The Nolan Files - Part 1

The Nolan Files - Part 1

Part of the reason that Nolan's got the Pug on the road is so that he can have some well deserved, kicked-back travel after slogging through sixteen long years of Maine education. But we suspect that he's been having even more fun than may be seemly for a Maine-er. But recently, we started getting a flood of thoughts and reflections that sound like they're coming from his journal and hint at deep-running waters. They start at the beginning of his trip... thought we'd share.

You can find Nolan's current whereabouts here, or get an RSS feed of his scheduled stops For up-to-date dispatches and schedule changes: our Facebook & Twitter

Monday May 17th

2:00pm. After possibly the only stressful morning I’ve ever had at Grain, I pulled out of the driveway and the East Coast Ramble began. To pin down the precise moment it began—I mean scientifically precise—it would have to be when my palm struck Johnny Hamblett’s in one of the most epic high fives that ever turned motion into heat and sound. 4:00pm. A couple hours later my initial stoke ran out as I tried to navigate Boston traffic while still adjusting my driving style to fit the pug. I realized the right lane and I were in it for the long haul… 5:30pm. Mark, the owner of Nor Easter in N. Scituate, MA, and Roger, the local shaper checked out the boards. They were generally interested until I brought out the Spray and the paipo, then their eyes lit up at the sight of more complex lines, concaves and channels. A father and son also came by and were interested in building a kit as a winter project—first photo-op with the Pug for the kit discount! 10:00pm. Mark gave me access to the shop to use the internet and sleep on the couch if I wanted. I took him up on using the internet to plan a bike ride for the next morning, then retired to the truck to sleep because of the creepy mannequin on the couch who wouldn’t stop looking at me.

Tuesday May 18th

7:00am. As I woke up, my eyes couldn’t seem focus on the pattern in front of my face. I kept trying, but every time it almost became clear I went cross-eyed. Finally, looking away and back again I remembered where I was; in the pug. The hemp weave of a Wavetribe bag on the board rack above me, which was no more than 8 inches from my face, is much too busy for newly opened eyes. 8:30am. I took a break during my first bike ride, looking over Hull and Boston Harbor. It was a hazy morning so Boston’s skyline was just barely visible in the distance. Tiny, tiny waves lapped the rock outcrop I was sitting on - thinking the waves had better pick up sometime soon on this trip... I hadn’t surfed for two or three weeks, which most of you know, just isn’t good for one's self.