Pennywise To House Parties A Good Old-Fashioned 4th of July
By John Valencia, Special To PubClub.com
It was 7 a.m., on the morning of the 4th of July in Hermosa Beach, California.
Jake and Fletch were rolling their beach cruisers through the early morning mist searching for the registration of the annual Ironman. No, not that Ironman. Not the race in Hawaii where ultra athletes swim 2.4 miles, bike 115 miles, and then finish off with a marathon.
We are talking about the Hermosa Beach Ironman, that grand tradition held each 4th of July in Hermosa Beach where hundreds of revelers run a mile on the beach, paddle a mile on the ocean, and then chug a six-pack of beer, ideally holding it down for 20 minutes.
Jake had to laugh as a horribly hung-over Fletch peddled along, his bloated body and sweaty flushed face testament to all the drinking that had been going on the last several days. Despite his chubby appearance, Fletch was actually a sound athlete, and played a couple of years of semi-pro hockey after college, even though that was well over 70 pounds ago.
Cruising The Strand On Beach Cruisers
Their beach cruisers were complete junkers. Jake’s front fork was bent, causing the bike to wobble unsteadily, and he had covered up the worst of the rust spots with Metallica and Black Flag stickers. Fletch’s bike was even worse, a purple ladies cruiser he found abandoned by some garbage cans the previous summer.
They rode junkers because any decent bike didn’t last very long in Hermosa, either getting stolen or simply lost in the party haze. Jake himself had gone through six bikes in the past two years alone, the latest being stolen after he simply tossed it in some bushes by a house party hoping it would still be there in the morning.
Truth is they were both horrendously hungover, having bar-hopped around Pier Avenue in Hermosa until the wee hours and ending the night closing down a bar called Critters (now known as North End), the unofficial headquarters of the Ironman.
The 4th of July in Hermosa is not a one-day affair. The core of the party starts a few days prior, ramps up to a crescendo on the 4th, and then takes a couple of days to taper off. But truth be known, summer in Hermosa is pretty much one continuous boozefest.
Ironman Prep-Party: The Bar & Liquor Store Stop
Ironman registration was shrouded in secrecy in an attempt to keep the event as low-key as possible. The Ironman started with a handful of locals back in the 1980s, but had grown significantly over the years. The organizers still wanted to keep it largely a locals event best they could, and so they never advertised precisely where registration would take place, instead relying on word of mouth through the network of Hermosa bars.
The early morning streets were largely empty, giving no hint of the absolute mayhem that would soon engulf the entire city of Hermosa Beach with 4th of July partiers. Jake and Fletch biked by a group of college-age girls walking towards the beach, all in matching bikinis with red tops and blue bottoms.
Fletch whispered under his breath as they rode by, just loud enough for the girls to hear, “Heeeyyyyyyy turkey.” The girls looked at each other in some confusion and disgust, not sure exactly what to make of what they just heard. Jake turned to Fletch, “Would you shut your piehole!”
Jake and Fletch found the registration, which consisted of a couple of folding tables set up in front of an apartment at 29th Street and Hermosa Avenue. They paid the $20 entry fee and had their race numbers written on their arms and backs in large Sharpies by one of the several young ladies on hand helping with registration. They must have been school teachers, judging by the absolute perfect penmanship that Jake didn’t think was possible with a Sharpie on human skin.
Jake and Fletch stopped off at Oceanview Liquor to pick up their race beer of choice. The previous year, Jake made the mistake of going with Guinness. The thick, foamy brew tasted great through the first two cans, and then quickly turned to disaster as the Guinness congealed at the bottom of his stomach in what felt like freshly-poured cement.
They decided to keep it simple and bought a 12-pack of Budweiser, which they would split to ensure they each drank the regulation six beers each. The safer play would have been a light beer. Most contestants select Coors Light or Bud Light. But Jake hated that crap and viewed light beer as a baby step above water, and it just seemed like cheating for the purposes of the Ironman.
Fletch’s wife Beth pulled up in her pickup truck, which had their longboards in the bed. “You guys are already sloppy drunk, aren’t you?” asked Beth. “Now what sort of inflammatory accusation is that?” replied Fletch. It was all in jest, as Beth was born and raised in Hermosa and knew full-well the drunken debauchery of the Ironman.
Jake and Fletch pulled the boards out of the truck, and Fletch gave Beth a quick peck and said, “I’ll see you later, baby.” Beth knew that 4th of July always started with the Ironman, and she wanted no part of it. “I’ll plan on picking the boards up in a couple of hours,” said Beth, as she drove off.
Both Jake and Fletch had a number of surfboards in their garages, but always selected their oldest, most damaged boards for the Ironman. The boards were full of dings, taking on water, and perfect for the chaos of Ironman.
They propped the longboards up against the retaining wall that runs along the Strand and headed for Critters to dull their hangovers and get a bit of food in their stomachs before the full day of drinking ahead. It was important to stock up on fuel for the Ironman and a long, full day of boozing.
Critters was already a bit crowded, everyone at the bar either participating in the Ironman, as identified by their race numbers written largely on their arms, or just there to get the party going and watch the debacle. Jake ordered up a couple of Jamo shots, which they tossed back with a small shudder.
The former Hermosa Beach mayor, known simply as Bergie, was already at the bar getting caught up with old friends and drinking a Bud tallboy. Bergie had moved to Las Vegas a few years prior, but would always be the unofficial mayor of Hermosa, and the Grand Marshall of the Ironman.
The Ironman – Swim, Paddle, Drink Beer & Party
Bergie headed out the door, which meant the Ironman would start soon. Jake, along with the rest of the bar, settled their tabs and joined the fray on the beach. By now there were hundreds of boards all neatly lined up along the Strand wall and the beach was packed.
Jake looked over and noticed his friend Crazy Alex stride purposefully down onto the beach, carrying a gigantic American flag on a pole, followed by a handful of his friends, all of whom already appeared substantially drunk.
Crazy Alex had been on Ironman flag duty for several years and marched the flag around the center mosh pit area, where homegrown punk band Pennywise was setting up and doing sound checks in preparation for their surprise performance. There had been no advanced advertisement of the Pennywise appearance, which would have resulted in absolute pandemonium on the beach.
After doing a couple of laps around the mosh pit, Crazy Alex stood next to Bergie and began solemnly waving the flag as Bergie grabbed a microphone from Pennywise and launched into a truly horrific rendition of the National Anthem. Bergie didn’t have the best voice, but he sang with conviction and true love of country.
Bergie finished the anthem and Crazy Alex planted the flag in the sand in the middle of the mosh pit. Jake could feel the energy as everyone started to nudge towards the starting line. Without warning, the crowd bolted north up the beach, screaming and hooting like savages in the wild.
The Ironman had begun.
Jake and Fletch sprinted along with the crowd, the heavy, wet sand pulling at their feet. The field of runners started to come back towards Jake and Fletch, as people were hitting the turnaround point, which was marked by a couple of borrowed traffic cones, and heading back to grab their surfboards.
Jake returned from the run ahead of Fletch and grabbed his longboard off the Strand wall. As Jake began running towards the ocean, he felt his board suddenly get much lighter. He looked back to find a girl wearing a tiny 1970’s style bikini helping him carry his board down to the beach. The girl was giggling as she held the tail end of Jake’s board in one hand and a can of Bud Light in the other. “Hey, thanks! But that is cheating!” Jake yelled out to her, as he pulled away and charged down to the water.
It was already getting to be a warm, sunny day, and the plunge into the cool Pacific felt refreshing after the beach run. Jake paddled out through the breakers and noticed that the LA County Lifeguards had a couple of boats mobilized and patrolling on the outside of the surf line. They understood all too well the extreme intoxication of many of the hundreds of people plunging into the ocean.
Jake looked back and saw Fletch enter the water, his beet-red face and deep breaths suggesting he was struggling after the run and the Jamo shots. Jake slowed down to wait for Fletch to catch up, and noticed that he had a couple of cans of Bud Light perched on the nose of his board. Fletch handed one off to Jake and said, “Happy 4th, brutha!”
They both cracked their beers and took nice, long swigs together. “Where did you get these beers?” Jake asked.
“From that girl who was helping you with your board. I hit her up, she was really sweet and she gave us a couple of beers.”
“Finally, you are useful for something.”
Jake and Fletch continued to paddle up the coastline until they got parallel with the lifeguard tower that marked the turnaround spot. Many participants turned around whenever they got bored or tired, but Jake felt pride in doing the full race and not cutting corners. As they paddled they each chugged their beers quickly to ensure no brew was accidentally lost to the sea.
The top contenders had already streaked by on their boards at a lightning pace towards the mosh pit, floating across the top of the water. Many of them looked like Olympic athletes, born to paddle. Jake and Fletch were happy to just survive the race.
Pennywise Blasts ‘My Own Country’ In The Ironman Moshpit
Pennywise was already blasting out one of Jake’s favorite songs, “My Own Country,” by the time they reached their 12-pack of Bud in the mosh pit. They cracked open their first Buds and started to chug them back. By then the top contenders were already nearly finished with their beers, many able to polish off a six-pack in under three minutes.
Jake saw Crazy Alex and the rest of his crew swilling their beers next to Pennywise. One of Crazy Alex’s crew, a huge Mexican-Korean dude named Tonto, walked over and spread open his arms to give Jake a big bro hug. Jake opened his arms in return, but quickly realized it was a ruse, as Tonto unleashed a gigantic firehose stream of beery puke directly at Jake’s face. Jake turned his head at the last moment, taking much of the puke stream on the side of his neck and chest.
A momentary wave of anger washed over Jake, but then he realized this type of behavior was totally fair game at the Ironman. And what was he going to do anyway, Tonto was a block of granite, totally immovable and strong as a bull. It was hard to be mad at the kid anyway, as Tonto stood there with a big dopey smile across his face over his successful puke attack on Jake.
The puking quickly became contagious, as it always did. Jake took a big swill of Bud, thrust his fingers deep down his throat then turned and puked all over Crazy Alex’s arm. Looking around, Jake saw sprays of vomit erupting in all directions. The Ironman was in full swing.
Crazy Alex grabbed the American flag and headed into the mosh pit, which was now packed and swirling around in a counterclockwise direction, everyone slamming into each other as Pennywise blasted out their best punk songs at full volume.
Jake took a hard shove from behind and barreled head-first into the pile of empty beer cans stacked in the middle of the mosh pit. Within seconds, unknown hands grabbed Jake and pulled him to his feet, and he continued the swarming slamdancing. That is how it was, there is nothing malicious about taking a beatdown in the mosh pit. It’s all about the brotherhood and camaraderie of the party.
By now the center of the mosh pit was stacked high with empty cans of beer, and a sludgy puke river had formed and ran down through the center of it all. A local dude known only as Roadkill, covered in tattoos and sporting a mohawk, began his traditional “swamp swim,” alternating between breaststroke and freestyle as he swam through the pukey muck and cans in the center of the mosh pit.
A few of Roadkill’s friends rained fresh puke all over him as he took his swim. Roadkill would yet again win the coveted “Best Puke” award with the performance.
The mosh pit went on for about 30 minutes, until the beer started to run out and the Hermosa Beach PD began encroaching in a bit, signaling it was time to wrap things up. Their mission was to have the whole sloppy mess gone and off the beach before the families and other innocents started arriving. Pennywise finished up its set with “Bro Hymn,” everyone screaming the song in unison as they took their last few laps around the mosh pit.
The ultimate winner of the Ironman was awarded the traditional trophy, a replica of a Hermosa Beach street sign with “Ironman” written across it, and the crowd plucked him off his feet and carried him around the mosh pit above their heads.
Post-Ironman Party: Back To The Bar
Jake and Fletch headed down to the ocean to take a swim and scrub off all of the sweat, beer, puke, sand, and other assorted filth, after which they returned to Critters, where Crazy Alex and the rest of the crew were already knocking back shots of tequila. It was only late morning, but the entire bar was packed full of people doing some serious drinking.
Jake spotted his friend Victoria across the bar and walked over to say hello. “What’s up, you watch all the Ironman mess down there?” asked Jake.
“Yeah, for a bit, but the smell got disgusting so I came back to Critters early,” replied Victoria.
Victoria was a beautiful Mexican girl, born and raised in Sinaloa, which was a bit rare in Hermosa. Jake historically tended to date Mexican women, so he was happy that they had been hanging out over the past year.
Victoria said, “Want to head over to my roommate’s mom’s house? She lives a few blocks down the Strand and is having a BBQ. I am sure she has plenty of booze.”
“Well it would be rude of me to refuse free alcohol. Let’s roll,” replied Jake.
Post-Ironman Party: From The Bar To House Parties
They hopped on their bikes and headed off. Jake reached over and grabbed the rubber frog mounted on Victoria’s handlebars and gave it a squeeze, causing the frog’s tongue to extend out. “I don’t know how this thing hasn’t been stolen yet,” said Jake.
They arrived at the house party, but there were only a handful of people there. Jake and Victoria got a couple of beers and talked with her roommate’s mom out on the patio. Jake thought to himself that the mom was the sweetest old lady.
Victoria looked at Jake and said, “Hey, I should give you a tour of the house.” Jake was confused why Victoria would think he would want a tour of the old lady’s house, as she grabbed him by the hand and lead him past the kitchen and down the main hallway.
But when Victoria pulled him into the bathroom off the hallway and locked the door, Jake understood her mission.
They started to make out as Victoria pulled Jake’s board shorts down around his ankles. They looked at each other and simultaneously broke out in quiet laughter over what they were about to do in the poor old lady’s bathroom, which was appropriately adorned with paisley wallpaper and pink lace hand towels.
Jake sat on the edge of the bathtub and pulled Victoria’s bikini bottoms off. He turned her around to face away from him and she lowered down onto him. Jake entered her deeply and sank his teeth firmly into the soft skin on the back of Victoria’s shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around her as she began grinding her hips in circles.
They kept it quick, but it was still a good 10 minutes before Jake and Victoria emerged from the bathroom and rejoined the party on the patio.
There were a couple of awkward looks, as it was clear to everyone what had just gone down. But it didn’t matter to Jake. Between the sex and all the sauce he’d already drank down, he was nicely buzzed and feeling no pain.
Jake gave Victoria a little kiss and hopped on his cruiser to set off for Pier Avenue in downtown Hermosa Beach.
“Honey, let’s try to catch up later,” said Jake. “Ok, babe, be careful.” Victoria understood there were no schedules or plans or rules on the 4th, so she didn’t even argue.
Onto More Hermosa House Parties On The 4th Of July
Jake peddled his way down the Strand towards the Hermosa Pier, stopping off at a couple of house parties along the way. The crowds were now considerable, and people were getting hammered from drinking out in the hot sun.
Jake arrived at the Hermosa Pier and saw one of his favorite local bands, the STD’s, set up on a portable stage on wheels being pulled down the Strand by a few of the band’s friends. The platform paused at the mouth of Hermosa Pier and the STD’s tore into their song “Get up and Dance,” lead by the hammering riffs of the lead guitarist, a guy known only as Flinch Mob.
Jake knew the bass player of the STD’s, who lived across the street from Jake in a complex called the Sea Viking Apartments. There had been a homicide in the complex the prior summer, something of a rarity in sleepy Hermosa Beach, and Jake and his friends had referred to the complex as “The Killing Fields” ever since.
Jake noticed that a local girl named Kara was dancing around in the impromptu mosh pit that formed in front of the band.
Kara couldn’t have been older than 18, and was something of the informal leader of a group of local kids who partied around the Hermosa Pier who were known as the Pier Rats. Jake would often see Kara leading a pack of Pier Rats down the Strand on her skateboard, her wild blonde hair blowing in the wind like some sort of Hermosa Beach warrior princess.
Jake and Fletch had thus christened her, “Kara, Queen of the Pier Rats.”
The STD’s finished up the song and started to roll further up the Strand on their platform, as the slamdancing had caught the attention of the Hermosa PD, who were starting to edge in towards the fray.
Hermosa Beach 4th Of July Bars On Pier Ave.
Jake spotted Fletch’s distinctive purple bike outside of the Mermaid Restaurant and Bar and headed in. The Mermaid was a favorite spot and had been around for decades. An old-timer named Boots tended bar at the Mermaid in the 1950’s and ended up buying the place, and had owned it ever since. The party was in full swing, as the Mermaid is situated right on the beach in downtown Hermosa.
Jake and Fletch were bellied up to the bar when one of their friends Rebecca came up to say hello. Rebecca was a stunning girl with long wavy black hair and a prodigious backside that made Jake weak in the knees.
They were all chatting and drinking when a cute brunette girl came up and draped her arms around both Rebecca and Jake. The girl was in her late 20’s, stellar body, and wearing nothing but a shiny red bikini, not even a pair of flip flops on her bare feet.
Jake said, “Well hello there, young lady. Have we met?” The girl slurred, “Not yet, honey.” Jake and Rebecca looked at each other and laughed, as they could not determine with whom the girl was flirting.
The girl turned to Rebecca and said, “I have to go to the bathroom. Will you come with me?” Rebecca replied, “Sure, let’s go.” Jake watched as the two headed off for the bathroom holding hands, disappearing into the women’s room.
Jake didn’t think much of the situation, as girls always seem to go to the restroom in pairs, but he started to look over towards the bathroom area after Rebecca and the girl were gone for over 20 minutes. Jake was about to give up on them, assuming they had just gone off to another bar, when they returned to him, both smiling and laughing.
Rebecca leaned in towards Jake and said, “Hey can you get us a couple of drinks?”
Jake immediately reeled back when he was overwhelmed by the unmistakable scent of vagina on Rebecca’s face, almost knocking him off his barstool. “What — in — the — Royal — ?!?! Did you just do what I think you just did in the Mermaid bathroom??” Jake whispered sternly in Rebecca’s ear. Rebecca didn’t answer, and only coyly smiled as she grabbed Jake’s beer and took a large swig. “Now I have literally seen everything,” said Jake, as he bought the group another round.
The Mermaid became jam-packed with drunk people pouring in off the beach, and Jake started to get annoyed. “Hey man, let’s bounce out of here. It’s too crowded,” Jake said to Fletch. “Yeah, I’m down. It’s steamy as a Roman bathhouse in here,” replied Fletch as they made their way out the door.
“Bye, lovers!” Jake called out to Rebecca and her new friend, who were still seated at the bar. Rebecca smiled and extended up her middle finger high above the bar in Jake’s direction.
Jake and Fletch bar hopped for a bit more, but all of the bars along Pier were brimming with sweaty, drunk people, and it was difficult to even get a cocktail anywhere.
A couple of cholos had gotten into a fight inside the End Zone, and the guy who got the worst of it was seated in the back of an ambulance parked on Pier Avenue in front of the bar. There were still a handful of shaved peanut-head cholos milling around, gang tattoos proudly displayed on their shirtless torsos, and Jake could tell they were just looking for more trouble.
Fletch turned to Jake and said, “This is turning into amatuer night, as it always does. I need to get home to my ol’ lady anyway.” Jake agreed, “Yeah, I’m done. It’s getting sloppy out here. Catch you tomorrow morning, let’s do hamburger steak and eggs and some Bloodies at the Merm and recap the festivities.” They fist bumped and went their separate ways.
Jake wanted to get away from the bars and go relax with Victoria, who lived on a side street close to the Pier. It was dark and the fireworks would kick off soon, and Jake wanted to be somewhere chill to enjoy the show. Jake picked up a six-pack of Bud and biked over to Victoria’s apartment, and was relieved to see she was already home, her frog-adorned beach cruiser parked in the side yard.
Jake walked into the courtyard and saw Victoria and a handful of her neighbors sitting around the firepit, which was lit and crackled warmly.
“So how was your 4th?” asked Victoria with a knowing little smile. “Boring as usual. Nothing fun ever goes on in this lame little town,” replied Jake, as he sat down and cracked open a Bud.
Once the fireworks started, Jake and Victoria walked up to her apartment and flopped down on her couch, which had a perfect view of the show through her living room window facing the ocean. They sat cuddled in silence as the explosions tore through the sky, beautiful bursts of the good ol’ red, white, and blue.
Yes, it was a good old-fashioned 4th of July after all, for all in Hermosa.
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