Six Grown Men, A Busted Van And Enough Cervezas To Temporarily Forget

In silly hats and glasses, four grown men laid outstretched by a pool overlooking the ocean at Las Rocas Hotel in North Baja. Their board bags and suitcases laid beside them, ruffled with twin fins peeping out the zipper. They were doomed – lobsters on a hot rock.

It was a warm September day, the sun glared fall colors off an electric blue sea. I passed them on my way to the bar to request ice to fill up a plastic bag full of room temperature Indios, turned to my pal Ben and said something pretentious like, “Ah, these boys are ready to rip,” like I possessed some superior skill atop a surfboard.  

On our second passing, after being told a bag of ice cost three dollars, that we had to buy their four dollar beers (a Mexican travesty!) and were forbade to drink ours. I recognized one of the crustaceans. We waved, walked up and said, “Timothy?” Mr Swallow the photographer behind this shoot looked up and we realized we did, in fact, know each other. We reminisced on a few nights back where we got inappropriately intoxicated in the streets and bars of Venice, danced like drought-plagued Indians and parted ways thinking we wouldn’t meet again until I flew out to Oz, or he back to LA. Then a skinny boy in a large cowboy hat exclaimed, “Morgs!” I exclaimed, “Triggers!” with a warm, slightly sweaty embrace we were introduced to the crew, Hopey and Bergy. 

Buenos tardes amigos.

The boys had been down – a few hours south of our current location at Cuatro Casas – shooting for this Critical Slide Society summer line. They took down Bergy’s roommates van from San Diego – a gorgeous geriatric gal dating back to the Nixon era, according to Tim, Bergy cranked her down the dirt roads like a mad cat. Over the few good days before their doom, they drank. They surfed. They brought down bags of merch and gave them to the locals, shooting their entire catalog while giving away hats and tees to the much obliged Mexican citizens. And, their van broke down, which is where we – being Ben and I – came in.  

A car named Rhonda. 

Being that they were stranded and the day was too stunning to not get rip-roaring drunk, Hopey bought a round of beers. I bought a bag of ice. We sat. We drank. We refilled out cups with the beers we brought. We swindled. Bergy left with a strange man who “fixed” their van. He was gone for hours. The van was not fixed. He was stranded. Doomed. Eventually, Bergy returned.  

They say it’s not an adventure until something goes wrong, but really it’s not an adventure until something goes wrong and you run out of any other option other than drinking your guts into a frenzy, making grand plans for the night and passing out before 10 PM. You know, an adventure. 

In the end, they towed the van across the border. I gave Hopey and Timothy a ride to LAX the next day. Hopey bought me two ceramic monkeys; I was thrilled. Really, it was just a beer-fueled wait in the borderline – as anticlimactic as limp sex.  

Whether you’re in or out of the area, you’re cordially invited.

Anyway, tomorrow night (Thursday, Oct 26) TCCS is having a party featuring photographic prints by dear Timothy. It’s called Viva la Mexico. It starts at 6 pm at Fredas Bar, Chippendale. All proceeds from the sale of each print will go to the people of Mexico affected by the traumatic earthquake a week prior that killed 361 people. So go and buy something, if you’re feeling charitable. Browse the collection here.