Yes, your wannabee surfer is back. Back from the east coast, to be exact. I returned to southern California in July.
Now when I moved back east in 2006, I took my beautiful surfboard that I had bought earlier from my sometimes surf teacher, the famous professional Randy Couts.
That board sat in my garage in Washington, D.C. for more than thee years. I just couldn't bear to part with it. It was specially made for Randy, and he sold it to me in 2005.
Ever since I made plans last spring to return to southern California, I've been talking about buying a new surfboard. I haven't done it, just shopped on Craigslist a bit. Was waiting untilI had more money for such frivolities.
But I was on the telephone yesterday with my beloved girlfriend "Jennifer,' (not her real name, but when I use my girlfriend's real name, she gets paranoid because she's afraid her grown-up children will find out about me, and deep-down she's ashamed of me.) Anyway, she urged me in no uncertain terms to get off my butt and buy another surfboard. "But my nephew is getting ready to lend me a bicycle," I protested.
"Bicycles are fine," she replied, but I really think you ought to get another surfboard. Surfing is so much more good for you." I guess she meant the aerobic benefits of the sport. Between the paddling and the trying to keep your balance, it's quite a workout.
Now, I haven't even tried surfing since 2004, and only went out a few times then, for lessons with Randy. I'm not exactly Kelly Slater. In fact I think I managed to stand up on the board just once, for maybe three seconds, then plunk, into the drink.
Also, having been caught in a riptide and nearly drowned at Silver State Beach in San Diego when I was about 11, I've always remained a little gunshy of going into water over my head, although I am a fairly good swimmer.
Well, okay, I told "Jennifer" I would go and seek out another surfboard. That was on Thursday. On Friday morning I was lying in bed feeling crummy, a touch of flu or something. She calls me.
"Where are you?" she asks.
"I'm in bed," I said.
"You're supposed to be out surfing," she replied.
Someone needs to explain something to this woman..You just don't go running out and buy a surfboard on Thursday afternoon, strap it to the top of car and hit the beach first thing Friday morning. It doesn't work that way unless you're so stoked you're not thinking too clearly.
First of all, you have to find the right kind of board. Long? Short? Pointed? Rounded? Fiberglas, foam, there are any number of things to take into consideration.
Then you have to worry about price. You can spend anywhere from $100 for a used surfboard to $5,000 for a new one. My budget runs closer to the $100 range, and yes, I have been shopping on Craigslist, and I've found some possibilities, but it's almost 5 a.m. as I write this, and that's no time to call anybody about buying a used surfboard.
There's also the fact that "Jennifer" isn't the only paranoiac in the world. I suspect that her sudden agenda for wanting to get me back out on a surfboard is based on her hope that, as a continuing beginner I'll drown in the ocean and she'll be rid of me once and for good. Little does she know that nearly all the surf shops out here in San Diego give surfing lessons, and I intend to take a refresher course before trying to ride solo again.
My attitude toward surfing is similar to my attitude toward open-wheel auto racing. I love the idea of it (what native Californian doesn't?) but the idea of actually doing it (or driving an Indy Car) gives me the willies, even though I tried surfing a few years ago and, except for repearedly falling off my board and looking like a complete jackass, I thought it was kind of fun. Surely I will try it again as soon as I can afford another used surfboard. I already have a wetsuit -- it's in a box in the garage.
So I'll have to go shopping again. My old "Randy Couts" board might still be sitting in my ex-wife's garage in Washington, D.C, but I just hear the bloodcurdling scream now if I were to ask her to ship it out to me. No, it's going to have to go to some needy Washington, D.C. surfer. I don't imagine there are many of those. Randy, by the way, was an excellent surfing instructor, but by the time I met him he was more interested in golf. He and a partner were starting up a business building putting Makes sense, from an insurance standpoint at least. Nobody that I know of ever drowned playing golf.
Now when I moved back east in 2006, I took my beautiful surfboard that I had bought earlier from my sometimes surf teacher, the famous professional Randy Couts.
That board sat in my garage in Washington, D.C. for more than thee years. I just couldn't bear to part with it. It was specially made for Randy, and he sold it to me in 2005.
Ever since I made plans last spring to return to southern California, I've been talking about buying a new surfboard. I haven't done it, just shopped on Craigslist a bit. Was waiting untilI had more money for such frivolities.
But I was on the telephone yesterday with my beloved girlfriend "Jennifer,' (not her real name, but when I use my girlfriend's real name, she gets paranoid because she's afraid her grown-up children will find out about me, and deep-down she's ashamed of me.) Anyway, she urged me in no uncertain terms to get off my butt and buy another surfboard. "But my nephew is getting ready to lend me a bicycle," I protested.
"Bicycles are fine," she replied, but I really think you ought to get another surfboard. Surfing is so much more good for you." I guess she meant the aerobic benefits of the sport. Between the paddling and the trying to keep your balance, it's quite a workout.
Now, I haven't even tried surfing since 2004, and only went out a few times then, for lessons with Randy. I'm not exactly Kelly Slater. In fact I think I managed to stand up on the board just once, for maybe three seconds, then plunk, into the drink.
Also, having been caught in a riptide and nearly drowned at Silver State Beach in San Diego when I was about 11, I've always remained a little gunshy of going into water over my head, although I am a fairly good swimmer.
Well, okay, I told "Jennifer" I would go and seek out another surfboard. That was on Thursday. On Friday morning I was lying in bed feeling crummy, a touch of flu or something. She calls me.
"Where are you?" she asks.
"I'm in bed," I said.
"You're supposed to be out surfing," she replied.
Someone needs to explain something to this woman..You just don't go running out and buy a surfboard on Thursday afternoon, strap it to the top of car and hit the beach first thing Friday morning. It doesn't work that way unless you're so stoked you're not thinking too clearly.
First of all, you have to find the right kind of board. Long? Short? Pointed? Rounded? Fiberglas, foam, there are any number of things to take into consideration.
Then you have to worry about price. You can spend anywhere from $100 for a used surfboard to $5,000 for a new one. My budget runs closer to the $100 range, and yes, I have been shopping on Craigslist, and I've found some possibilities, but it's almost 5 a.m. as I write this, and that's no time to call anybody about buying a used surfboard.
There's also the fact that "Jennifer" isn't the only paranoiac in the world. I suspect that her sudden agenda for wanting to get me back out on a surfboard is based on her hope that, as a continuing beginner I'll drown in the ocean and she'll be rid of me once and for good. Little does she know that nearly all the surf shops out here in San Diego give surfing lessons, and I intend to take a refresher course before trying to ride solo again.
My attitude toward surfing is similar to my attitude toward open-wheel auto racing. I love the idea of it (what native Californian doesn't?) but the idea of actually doing it (or driving an Indy Car) gives me the willies, even though I tried surfing a few years ago and, except for repearedly falling off my board and looking like a complete jackass, I thought it was kind of fun. Surely I will try it again as soon as I can afford another used surfboard. I already have a wetsuit -- it's in a box in the garage.
So I'll have to go shopping again. My old "Randy Couts" board might still be sitting in my ex-wife's garage in Washington, D.C, but I just hear the bloodcurdling scream now if I were to ask her to ship it out to me. No, it's going to have to go to some needy Washington, D.C. surfer. I don't imagine there are many of those. Randy, by the way, was an excellent surfing instructor, but by the time I met him he was more interested in golf. He and a partner were starting up a business building putting Makes sense, from an insurance standpoint at least. Nobody that I know of ever drowned playing golf.
