold, grieving in her berth.

Ahead of us looms a dull gray horizon and the Pacific Blue, wide open outside Angels Gate. To the South is Long Beach with tall cold buildings. The water is slightly textured inside the harbor, boaters meander in all directions, crossing wakes.He looks over at me and his helmet does the familiar 'dip', the ok sign is hailed and returned and off we go.

His Ultra is sweet, it moves into the criss crossed water and loves it. My F-15 Kawasaki lands hard and loves it, because I'm in step with her dance.My swim fins are clipped on my belt, OTB boots laced and dug into the Hydro Turf mats. My Force 6 lifejacket is ready to assume any chest impact with the helm station and my Aquapac holds my cell phone on my left bicep.

I'm wearing a one Mil wetsuit with no top. The LB2CAT race I got overheated and sick, this time I want to run WOT (wide open throttle) and not think twice about body function.We move in unison, Mark hits ahead then slows down so my pace and horsepower can correct at the speed allowed.

I am watching my LCD display, 48-58 MPH, so the average must be about 51. My reading isn't accurate but I know my throttle is clamped, this is all she has to give me.The ocean changes pitch on occasion but remains relatively calm, not glassy, not perfect, but an exceptional day of speed running across a 27 mile opening between shorelines.

There are some hard peaks on occasion and harder landings. I keep my body centered to the helm and trim held/chest/pelvis, making sure my shoulders and hand grip do not hesitate or load too hard.

Essentially I let this little F-15 Pony take the lead, handing her the reigns. She loves to pick up and go and I don't want to hold her back.I feel like I'm riding in slow motion as Mark's red hot Ultra charges ahead, it encourages me to see the speed. We're heading dead straight to Avalon, the beautiful port, as we get closer the island outline appears.

The Mega Pod of dolphins looms on our south side, I slow down and alter course to say hello to the muse of all sailors around the world. Setting in at a 9 mph slow speed, the change their direction and come investigate, 10 run ahead of my bow and 30 or 50 on both sides and behind.

I hold one hand up and maintain throttle on the right, celebrating a glorious interlude.One dolphin direct ahead of my bow quickly speeds up and jumps with the greatest expression of joy I have ever witnessed and hits a 10 foot arc out of the water with his small framed body, then catches up to pace alongside my port side hull. Thank you very much, my life is truly wonderful, and the Mega Pod made it even better.

We beg off and the escort drifts back to the pod, onward to Catalina.Lots of boats are heading to and from the island. It's a big wide open channel.

My helmet is screaming, I should have closed the ear ports and I didn't, when I arrive in Catalina my ears are ringing and I'm either deaf or on a natural high. But I can hear the warning signal from Mark's Kawasaki that his gas is gone.

We pull into the mooring area and head alongside the break wall of the Casino. Mark pumps 3 gallons of fuel into my 16.4 gallon tank and fills up his steed at the gas dock. I pull out my cell phone and call David Pu'u.

I had a near death experience within the past week and my friend is now keeping a close eye on me.

On Friday I had to call him when I had a planned date for an offshore ride with Brad out of Camp Pendleton. I was having dinner with Brad and excused myself to make the call to 'check in'. I asked David if I could be excused from calling back as 'dad' was embarrassing me.

Pu'us tone was direct, 'thanks Shawn, glad you are ok".

That was Friday, this is Sunday. I'm making that call again."You're where? Catalina Island" he says.

A\fter a few quick expressions of my immediate happiness, Pu'u seems satisfied at this point that I am being reasonable and I'm to call when I am back on the mainland.

I later send him a pic from the day and he says 'I can be worse than....sometimes', and I'll leave it at that. Pu'u is the kind of person you want on your team. He's a Devil Dog without the weapons. His girlfriend Donna chimes in on the exalts of happiness and we're all connected, like it or not. The big blue is our playground.

This is our universal enthusiasm.Mark and I are back on the return track outside of the Casino. He says he wants me to try his race boat, he has some big ideas about kicking ***, and wants to give me a taste of what it's like to run with the pack.

We get out again mid channel, switch jet skis and I'm off, I'm way off and running hard. The Ultra loves the conditions. She likes to lay her hull heavy into the slice and smooth coat her way on the coarse density of agitated surface water. I'm adjusting to the faster pace and finding the boat to be relatively smooth, with just a touch of chine talk, have to watch that a bit.

I pull back to Mark on my F-15 and he wants me to keep going, I do too, but my karma bank says trade back and respect his race boat. I have a belief about riding race boats, if it's not mine, stay off. I don't know its personality enough to know how the pump wants to load and how the RPM's hit, so I decline. Reluctantly I decline. It's like making great love with no orgasm.

Once again the Mega Pod intersects our path. I pull out my cell phone and shoot some quick snaps of the amazing display of aquatic expression these dolphins characterize. I'm smiling and giggling and taking my time, lost in the beauty and magic that is transpiring. I feel special, all this for me.

Mark and I exchange 'nods'. We say goodbye to the dolphins and the mainland horizon looms. This run is fast, we're back in what seems a few minutes as we pass the Catalina Express, trot through her wakes at WOT and then a large cruise ship, numerous boats and the cross hatch of wakes combining energy.

The Angels Gate is ours.

The Queen Mary is right where she was and the languished buildings of Long Beach look on in somber disinterest.

We stop our trot right at the 5MPH buoy perimeter. I look over at Gerner, his smile is precisely like my own.

He motors over and our fists connect, finished.We talk politics, family, my recent conquests or lack of, and both scoot into the dock and hot load our boats onto the trailers.

The last thing we say is 'goodbye'.

There is nothing else to add.Except, I want to do it all over again. Being a part of the www.PWCoffshore.com Racing Team is pretty much like this little adventure, it is just one boat launch away.

http://k38watersafety.com/forum/showthread.php?t=598

Shawn Alladio · 02-12-2009, 12:48 AM

FAST BOATS

Over the bridge I can barely make out the stacks on the Queen Mary looking out to sea. The grand dame of the Seven Seas is berthed in a permanent trap, and docked next to a modern Carnival Cruise line ship. I prefer the streamline steel hull of the lines the Queen Mary holds, sleek and sad, she sits fast going nowhere. An eventual fate for any ocean going vessel. We live for the open swell and sound of splashing waters off the hull, the wind folding, and the rolls of swells, it is a calling many ancient mariners are seduced by.

Who are we? Good question. We own it, but on different levels. Equipment and pilot compliment one another depending upon the environmental factors. This team has 'bite'. I prefer a wild ocean, and I tend to shine in the worst of conditions. Give me a smooth running ocean and I suffer. The men here today are tacticians of delivering the 'bite' of their hull into a liquid field.

7:40am I'm the last one to pull into the Queensway launch ramp in Long Beach. My 4 place Jet Ski trailer drags behind me like a dog sled team pushing instead of pulling.Our race team boats are all staging with racers getting prepped for our practice session. It's been too long for me, I haven't had an adrenaline flush. The Mark Hahn 300 mile endurance race looms on February 28th. This will be my first practice. I'm sorely lagging on the team front.

PWCoffshore.com team riders have more water hours and pump action than any other group I know of in racing circles, and I know a lot. I wonder how many times we have circumnavigated the Earth's waters collectively?

I've got Aerosmith blaring from the radio and the beat picks me up. I feel like going to war. And so it is. Super Bowl Sunday, while others are watching players play a game, we are the game. The ocean looks steady, the skyline a drab and dreary haze of gray. It looks to be a simple ocean. The reports rang in at 1.7 @ 10 seconds. wind E 5.8 Knots, looks like the Santa Ana winds are going to try to stick around a little longer. It sure is a creepy winter, feels more like June Gloom this morning.

This would change as the marine layer dragged a hasty retreat, and the water shadows of the island loomed against swell and wind patterns. Knowing the channel, the currents and geomorphic terrain, the signature of the distance measured versus the wind and swell patterns, usually the rough patches can be guessed at. The shadow line always makes an interesting leeway, depending upon to and from transits.

Today the team was going to split into 2 groupings. Team One of 6 racers, 2 man team tags, Long Beach to Catalina and around the island. Team Two of 4 racers, 2 man team tags, Long beach to Catalina and back, my wingman was Kim Bushong on the way out. We were riding two similar horsepower boats, so we could stay steady and we did. Kim is a real Ironman, a true athlete, given the right boat, this man would ruin everyone's day.

Bushong brings his OTB Boots over, we discuss the R&D he's done. I bring out a pair of Abyss model black high tops. Fortunately we have the same size boot. In a space of 4 minutes, we decide the Abyss model is the way to go. He confirms this on the return. These little things are big, comfort, fit, friction, fatigue, function, everything we wear in our 'kit' has to be top notch. No mindset shifting, we cannot be troubled with little things that become troubles.

Safety first, and push the limit. 'Safety means Danger', that's my motto. I strapped a fuel tank to my stern deck and loaded a ridiculous amount of emergency gear on board. I already had a feeling I would be towing today, so I prepared with self sufficiency. Stock boat is a good tow boat. On an open sea, everything will and can happen, given enough time. My thoughts daily return to my friend Jeremy Hoyland missing adrift on a sunken PWC off the coast of Bali since October 24th, missing, gone but not forgotten. I know how life is, we are connected to a thin thread that can snap at any moment.

Team Leader, I affectionately call Boss gives me the thumbs up, passing the parking stalls each team rider hails me, He runs the team with military precision, and the team runs itself due to attrition, everyone wants to win. Every man here is their own champion. What makes a great champion in my estimation? Having another one push you to their level and then you push yourself beyond the one you set. Everyone here is steady.

I have a lot of respect for The Boss. I would standby on any call for him or his family, asking no questions, make it happen and move on. He's that kind of a man, you just know 'right will be right and wrong will be knocked down by the strong'. That's precisely my own language, no barriers there. I understand his language and I like him & the Crew, everyone knows how to run fast on open water. This is our bond.

Friebe is the 'Master of Disaster'. He can fix everything, his strengths are engine, body, water. He drove all night, wrenched I'm sure and hit the deck. Brought me race offerings and covered all bases for the team and himself. A real top notch waterman. Paul comes over, the 'Famous Tenacious'. Dubz the 'quintessential equalizer'. The Chronicles of T is collecting data, Belton hasn't had enough yet, needs more nautical miles, Paul is ready to make the day 'ready'.

Part 1 of 2

Shawn Alladio · 02-12-2009, 12:48 AM

Part 2 continued.

I'm welcomed into the family. Everyone is anticipating a good day. I'm running late, multiple offers of help, I pack the boat, double check and triple check all communications and electronics. Suit up in a thin mil wetsuit so I won't overheat, strap my cell phone to my arm, grab the helmet, gloves and launch at the ramp, Trawlercat takes my boat. I look over my shoulder, all the men are waiting for me. Roque is prepped for yet another sesh, he doesn't like to hold back on the reigns. I notice this in mere seconds between rushing.

I grab my camera and take a quick photo. The modern escape of our generation documents everything. I look over to the men because for me as a woman, this is a historic moment. No women have taken the charge. I do not understand this. Where are all the sisters? It is an honor to be on the ocean with these powerful men. I say that, because I believe it. It is true. This must change.

We head out through the docile 5 mph idle to the marker buoys. The large hulking shapes of the cruise ships sit silent at their berths. The small the mighty. At least we are moving, and heading out to sea. There is little boat traffic. The Boss does a cursory buddy team check, I give him the OK sign and signal Bushong. The Boss checks in with the USCG Auxiliary on patrol and we scoot off WOT. Wide Open Throttle Baby.

The ride is pleasant, very little marine life or bird life. It's a dormant ocean.
I do not like a glassy surface on the face of the liquid syrup. I prefer a bit of agitation to the texture because it's easier to read at a faster clip. I know exactly how my hull from the centerline of the keel will lay down into the fluctuating madness. It's kind of like taking a spatula and swatting your bath water, landings can be like swatting flies.

The pace is distanced as the lead boats, especially #58, the Kawasaki ULTRA 250, red hot, why does the color red always run fast? The Boss is gone, his boat wants to runaway. It doesn't take long to see the lead boats simply vanish into the gray zone ahead. We come alongside the Catalina Express, she's running fast today. I look down at my speedo, a few 62 MPH, but those are not accurate, more like 53 I imagine. If I'm lucky. Some good little chops and thumps, bumps and a few chest strikes into the helm and I'm a very happy woman thank you very much. I like a few of the hard hits, reminds me I'm supposed to be working for it.

We run in a team of 3 eventually, then back down to two and we arrive at Avalon, outside the harbor everyone is under adrenaline control. They look like they just woke up from a nap. Our tea party gets moved to the fuel dock. A lovely day, we are so fortunate out of billions of people and 300 plus million Americans, we are the only ones doing this right now. This is crazy and deserved.

The turnaround is swift. I lose Bushong and pony up with 3 hotshots. We're running a good speed back, the glass has settled in and I'm thinking how fast this run is going to be. The Boss's red hot slows and eventually watching his helmet line looking down, something is up. It's time for a tow, I can just barely see the peaks of the San Gabriel mountains peeking through a stubborn marine layer. I re-kit my emergency gear, put a line on his boat, he ponies onto the seat and we set the pace at 11 knots or so.

As we make a slow mile, Dubz is in front, then Dubz has the next boat under tow. It's a 2 tow boat tow back to the launch zone. The Boss and I get to time to talk politics, viewpoints, politics, boat failures, opinion pieces, ammunition, racing and family, my favorite subjects. Not necessarily in that order.

Looking northward the familiar distant whitewater signature is spotted, I spy 3 bogeys at 11. It's our boys, looks like they split into two 3 man teams. They run a bit north of us and spit into the Jaws of Long Beach. Several minutes later, we identify the second set, same track line. Friebe's boat is clear, The Boss calls out the riders. Ahead of us Dubz has set a fast pace under tow.

Tow time isn't so bad. Back to the dock, load up fast, I wash all boats and gear, and I'm impressed with the diligence of care the team gives their boats. I watch Paul really pride up his green boat, wish everyone would take care of the boats the way these guys do. The men are beyond helpful. This is what I love about racing, for me it has always been about competition, challenges, strife and camaraderie.

I am packed and ready to get a hamburger, I'm running late, my 4 year old is probably driving everyone nuts, I being the only freedom fighter, I got my flush. I can only hope now that I have torn some musculature to see what my margins will be for the Hahn. I have never trained for a race before, the team has thrown down the reality of effort, and I must follow in their wake.

Mr. G's pics

http://flickr.com/photos/31192104@N04/

Hellwoman Out

Shawn Alladio · 02-22-2009, 10:35 PM

THE FRINGE

Freeriding, today was my day to cut loose. I was looking forward to the privacy of unrivaled speed at my very own selfish pace. The storm had passed bringing a clearing of blue sky with a brilliant cool heat of a waning sun. I arrived after lunch and talked shop with my Marine buddy @ the Recon boat locker for a spell. There's some really good people here, examples for others if they could take half the measure of these men.

I chide him about training, and ask him where his boys are! He smirks, never challenge a Marine. He picks up his phone and starts dialing. The banter begins and he points to his phone and says 'listen to this'. Loudspeaker is on. 'I have already been certified'.....the voice trails off and I grab the phone.

'WTF? I own you, get your ***** together. I didn't miss a word of that. You are doomed, teacher out!" Well, now that was a nice and tidy description. Ssgt signed off and we laughed. I told him to give this one back to me to fix in the next class.

A few gifts were anointed and it was time to finalize my preparations. I was chasing the sun. I loaded a few chem lights just in case I stayed beyond. The tide was barely high enough to put the trailer off their ramp. I rushed and launched, had my kit geared to go and I was on the ski in 2 minutes heading to open water. As I rounded the break wall I broke free.

Jaw clenched lightly, smile breaking across the beam of my face, squinting my eyes on an ocean check at speed, double check on my helmet strap for security and I was gone. I pulled the boat to it's limit and never let go.

I looked east and headed on a track line to the north side of the river mouth. I cut into the impact zone, felt the frothy aerated water, took a few hits broadside, look as far north as I could scanning for military training operations. The water sign was all clear.

Tandem helicopters turned on aerial patterns low and overhead, side door open, I glanced up to check on the occupants. Thwock, thwock, the blades churning airspace. Low passes and circuit driving, I would probably seen them again soon.

The surf was lively. I matched the golden mood of the phosphorescence of unified conditions. The wave energy was ending and I was picking up thousands of miles of traveling kinetic energy upon it's final burst. The fringe of the continent loomed a few fathoms on my starboard side. I kicked the volume up.

Stick figures emerged from the hazy horizon in a disorganized line. A platoon was running down the wet sand on a southern direction. The leaders were defiantly leading. They were spread out far and few between, not even in bunches. Each man on his own steady pace.

They were heading south and I was tracking north. I was running close to shore, clipping the side wash and executing perfect speed landings. I was on game. I passed their lineup in quick succession. Onto open water again, I watched the shoreline for any amphibious contact or bodies in the water.

Further ahead in a craggy outcropping of eroded sandstone green military vehicles were pointed headlights to the ocean and tucked securely in a little visible position. I kept the steady pace and passed them swiftly. Further up the coast a helicopter was being recovered from the beach. The night before a US Border Helicopter crash landed.

I watched my fuel consumption as I pushed my jet ski to its fullest limit. I reminded myself on 3 hard landings to use caution at this acceleration, didn't want to break a wrist or leg. I was taking chances. I never let off the throttle, in fact I accelerated into any movement. Attacking aggressively with confidence.

I did this transit a total of 4 times. Helicopters swept low and rose high, I passed the trucks and runners in different directions. I wonder what they were thinking? They were in obvious signs of the slow drain of training euphoria, they had pushed limits, it showed. I was complimentary on my own schedule, just using different methods and weapons. Mine was a 165HP small fast boat. Next week I would jump up to a 265HP beast, and I welcome it.

I was feeling the fatigue I asked for. My fuel warning light sounded. I do not turn it off, rather I leave it on. The irritated and annoying red warning light and alarm are great for my mind set, I decide not 'to mind it', and I leave the pulsating chirp chirp on it's own. I am at my happiest when riding alone, I can set my pace and not worry about another rider, but I do miss this run with Bart, how many great memories have we dropped in this zone?

I head back to the boat basin, the sun is sinking. Another PWC zips in front of me looking for a challenge. I smirk and watch the riders body language, and it's a Sea Doo, a fine boat. I don't give and he can't catch me. He chases me to the 5 MPH buoy and waves at me. I circle back and introduce myself to 'Tony'. "I couldn't catch you....oh you do the rescue'...we chatted for a few then waves goodbye. Maybe next time.

I round the break wall, a truck and a man are standing near my rig. I know this person is there for me, but I cannot manage their identity. I start calling names in memory. Then I realize it is RXTUSMC. I hit it to the ramp, we greet. He helps me load my boat, even so much as to enter the water in boots to steady my boat. Now that is a measure of respect not seen often in the civilian sector, and too bad. Oftentimes, small things are the greatest measures of character often unnoticed. I notice everything. We can learn something from this.

We grab a coffee and say goodbye, perhaps we shall be able to ride out of Dana Point Sunday AM? Our offshore race team is 7 days out now for the Mark Hahn 300 mile endurance race. We've been training diligently and this is our final pit team training session.

There is a lot of strength that comes from personal development, I beg to offer you this: Do what you are afraid to do. Within common reason and safety. Riding alone on the ocean offers risks, as well as speed. We all know speed kills, sure so does living a life unfulfilled. I can confess to you that there is nothing greater to solitude and standing on your own merit. Self reliance is an attribute, and so is confidence. Go Get some!

U.S. Customs chopper down near San Onofre; 3 hospitalized [UPDATED]
9:54 PM | February 19, 2009
Updated 11:04 p.m.: The helicopter actually belonged to the air and marine unit of U.S. Customs and Border Protection, Vincent Bond, the agency's public information officer, said late tonight.

The aircraft experienced an emergency while on a routine patrol mission between Long Beach Airport and Brown Field in San Diego, he said. The three crew members were being treated for non-life threatening injuries, Bond said.

The National Transportation Safety Board is investigating.

--

Three crew members were being taken to a hospital this evening after a U.S. Border Patrol helicopter made a forced landing on the beach near the San Onofre nuclear power plant in northern San Diego County.

The extent of the injuries was not immediately known, but Federal Aviation Administration spokesman Ian Gregor said preliminary reports from the scene indicated all three crew members exited the chopper on their own.

The helicopter went down shortly before 8 p.m. in shallow water, Gregor said.

The cause of the emergency landing was not clear.

-- Rich Connell

Photo: U.S. Border Patrol officers look over a crumpled helicopter that made an emergency landing Thursday night at San Onofre State Beach. Credit: Don Bartletti / Los Angeles Times

Shawn Alladio · 02-22-2009, 10:36 PM

Hotel Whiskey

Mike Golf had arrived. An Ex Infantry officer in the Marine Corps we often swap stories of peril, danger, risk and well, actually it's all about adventure, on our paltry civilian stride. We're offshore, far outside the safety net of coastal access most times. Preferably if a storm lands and sends us a training mix, something to change the step at high speed.

Today's missions, we're attacking the branding of the team. Dubz arrives and is instantly transformed into a new call sign. He looks most peculiar like a regal Aztec royal, but his Latino roots are now getting an overhaul with an alphabet change. Today he is christened Romeo Charlie.

I am meted with the uncanny realism of MG. He looks up at me, stunned and blurts out 'Hotel Whiskey'. He's knocking off my nickname. The one that was gifted to me by the Big Wave Surfing team from Australia in 1998 at a big wave contest I was conducting the rescues at.

He was laughing hysterically and I was thinking of alcohol and my recent BUI class. Not pretty.

Pirate, was ceremoniously dubbed Poppa and he made no comment at all. TrawlerCat became Tango Charlie, but he already has served in the military for several decades that won't phase him.

We were really charging some good old fashioned team spirit as we chugged along into die cut sticker Hell.
Race boats were stacked up outside my home. These race steeds dotted the neighborhood and we sucked up all the parking. Kawasaki Ultras in flashing green and red certainly drew attention.

Our team leader was collecting the remaining race duties, our 300 mile endurance team race was exactly 7 days off on the calendar and counting. We were winding down. My pit team consists of 10 people to service my race boat. This is going to be a big assault, chain link fencing bought for the Quad traction in sand, not to mention the pit boss section.

Today we spent the entire day, starting out with a coffee and moving on down the line towards 200 stickers for giveaways. I would rather call this team challenge, because this task is something that people will not want to do again, once done.

We ended on a storytelling launch. I ashamedly admitted my earlier pursuits in description, this is where the Alphabet tag emerged.

Teamwork it is, we finalize the days damage. One by one the Alphabets go home.

Late in the evening a text comes from Mike Golf: 'Tell Kyla I thought endurance racing was rough, making stickers kicked my ***!'. I was laughing so hard, and I know he was on the other extension.

Kyla had earlier come in from another local race and first thing she wanted to know was if everyone survived! We laughed and she was impressed so much got done. I said to her 'yeah but this will probably stop production for the next year'. We both chuckled, she said 'now they know'.

I told her about the HW emblem, she laughed so hard. Just what I need, another nickname! I have about 30 or more of them already. I have a feeling this one is going to stick with the team and I will make sure there is plenty of reciprocity!

Shawn Alladio · 02-23-2009, 02:57 AM

ALPHABET

RXTUSMC was waiting at the Dana Point boat launch. I pulled in and he was on standby, tried and true this man is. He throws down for the team, and a few of you will get my drift on that pass. If you find a person who is solid and you know it, that is a friend for life. "Life" being literal. He is the real deal and I will tell you this is the example of honor we should all walk. I aspire to follow such great leaders. Oh the humility of respect!

We rig up, slip into our kits, he's the first to turn over the engine on the water, I didn't even have my lifejacket fastened. I knew that was the signal, RXTUSMC 'was' ready. It is time to go. 5 MPH out of the harbor. The sky overhead loomed mysterious, gray, fine high lines of currents molding the cloud cover. When looking towards heaven it indeed looked cold, a bitter winter cold.

The reality is the drift of air was lukewarm, mild and deceiving. It was so warm I was wearing a 1 mil wetsuit with no top cover, just a rash guard. It is February, and it is warm here in Socal, another mystery I'm not real comfortable with.

My training partner today is no twinky. RXTUSMC is a big boy, you look at him and the first thought is probably 'Golden Gloves', or perhaps 'Pit Bull', or maybe 'Bruiser'. But you can call him Mike Alpha. If you dare.

You see we run the Alphabet in our crew. As of yesterday anyhow, its the current running theme of rank humor adopted from Mike Golf. Another leftover throwback from the Corps, we run the sidelines of not being players but playing the game for no prisoners. That translation means this PWCoffshore team, truly are victors, on all fronts. Even the collectibles we bring into the fold.

Collectible Mike Alpha has shifted his body language on offshore riding. He finally found his groove on the Sea Doo. This Alpha has his body position in the right mode of effective forward movement. The first time we rode his confidence was askew. He only needed a few simple modifications. This time around he's a champ. The difference is significant enough, I said nothing. The only thing he needs updated now is a throttle lever change. Then we'll mix up the next transition. Steady as she goes, the next assault will notch upwards.

We clip down south on a smooth sea, heaving over nothing in particular its a fast rampage. I mix up the training trying to put a spin on my handle grip for strength. I need to get leg burn going and prime my aged knees. The twin domes of San Onofre's nuclear power plant glint through the hazy coastline. The ocean makes the earthline appear lethargic. The sun never breaks through the cloud cover. It yields a paused hesitation and a mild hope that never arrive. We continue down to the Camp Pendleton shoreline ahead.

A quick stop and talk shop, watching recreational riders wave hopping in the distance, we turn back around. The reverse appears to be a much faster transit. I only find one piece of trash to recover this time out. I guess everything else sunk.

Mike Golf pulls up with the caravan. The rest of the PWCoffshore.com team is going to practice the last official 'pit team training sesh'. We are now 6 days out of the Mark Hahn 300 mile endurance race. Everyone on the team gets in prime mode. Romeo Charlie in classic Aztec style dons the secondary pit position. Our GAS MAN is on the levers! The dump tanks are staged, quad and tote are rigged, race boat is loaded.

The repeat performance is timed. The boys dance in unison and its classic pro style. And here I am honored to be a part of the synchronicity. I blurt out a few classic Hotel Whiskey heckles now and again, humor is a great reward for camaraderie.

Double D calls from Hawaii. Delta Delta has kissed the skyline of reality today. We often call this due to his nomenclature 'The Ride after the Ride'. More on this later. Whenever you think your day is pitted, shift the scenery back to gratitude, it is one foundation that will and can salvage the grief of life.

RXTUSMC, Mike Golf and of course my own Hotel Whiskey dip into the 'Ride Before, During and After the Ride'. There is a lot of truth exchanged between 3 unique Alphabets. Life is not always at it seems on appearance only, but I will tell you that the character is the measure of any man or woman at the end of every day. And I do believe this is something one can learn only if there is heart and soul deep enough to see beyond possibilities. Some possibilities need to be expanded into the hard core truth of realities.

I think I get it.

A, B, C, countdown to 26 and the finale: Now what do you think of me?

I say pull throttle baby, port and starboard, fully loaded pump and a steady keel.

Tip of the Bow baby...everyone is struggling in the wake.

http://flickr.com/photos/k38shawn/se...7614236892333/