One aspect of my life that I have always felt a great deal of gratitude for is that I have been able to maintain long-lasting relationships with many of my childhood friends. One of those is my good buddy DJ. He was the first person that I met on the day we moved to Redwood Tree Lane and we have made an effort to maintain our relationship throughout the years. Although he started his career as a popular on-air disc jockey in the Palm Springs radio market, he eventually followed his love of driving into the trucking industry and since then, has driven for pretty much every touring rock act out there. Recently, while on tour with Megadeth, he blew through town and we had few hours to catch up. He informed me that he was an avid reader of my blog (that makes three) and asked why I had never written a story about him. Well here you go, buddy, this may not be the story you wanted me to write, but in the words of the Rolling Stones "you can't always get what you want".
Where I grew up, exploring the natural environment was the name of the game and Irvine had more nature than it had urban sprawl. One of our favorite locations to spend our summer days was on the back bay of Newport Beach. The Back Bay was an ever-changing landscape determined by the constant ebb and flow of the tidal waters and surrounded by massive bluffs, which set the stage for an amazingly diverse ecosystem. At one point of the year, it would be filled with water and at another, only the cracked mud beds would be left where the water once stood. Early one summer morning during the dry season, a group of five young explorers set out on an ill-fated expedition. We rode our bikes as far as we could and then continued on foot. Soon we came upon a large muddy area. It appeared to be a solid surface and rather than walk all the way around it, we decided to press on straight through the middle. When we got to about halfway through, each footstep became more difficult than the last and with each step, we were slipping deeper into the mud. We had all seen many a jungle movie where the hero becomes trapped in quicksand and with that thought in mind, panic began to set in. All five of us frantically struggled to get to the other side. Covered to the knees in mud, all of us made it except for DJ. He was still about 40 feet out and sinking fast. As a young teenager, DJ was six and one half feet tall and almost half that wide. We grabbed the largest stick we could find and proceeded to form a human chain across the mud in an effort to pull him to freedom, but he was in it up to his thighs and not going anywhere. At this point, the rest of us quickly compiled our vast knowledge of quicksand etiquette and told DJ, “Two of us are going for help and the other two will stay here with you, but whatever you do, try to move as little as possible". This was before the days of cell phones and the closest telephone was at the Y.M.C.A. at the top of a very tall bluff. We eventually completed the trek to the top of the bluff and called the fire department for help. We led the firemen down to where DJ was stuck and now he had sunk to just above his waist. They laid out long extension ladders and crawled out to him in an attempt to set him free, but no matter what they tried, they just couldn't seem to get enough leverage to pull him out. By this time, it appeared as if the whole Newport Beach fire department was on the scene. I noticed someone who appeared to be the fire chief discussing the situation with several other rescue workers and then after several minutes, a police helicopter appeared on the horizon. The helicopter hovered over DJ and then lowered a rope with a rescue harness to the firemen below. They attached the harness around DJ's shoulders and waist and then crawled back along the extension ladder. You could hear the copter's engine revving up as it attempted to pull DJ free, but nothing was moving. Just then the pilot gunned the engine and with the loudest popping noise I had ever heard, DJ's huge body went flying upward followed by a dark cloud of mud. DJ's body flew so high into the air that he nearly hit his head on the landing skids. Then he plummeted back down and bounced around as if he was bungee jumping until he was eventually lowered safely back to the ground. Besides the emotional scarring, he was no worse for wear and we all had a great story to share that evening when we arrived home. As I look back at it now, I believe the lesson to be taken away from this adventure is that sometimes Dude, it’s better to take the long way around.
Where I grew up, exploring the natural environment was the name of the game and Irvine had more nature than it had urban sprawl. One of our favorite locations to spend our summer days was on the back bay of Newport Beach. The Back Bay was an ever-changing landscape determined by the constant ebb and flow of the tidal waters and surrounded by massive bluffs, which set the stage for an amazingly diverse ecosystem. At one point of the year, it would be filled with water and at another, only the cracked mud beds would be left where the water once stood. Early one summer morning during the dry season, a group of five young explorers set out on an ill-fated expedition. We rode our bikes as far as we could and then continued on foot. Soon we came upon a large muddy area. It appeared to be a solid surface and rather than walk all the way around it, we decided to press on straight through the middle. When we got to about halfway through, each footstep became more difficult than the last and with each step, we were slipping deeper into the mud. We had all seen many a jungle movie where the hero becomes trapped in quicksand and with that thought in mind, panic began to set in. All five of us frantically struggled to get to the other side. Covered to the knees in mud, all of us made it except for DJ. He was still about 40 feet out and sinking fast. As a young teenager, DJ was six and one half feet tall and almost half that wide. We grabbed the largest stick we could find and proceeded to form a human chain across the mud in an effort to pull him to freedom, but he was in it up to his thighs and not going anywhere. At this point, the rest of us quickly compiled our vast knowledge of quicksand etiquette and told DJ, “Two of us are going for help and the other two will stay here with you, but whatever you do, try to move as little as possible". This was before the days of cell phones and the closest telephone was at the Y.M.C.A. at the top of a very tall bluff. We eventually completed the trek to the top of the bluff and called the fire department for help. We led the firemen down to where DJ was stuck and now he had sunk to just above his waist. They laid out long extension ladders and crawled out to him in an attempt to set him free, but no matter what they tried, they just couldn't seem to get enough leverage to pull him out. By this time, it appeared as if the whole Newport Beach fire department was on the scene. I noticed someone who appeared to be the fire chief discussing the situation with several other rescue workers and then after several minutes, a police helicopter appeared on the horizon. The helicopter hovered over DJ and then lowered a rope with a rescue harness to the firemen below. They attached the harness around DJ's shoulders and waist and then crawled back along the extension ladder. You could hear the copter's engine revving up as it attempted to pull DJ free, but nothing was moving. Just then the pilot gunned the engine and with the loudest popping noise I had ever heard, DJ's huge body went flying upward followed by a dark cloud of mud. DJ's body flew so high into the air that he nearly hit his head on the landing skids. Then he plummeted back down and bounced around as if he was bungee jumping until he was eventually lowered safely back to the ground. Besides the emotional scarring, he was no worse for wear and we all had a great story to share that evening when we arrived home. As I look back at it now, I believe the lesson to be taken away from this adventure is that sometimes Dude, it’s better to take the long way around.
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