A Barney in Bali--Day 12, 19JUNE2011 SUN

My writing haven: 24 hr. chat cafe, Cappuccino with a scoop of vanilla.

 
Return of the Ass Clencher:



    As I’ve mentioned before, the internet here is pretty slow. I had a hard time chatting with my girlfriend on line, so in a fit of frustration I headed out the door, on foot, to find an internet café.

    Randy stopped me and said, “Just take my bike.”

    Jessica said, “Should we give him one of our phones?”

    “Nah, he’ll be all right,” Randy replied.

    There are men in this world . . . real men, men of action! And I’m not one of them. No, I’m Mr. Cautious. Before venturing out on his bike I should have had not only my brother’s phone number, but his address, a prepaid phone, a preplotted map marking my destination and return route, a piece of paper with useful Indonesian phrases, and the phone numbers of all the emergency agencies I need. But in this case, I took his keys and jumped on the bike without all of the above. Back home I have a two stroke Yamaha YZ125 that I ride in the desert with my dirtbike buddy Sebastian. I would learn that riding in the desert and a third world country are totally different.

    Not used to a four stroke, I was really slow at letting out the clutch and gave too much gas, but I got it moving. Okay, left side of the road, left side of the road, think left side of the road, I thought. The chat café was literally just a couple blocks away, but the major intersection was unavoidable. Taking precaution, I didn’t drive too fast in the neighborhood. I must’ve looked weak and afraid because a dog on the side of the dirt road started barking. I looked back, and the little fucker was chasing me. What the fuck? So far for driving slow, I thought. I picked up my foot to make sure I wouldn’t catch rabies and made the left turn onto the street. Shifting gears, worrying about traffic, using my turn signals, keeping appropriate speed, and maneuvering between vehicles was a bit much to take in on a Saturday night. When the light turned green, I made the right turn and parked at the Chat Café.

    It was my first time on my own since being here, and the freedom was refreshing. The place was modern and westernized. I sat in a comfy leather couch and logged on. Wifi . . . such a creature luxury, but gawd damn do I love it. Internet so fast, the pages loaded faster than I could dig my asshole. Finally, I was able to chat with Lauren. I told her I had risked life and limb for our relationship.

    It was a pricey restaurant/café compared to the other places that my brother took me. I immediately splurged. I started with the chocolate shake (which did not pass American fatty standards), a mixed fruit smoothie, a cappuccino with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a calamari appetizer. Total: $10. Yeah . . . expensive.


Vacation or Training Camp?:


    Last night my brother gave me the option on where to surf. It was either going to be the Bukit or Canggu again. He made the dilemma clear to me. One, the Bukit would be big. The swell was forecasted around 8 ft. with 15 sec. periods. He made it clear that if the Bukit is big, I may find myself in a bad situation over the reef. Waves at the Bukit stand up really fast. He also said, we could surf Canggu where it won’t be as bad, but at the same time the Bukit would get me out of my comfort zone. What’s a Barney in my shoes supposed to say? I’ve already had the reality check to know that my surfing is not up to Bali standards. Eight feet and reef, I thought. I also didn’t want to disappoint my brother, as anyone that’s a “younger brother” could understand. I told him I’d do the Bukit.

    He said, “All right, but it’s a long drive. If I paddle out, you’re gonna have to paddle out too.”

    He gave me that stern facial expression: no smile, serious as a heart attack, and straight. It immediately sent me back through time to my high school days; I was sixteen again. He would come home from college, throw on the boxing gloves, and knock me around the garage until my grandma would come down asking us what all the noise was about. “If I paddle out, you’re gonna have to paddle out too” is what he said. Last night I had the worst sleep since I’ve been here. I thought to myself, did I come here to have fun or to have this kind of pressure on me?


Inaccurate Forecast:


    Because of the tide, we choose to surf The Gu so we could check out the Bukit around noon. When we get there, we see the end of a big set roll through. After that, the sets are about the average size for that place. It’s definitely not eight feet. For Bali scale, it’s four at the most. The break in front of the Warung has lefts with barreling sections that appears on the good waves, but it‘s getting crowded, and it is just “one left“ that everyone is fighting over. The sand bar in front of us has a left hand barreling section also, but it’s less consistent. Since the sand bar has two peaks that randomly work, I tell Randy that I’m willing to surf there.

    I practice kicking my feet while paddling for waves. This morning it feels much smoother. I actually catch a left at the peak, but it’s walling up fast. I pump down the line until it closes out. If it barreled, there was no exit route. Randy watches me scratch out on another wave.

    He says, “You’re getting your rhythm down.”

    “Yeah, I feel like paddling at the surface while kicking seems to help.”

    The morning session is just over an hour, and I can’t even recall if I got more than that one wave. No rides this morning are remarkable, but that’s most likely my fault of course.
   
Effort:

    Back at the bikes, Randy tells me that he’s watched my paddling, and that I’ve been doing it wrong. He says that I paddle like I’m swimming. He’s in fact right, I do. No one’s ever told me that I’m doing it wrong. It feels good when I do it, so I don’t know any better. He says he’s seen this for some time. Well . . . now I know.

    Randy also asks me about my duckdiving, and how he notices that I’m caught on the inside a lot. This is true. I’ve always written about my duckdiving problems, and it still is a problem. What I do is use my foot to push on the tail. Randy tells me to use my knee instead. I’ve tried this, and I just can’t get it down; I feel as if I have no leverage.

    At this point, we are both frustrated. Not only am I frustrated with my own lack of abilities, but now I must see my brother get frustrated over my lack of abilities as well. He says that I don’t follow his advice, but I tell him I truly am trying.

    He brings up options on where to surf the afternoon. I tell him I don’t want to, and that I just want to get a moped rental and do my own thing.

    I’ll leave out the details of the conversation that followed. This is obviously getting into a personal realm. I appreciate how he tries to push me to surf better, but this is my first time here. I don’t know. I guess I sound like a fucking bitch right now, but fuck . . . it’s Bali. It’s not easy out here, but I guess I’m not trying hard enough. I guess all my wipeouts, eating shit over the reef, and getting caught on the inside means that I’m not trying.

    I just want to hit the reset button. All I want is to have fun by catching fun waves, even if they are small.