A Barney in Bali--Day 5, 12JUNE2011 SUN



The Pre Blog:


     It’s 0500 in the morning, and the wind is dead outside. That’s good news. It means that we’ll either go to Nusa Dua or a new spot on the other side of the island. I woke up about fifteen minutes ago, and since then I’ve done my morning routine with more of an awareness: brushing my teeth, drinking my water, etc. Outside is still pure darkness with a faint blue haze in the sky. I peer through the tinted windows to look at the palm tree that isn’t moving. It kind of hits me then: Bali . . . my expectations were ridiculous. Deep inside, I expected a fun playground of perfect waves. I hoped that I’d over stress on the thought, build a monster, and be welcomed with gradual waves that would let me in, then throw out over my head only when I was in the right position for the barrel. No . . . it’s not that at all. Bali can be that way for someone already seasoned or at least saltier than I; that is the truth. My brother said his favorite spot is a spot that only barrels; every wave is nothing but a barrel. We haven’t been there yet, and honestly . . . I won’t be surprised if I don’t see it, not on this trip.

     I had ridiculous visions of returning to California, stepping off of that plane, like an enlightened monk that’s returned after a long journey from the Shaolin temple. I would turn to my friends with the look of wisdom and say: “Yes, I’ve seen the light. I know now, my friends, I know. I know it all. Barrels, big waves, everything; I know the secrets to surfing.” If there’s anything that I’ve gained so far, it’s perspective. The only thing I know is what I need to be, and I am not there yet. In reality, I may step off the plane, let out a sigh of releif, and say, “Fuckin’ A . . . I made it. . . . My balls are still between my legs, and I’m home.” A Barney in Bali, it’s a bit of irony I guess. A random title, but I see that it actually fits. I am the Barney at your leisure, and I will report the trials and the tribulations of a Barney in Bali.--0512

Skunked:


     My brother checks on me as I’m writing this. He tells me that the wind’s dead, and that our best bet is to gamble on a spot called Sanur. He starts his warm up ritual in the living room, and I do mine in my bedroom. We are in a bit of a rush to leave; the energy is off a little. It’s probably because I struggle with posting my last blog before it’s time to go. We hope that the wind stays like this, and we ride to Dunkin’ Donuts for their breakfast special. It’s too early to wear our shades, so dust and bugs irritate our eyes. We shoot the shit, look outside, and still see that there’s no sway in the trees. We grab our sandwiches to go and head to the Bukit (the small head of Bali where Nusa Dua and Uluwatu are). The traffic is light, Randy gives an extra twist to the throttle, and my glasses and helmet are unstable from the rushing air. We reach the village towns again as we escape the busy city. Trash is burning.

No waves! Randy angry!

     There’s waves, but they’re being knocked down by the wind. That smooth reef that we walked across on day two has white wash over it. We gamble, we lose. It turns out that Canggu was the right call, but we both wanted something different, especially after two consecutive, choppy, and blown-out sessions there. Either way, Canggu is in the opposite direction, and we’d have to backtrack to get their--inconvenient.

     Randy takes me sight seeing to another spot which is a secret and could only be posted in the pics. Because of the wind, these spots aren’t working, but the left barrels when the conditions are right. The sights are beautiful, and I snap some photos regardless.

Dhyana Pura:


      That local break in Seminyak that we looked at yesterday evening is called Dhyana Pura. It’s our best bet because it’s on the way home. By the time we’re driving back through Kuta again, everyone is heading to work, so there’s a lot more jockeying involved to get through, and more ass-clenching on my part. We arrive to find only three Balinese locals in the water. The water’s glassy, and the wind hasn’t reached that part of the island yet. It’s amazing how a little distance makes a difference.

     “It’s not gonna last,” says Randy.

     I find it hard to believe. “But it’s so beautiful out!” I reply.

     The water’s smooth, glassy, silky, and it’s sunny and hot, but there is one major problem: there’s not much shape to the break. Randy warned me the other day, that we’d only surf here if we just needed the quick fix. We lost on a gamble, and this is the consequence. The locals make it look fun, as they catch some quick shoulders for some decent rides. In between the sets, the water is so motionless that it looks like a flat mirror all the way to the horizon. But when some of shoulderless sets come, the crashing lips looks like lines of exploding dynamite. It would be a picky session.

     We paddle out and Randy identifies our landmarks. He calls me into the first wave, and surprisingly it’s a left hander with a peeling shoulder. I pop up late but fail to get the drop. I’m stuck on the highline. I even do the “California shuffle” to the nose of my board and only drop in to mid face before the wave closes out. What a shame . . . a good wave gone to waste.

     Randy does his normal thing as the locals watch him feast on their waves. I paddle for waves that are close outs. He tells me to practice hitting the lip or even doing a floater to end my ride. I paddle, I try, but the lip always seems to be curling the whole time I’m chasing it. The plus sets are about four feet in the distance. I work and duckdive to get past them. Two chicks paddle out, and then four more are on long boards, probably Aussies. One paddles in front of Randy and I and starts giggling. We smile back and look at each other like “WTF?” For all you single guys out there, I think you’d like Bali.

     I don’t know how long we surfed. I’ve taken a step back from timing my sessions; I’m on vacation. After about an hour the wind arrives as Randy predicted. It’s not blowing hard, but the texture’s in the water. The local boys start hooting at every set, but it’s not the type of hoot you’d here in a Cali line-up. Randy gets some long rides that I still find hard to fathom given the conditions. My rides are short bottom turns that go nowhere. There’s a long lull while we wait to catch one in. I go first. Just like my first wave, my last has shape. It’s not pretty, but I trim down the line for a long ride and do three half-assed top turns.

     We kill off our sandwiches while we dry off. Sure, not the best session, but at least we paddled out. I’ve always said that I can do nothing all day long, but as long as I surfed, I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

     We go home, get cleaned up, and eat Dum Sum after. We cruise through the surf ghetto to do some shopping. The streets are so narrow that you literally browse each store front while sitting on your motorcycle. In the evening, the whole family and Randy’s friend go out to eat at an Indian buffet. Tomorrow is another early morning. The swell is dropping off, but the wind will still be there. The call will be Canggu. Maybe we can catch it before the wind picks up. Being a Monday, it shouldn’t be crowded.