Doing Kona in style—is that possible? The Heds don't come here often anymore, but when they did they used to rent a big white house in a gated community on the coast, next door to Sly Stallone's. It had a pool situated only feet away from the ocean. What's the point of the pool, then? When you have to ask that question, that's opulence—the pool, and bleached-white carpet that stared up at you daring you to get it dirty.

No way I would rent that place. Too much money. You sell fifty-thousand carbon wheels in your career, then you can rent that place. I'm in a condo near Keauhou and hey, it's nice. But it's a condo. The first night we were here, the plumbing clogged. I got a plunger from the bathroom and went to work. Upon executing my first plunge, water, bits of rice and who knows what else shot out of the little chrome dome thingy next to the kitchen sink's spigot and all over my editor's face (she was standing behind me, consulting). I had to get underneath and take the pipes apart. I don't think Stallone has to do that in his place.

Culinarily, though, is there a better way to do Kona than eating at the Chart House every night? Not that there's anything wrong with that. The Chart House has always been my evening haunt here. I bring my laptop and start writing with a Mai Tai and a plateful of salad-bar-salad adjacent. But this is my fifteenth Ironman in twenty-three Konas, and I'm in the mood for something different.

Motoring away from the airport, then, just after my arrival, I stopped at the fish market in the harbor. Ahi, albacore, ono and other tropical fish caught off the coast by the aerial sportfishers end up here. Sushi quality fish sit in the coolers just hours after they were JSA (just swimming along). I paid $9.80 per pound for ahi. Yes, it's not cheap, but fish like this would cost $15 a pound back home and wouldn't even show up there until day after tomorrow.

Then a trip to WalMart for rice, wasabi, soy sauce, salad stuff, and most importantly, coffee. Kona coffee would be too expensive, even here. A Kona blend means two or three Kona beans thrown into a bagful of Folgers. I just buy the darkest roast I can find on sale.

I ate so much seared ahi (basically sashimi inside a blackened skin) I was full until midway through the next day. Doing the post-ahi dishes, that's when the plumbing broke down. My version of doing Kona in style.

The next night we ate at Sibu. This Indonesian restaurant is cheap, healthy, great, and well-known to Ironvets. Each year I get a different color Sibu tank top. Back in the states when I'm not racing for Team Slowtwitch I race for Team Sibu. I'm the only one on the team, as far as I know.

The other hot spot is the Aloha Cafe, and it's up at the top of the hill, between Kona and Captain Cook. It's at 2,000 feet of elevation, and it's a different place up there. Twenty degrees cooler. Tropical. Great breakfast place. And dinner. When my wife was in the Kona hospital following surgery on her insides ('93) I used to sneak her take-out dinners from the Aloha Cafe (only a mile from the hospital). I think that was what pulled her through.

I don't know if I'll make the Aloha Cafe this year. My editor makes a great French toast, which I had this morning. That and turkey bacon. She puts all sorts of things in it. Me, it's just bread, egg and syrup. Hers is much better, of course. Why do I need the Aloha Cafe? Doing Kona in style, all I need is the fish market, Sibu and my editor. And that place next to Stallones. Steve and Annie Hed, I think it's high time you started coming back to the Island. The editor and I will maintain a low profile—you won't even know we're bunking with you.