Sunday, May 3, 2015

Past 'About Me' Page

Having lunch with Brendan Sund, one of the accomplices that lived in a house of Pro Rollerbladers or otherwise known as the Westminster house, invited me to a party in Chicago, his hometown, for New Year's.  Friends were going to be flying in from Denver and other pockets of the country. I packed a bag and before you knew it, I was popping champagne bottles in Chicago.

On one of the mornings from my week long excursion, I slept drunk on the couch, and Brendan woke me, "Obe, it's snowing".

I jumped up, put on a snow coat.  I couldn't believe it.  After all of those television shows with snow on it, and growing up California, I never experienced the fourth season they called winter.

I ran outside.  The snow fell in slow motion.   It was so magical.  It created blankets over everything it laid itself on.  The cars looked warmer with their frozen blankets.  It was a sore subject for the locals who grew up with it, but, it was novel to me.  I slid through it.  Caught a flake on my tongue.  Took a snowball and threw it at the floor.  I thought twice bout starting a snowball fight with my friend knowing I was the amateur who could easily get annihilated by the Chicago native.  I left footprints, just like in the movies when hunters were using these as clues to catch their prey.  The boys in Carson would never believe this.

We had to go blading at an indoor wooden Bladepark because it was snowing.

I even got to see the Sears tower. One of those epic buildings that was impossible to make that tall but, they had succeeded.  It was their only mountain view they had for visitors in the flat midwest.

After exploring this new land, it was time to go home.  Brett (center), a Chicago native who visited Cali often, hooked it up on the spots to go.  Brendan (far left).

We all began to play Tetris by arranging our bags strategically in a hatchback Honda Accord.  With the heater on defrost, we drove back to Los Angeles.

We passed through Iowa's largest truck stop and couch surfed in Lawrence, Kansas.  The house we stayed in had a basement with a book shelf, that was a secret door.  One of the books pulled-out, like a lever, and was the key to a dark tunnel, used back when the slaves were doing a migration north from the South, during the civil war days.

12 hour increment drives, on two lane highways, with roads straight enough for Brett to put the car on cruise control and cross his feet while he updated the contacts on his new smart phone.

The second couch we slept on was in Denver, Colorado.  We reunited with Luke Bender (green jacket) and Carly (front center), whom were in Chicago the same time the three road trip amigos were, and had just returned to their home in Colorado by the time we drove in.  *More friends thanks to rollerblading.  Bonnie (far left), was Carly's roommate, that Carly loved to talk about while we were in Illinois.  We packed a Taxi, drove up Colfax, and round two on Shenanigans at Rock Bar. 

After a night of PBRs, it was time to eat.  We headed back to Carly and Bonnie's place, hungry, with no one sober enough to drive to get fifth meal.  Looking in their fridge, the mystery basket included; marinara, mozzarella cheese, and tortillas.  The inner chef came out.  We melted the cheese between two tortillas topped with marinara, and gave birth to Quesa-pizzas - a ghetto Italian take on a Mexican dish.

Being able to create something that everyone can enjoy out of nothing was a once in a lifetime thing that I wanted to share with everyone.  

I returned to California, and saw that like the rest of the world, the beer still pours, followed by munchies.  These cooking sessions in random places with many more amazing people didn't end.  Here in this blog, I share with you my adventures with rollerbladers and everyone affiliated, recipes included.  

Oh and did I mention that I'm a Professional Rollerblader?