I mentioned before that while we were hanging out in Maui, we played disk golf a few times to help Matt prepare for his upcoming tournament. On one of these days, we were meant to drive up to Polipoli, which was supposed to be a gorgeous hike (and a disk golf course to go with it). Everyone had been telling us for days that we needed to go. We were on our way, but just after we passed the garbage dump, Matt’s truck started overheating. That wasn’t good. We pulled over, allowing the engine to cool, and then tried it again. No luck. The truck said Polipoli wasn’t in our cards today. So we turned around and made a stop at Walmart to pick up whatever sort of car supplies one gets to fix those things (cool-down juice? Is that what it’s called?). 

As we were driving back towards Kihei, Matt suddenly exclaimed, “I know what we can do! It’s something you’ve been wanting to do.” At that he switched lanes and turned into the parking lot for the batting cages, Hitter’s Paradise. 

Hitter’s Paradise could easily be seen from the main highway on Maui, and we had gotten into the habit of shouting “batting cages!” whenever we drove past. The first time had been Fletch excitedly pointing it out. The second time had been for no apparent reason, and then it just became a necessity to always shout it out after that. As Matt pulled into the parking lot, we all excitedly yelled the obligatory, “batting cages!” 

I remembered swinging a bat on exactly two previous occasions. Once was when I was little, Mom bought my sister and I a plastic toy bat and ball and we played with it at the park on one of our very seldom attempts at going outside (we were raised on hours of strict classical music lessons everyday, and every other possible indoor, ladylike activity, so it’s a wonder where this love of the outdoors came from). The second instance was in high school; one day in gym we all played softball and I had about as much success with that as with any other activity that required hand-eye coordination. People always tried to say, “Oh but you play music! You can read with your eyes and play with your hands!” But it’s not the same. It’s really not. Thanks for the benefit of the doubt though. 

We paid the extra $1 apiece to be able to drink our Truly’s out of a provided red solo cup. And then it was time to see if a batting career was in my cards. 

I chose the slow-pitch softball cage and fed the machine the tokens. Matt and Fletch both tried to give me pointers. “Don’t move your back leg.” “Lean forward more.” “Start with the bat ready to swing.” “Bring your right elbow up…” 

I’d like to think that I was showing progress towards the end. Out of 45 pitches, I made contact with the ball exactly 3 times! No, that’s actually really good for me. That was an excited exclamation point; no sarcasm font intended. I probably won’t be the next Babe Ruth though. 

I just realized that I’m writing a blog post about trucks and baseball, two subjects I know absolutely nothing about, so before I embarrass myself any further, we’ll just cut to the lovely late lunch/early dinner we had at Paia Fish Market South Side. The fish tacos were delectable and the “home fries” were more of a roasted potato salad, but also really good. It was a heaping plate of food and we were all beyond satisfied for the rest of the day. 

You may be wondering where all the scuba diving posts are. We tried all week to get on a boat, but the waters were too rough and no one was going out. Matt was able to work some magic though and get us on a boat with his friend the following day, which would be our last day in Maui. Stay tuned!