Bill Carrico, �How to Live Your Life Without Experts�
This is part seven of a 25-part story about Hawaii. The story begins here. Part five is located here. Other parts you'll have to find yourself. So there.
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Waimea Canyon is the closest you can get by car to the center of the island, and it�s still not very close. Even after driving as far inland as you can by car, most hiking trails lead you back toward the cliff face overlooking the ocean.
We�re driving up the canyon side, stopping at several vista points to look into the canyon edges, we soon figure out that the drive is preferable to the stops. After all, while you�re in your car, you don�t have to look at the enormous Midwesterners who are all beet-red with sunburns, or listen to the guy who walks up to the overlook, and then gets on his cell phone to conduct business.
In any case, it�s much more fun to watch the mating rituals of the Zebra doves, which consists of the male following a rather indifferent female around, bending over and spreading its tail feathers, accompanying the action with a high fluttering warble that is impossible to put into words. They do this repeatedly, which slows their pursuit considerably.
Eventually, since the male is so busy bending over and showing off his ass, the female gets too far away. The male then makes frustrated birdcalls equivalent to, �Fine, be like that! Bitch!�
After discovering what kind of birds these were, we find we�re dissatisfied with the name, and The Girlfriend dubs them �Ass Pigeons� which sounds much more appropriate.
At the museum/clubhouse, I try and make sense of the hiking trails. I fail.
Just in case you were wondering about this book, yes, my father wrote this. As I said in the last entry, I realized I had neglected to bring a book for the letters G and H in my stack of books. I suddenly remembered that my father gave The Girlfriend a copy of his book before he left. I had read bits and pieces of his book before, but had never finished the entire book.
There�s a reason.
I�ll have to go more into the personality of my father to explain this. He used to be a marriage counselor until he got divorced. After that he decided that he didn�t like listening to other people complain about their lives and situations, and he never worked again.
Satisfied with what he had done with his life, he decided to write a self-help book. Knowing, however, that he couldn�t advocate dumpster diving to the masses as a lifestyle choice, he decided to concentrate on how to be happy with your life without the need of psychiatrists, therapists, counselors, or doctors, hence the title of his book.
But he backed himself into a corner by picking that title. It�s like the T-shirts that say �Question Authority.� Every time I see those, I run up and say, �Who says I should question authority? You? Where do you get off trying to tell me what and what not to question?�
Yeah, I�m fun at parties.
Obviously, with a title like that, you�re going to get an instinctive negative response from people. �What makes you an expert on telling me not to listen to experts?� they say. �And if you are an expert, than shouldn�t I not listen to your advice?�
Add to the fact that my father had already decide that he didn�t want to tell people how to approach their own life and/or problems, you have a book filled with all the depth of a Bobby McFerrin song.
But now I�m looking at the maps of hiking routes, set up by the experts, and they�re not making any sense to me. No matter, I had been on a few of these before, and I knew one trail that wasn�t too taxing, and had spectacular views of the cliffs overlooking the ocean. Leading The Girlfriend by the hand away from the taxidermied animal heads, we headed for the trail.
The trail doesn�t start off as anything spectacular � a lot of open fields, with the occasional tunnel of trees to pass through. We pass the time during this hike by analyzing zombie movies, discussing which aspects are believable: Wouldn�t the zombie that fought the shark underwater in Zombie have been picked apart by scavenger fish? Are they seeking food from the brain source, like in Return of the Living Dead, or is it simple rage that makes them attack, ala, 28 Days Later? Do they attack only humans, or animals as well?
All of this would prove to be quite foreshadowing. But that comes later.
Finally, as we get higher, we start to see some truly wondrous vistas. We�ve started out late, so we see only five people on the trail � all headed in the opposite direction. Eventually, as we near the top of the cliffs, she asks if I want to head away from the main trail. I agree, despite the fact that I get lost going to the bar that I�ve been going to for years.
We climb along the face of the cliffs overlooking the canyon until we can get no further. She says she�d like to rest and we sit down. I look over the canyon for a while, not saying anything, occasionally sneaking glances over at my girlfriend.
After a moment of silence, she speaks. �Chicken?� she says.
�You�re a chicken.�
�You know I took you down this path so I could jump you, right?�
Man, I�m dense sometimes.
