A day at the beach

There I was, with my wife, Anne, on a lazy August Sunday ambling along the Santa Monica boardwalk. (A dip in the Pacific was out of the question because my bathing costume had a hole in the knee.) It was one of those idyllic Southern California days when the temperature at the shore is in the mid-70s, the ocean breeze strokes your head as gently as your mama did that first day you went to school (for me, that was very nearly my last; who knew pushing a live frog down Maggie Quinlan's blouse would cause such a fuss?), and you understand completely why you put up with everything else that is kooky in La-La Land to live here.

We decided to take a break and seek a cold beverage at one of the many sidewalk cafes sprinkled along the beach. The establishment also housed a bikes-for-hire center, and the place was teeming with more life than a hobo's undershirt. Suddenly, there was a bit of a kerfuffle as a cycling group seven or eight strong pulled up and began to dismount. They were about 30 yards away and the group's leader was unmistakable. He is perhaps the most recognizable man in the world--Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger. Clad in shorts and a T-shirt, he looked for all the world like just another California dad out with his kids.

Spotting my white dome (which stands out like Paris Hilton at an Amish service), the governor motioned me over. His security people looked at me with suspicion, but, obviously intimidated by my pink shirt, cut-off denims and well-practiced Clint "Feel lucky ... punk?" Eastwood walk, they soon backed off.

We spoke for about 10 minutes, and never in our interactions over the past decade or so has the governor failed to impress me with his sheer zest for whatever he is doing. I commented on his ability, despite the pressures of his office, to find time to take his kids for a bike ride. He asserted: "I always find time. It is very important that I do not let other responsibilities seem more important than them."

As former northern Europeans used to harsh winters and uncertain summers, we waxed loquaciously about the climate in which we both now live. He spoke about how he loved the beach, about how he and the rest of his Gold's Gym entourage used to make for the sand after a workout. I asked if he missed those days. He responded: "I look back fondly on that period. It brought me a lot of joy. Today, I have just as much joy. You cannot live in the past; you have to push on. That's life."

Then he reminded me he would be running again in November--in the race for governor. With that, we bid adieu, and I reflected on how I had been inspired in the late '60s and early '70s by Art Zeller photos of Arnold & Co., and now, here I was hanging out at the beach--albeit for 10 minutes--with the leader of the gang. Ah, dreams do come true, I sighed for a millisecond, before I stepped into an errant deposit of dog crap. But, hey, look on the bright side--another McGough scoop.

By Peter McGough

GROUP EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

COPYRIGHT 2006 Weider Publications
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