I know
this song became somewhat ubiquitous in the early 2000’s, but I like it because
it reminds me of the 6’2”, 700+ pound “Iz” who sings it and of the trip Lynnie
and I made to Maui before we had kids. (His funeral was attended by 10,000
people , after lying in state in the state capital, only the third person in
Hawaiian history given that honor, the first non-government official. In the
video, that’s Iz’s ashes being spread on the ocean.)
We were
staying in a condo on the ocean in Maui and it rained the first 2 days we were
there. The first day we went down to the beach and sat in a cabana and watched
the ocean and the rain.
The
second day we had decided to drive the Road to Hana in our rental car. Lynn
wanted to see the seven sacred pools and I wanted to see Charles Lindbergh’s
grave (he had been a hero of mine since I had read “We” in junior high).
“…it takes about
2.5 hours to drive when no stops are made as the highway is very winding and
narrow and passes over 59 bridges, 46 of which are only one lane wide. There
are approximately 620 curves along Route 360 from just east of Kahulu to Hana,
virtually all of it through lush, tropical rainforest.” (Wikipedia)
It took
us about 4 hours to make the trip because we had to stop twice to wait for a
back loader to come and clear the rubble from the washouts. It wasn’t until we
got back to our condo that we found out they were discouraging people from
driving on the road due to the heavy rainfall. I guess that explains why we
never saw another car until we were on our way back.
We
found the Seven Sacred pools, but it was raining and we got out of the car,
took a couple pics, got back in the car, and continued on. Never saw a sign or
any indication of Lindbergh’s grave. We drove until the blacktop road ended and
the road became a pot hole infested dirt road. Then I turned around and headed
back.
On the
way back we stopped at Mama’s Fish House (recommended by Steve Dahl on all his
yearly trips to Hawaii in the 80’s and 90’s). It’s a nice restaurant on the
North coast of Maui, right on the ocean. Don’t recall what we ate, but don’t
remember being disappointed, either.
The
next morning we got up around 4AM to get picked up by a bus and taken to the
top of the volcanic crater in Haleakala National Park to see the sunrise and
then to bike down to the bottom. Unfortunately, it was snowing at the summit
and nothing could be seen.
“Don’t
worry, when we get down a ways, it’ll clear up,” chirped our guide.
They
then handed out rain suits. None my size, 6’5”, 290 lbs. of solid blubber. The one I finally
squeezed into made me look and feel like 10 pounds of s—t in a 5 pound bag.
We then
commenced to careen down the volcano side, on wet roads; with my glasses wet
and fogged, finding the hand brakes barely slowed my momentum. I stayed at the
back of the pack of 15 or so others so I wouldn’t take out anyone should I wipe
out.
As they
had told us, it cleared up about halfway down so we stopped (took me about 100
yards to fully stop) and took off the rain gear and then we continued to mosey
down the volcano, the guide pointing out Oprah’s ranch at one point.
At the
bottom I had built up so much speed I ran off the road into a ditch because the
brakes were somewhat useless. I was a little amped up on adrenaline by then.
We were
then taken to a diner/restaurant in the town at the bottom for a nice lunch,
then got back on the bus and went back to the condo.
I was exhausted, yet exhilarated.
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