A Barney in Bali--Day 24, 01JULY2011 FRI

Potato Sack:


    After my explosive diarrhea, it was just past midnight. I turned everything off and went to sleep. I woke up not even two hours later, itching all over my limbs. It was from getting mauled up by the mosquitoes during dinner. There’s no escape from them. Even air conditioned facilities have mosquitoes rushing in every time a door or window opens. So I’m lying there unsure if mosquitoes are munching on me right now, or if I’m itching from older bites. I force myself under the sheets, and I start to get hot. Also, the fucking pillows are hard. It feels like they are stuffed with someone’s lint collection; they’re hard and clumpy. I usually like to rest my head in between two soft pillows and just let my head sink in. I’m struggling all night. 0330, there’s pounding on the door. Someone’s speaking Indonesian. I’m jolted, nervous, and wondering if I’m going to get raped and sold to the sex slave market. I realize it’s coming from next door. This happens a couple more times until I wake. When my alarm goes off at 0530, I reset it for 0545. I wake up to sunlight peering through my window, it’s 0640; I overslept. I’m pissed off at myself, but I don’t rush. I’m sure Randy has come to the conclusion that I overslept and is heading to Balangan. I feel another shit coming on. Enough is enough. Yeah, yeah, there are two types of men in this world, but if you’ve had the gravy train going for a whole day already, it starts to get a little old.

    I’m downstairs, my bike is loaded, and I’m backing out of my parking spot when another dark surfer walks by.

    “Where are you surfing?” He asks.

    I’m a bit reluctant to give away my spot. I say, “Canggu.”

    He tells me he’s surfing at a Kuta Break called Halfways, and that it’s good in the mornings. I wish him well and head out. It’s my first time doing the Balangan trek from Kuta. I follow the directions my brother gave me, but I fucked up somewhere, and I take a longer route. I pull into Dunkin’ Donuts and see Randy’s bike there. I find him at the counter fingering through their calendars.

    “Sorry, bro,” I say. “I woke up late. How long have you been here?”

    “No worries. I’m already done with my coffee.”

    “All right, let’s just go.”

    The morning traffic is already starting to pick up. I tail Randy and stick close to him until we hit the country roads. I don’t feel that confident on the turns, so I relax and enjoy that scenic part of the journey.


Familiarity:
 

 

    As I unload my stuff at Froggy’s, there’s an SUV parked there with two guys unpacking. The tide is pretty high, but I’m in time to see a big set. I’ve already described the waves here numerous times. It’s a clean up set that peels fast from the top of the wave, slows down at the bottom of the wave, and then turns hollow at the inside section. There aren’t too many guys out, and some are wiping out trying to go for these behemoths. It looks fun, but as the tide is rising, the sections aren’t as clean; it’s getting a little werbly and bumpy.

    We talk to one of the guys from the SUV. His name is Nicholas. He’s another expat that’s been here since 1998.

    Nick says, “This used to be a secret spot ya know, back in 2000. There was only one restaurant here, the road was all dirt and rock, it took a couple hours just to get down here!”

    I can imagine the difference a decade can make. Randy’s friend Sky just visited Sri Lanka. He told me that that place is like Bali ten years back. Nicholas tells Randy that there’s no secret spots left. Randy keeps his mouth shut on the places he knows.

    Nick’s friend comes back dripping wet; he was barely out for twenty minutes. He says, “I went out there, there were like twenty jellies. It wasn’t worth it.” That’s a hell of an attitude to have being out here, I’m thinking. The guy has a fish, and there’s a psychedelic inspired design on it; it looks like something from the shortboard revolution. It turns out that the guy’s name is Justin, and he’s from Venice Beach. I go on and talk about all the local breaks back home. I probably say too much, being hyper finding someone from my neighborhood. We watch guys being swept away by the inside current. People are paddling out in front of the top of the wave, being swept in front of us by the bottom, and still being swept all the way by the last warung on the beach. I polish off my Bali coffee and tell Randy I’m paddling out.

    I’m a little nervous, since I have a small audience now. I don’t want to look like an idiot in front of our new acquaintances. The tide’s high, so a do some shallow duckdives, letting the inside whitewash roll over me. It’s a success. I’m nearing the line up, and I notice that there are a lot more jellyfish than usual. They seem to be everywhere, and a couple even get caught between my board and rashguard.

    At the line up I’m doing my usual thing, sitting on the outside waiting for the haymaker. I scratch out on a set and miss everything. I’m not very happy with myself but remain patient. I catch a wave on the next set, manage the drop, and get a couple pumps before it closes out. I straighten up instead of glory holing it. I should have kazid anyway. It’s still a decent first wave.

    Everyone in the water keeps splashing around them. The guys bare backing it have it worse. Some kid stops in mid paddle and thrashes the water around him, curding. They are getting stung. I’m grateful that I’m not, but a couple minutes later, I get a really bad sting on my right wrist. It hurts . . . a lot.

    Randy comes out to the line up and sits near the barrel section. Just then, an outside set gets revealed after the wave in front of us passes. It’s always an intense moment when it’s a surprise: I take a deep breath, my eyes become wide, I start looking for the peak and reference myself to it, and I start to paddle for the right position. The adrenaline alone tires me a little before I’m even on the wave. I’m behind the peak but still get enough speed on the drop to make the section. I’m pumping hard even though there’s a lip coming down in front of me. I ignore it and see if I can still make the high line. The lip spills on my board and knocks me off balance. Another thing I’m learning is that bigger waves have longer hold-down times. I know it sounds like common sense, but if you can’t kick out unscathed, then a big wave is gonna give you some kind of lickins one way or another. As I go down, I’m thinking that the explosion has passed of me, but since I’m on the face, I get sucked down with it. I’m being washed around, my heart is thumping, and my air’s running out. I feel my rash guard and shorts being yanked every which way. Through my eyelids I see flashes of bright blue and white. I’m kicking, kicking, and still kicking; it feels like a life time until I breech the surface. I take a gasp and clear the water from my eyes; surfing makes me feel more alive than anything else.

    I catch another outside set. It’s a T&G, and my drop in is late. I’m sliding down off balance, falling backwards a little. On the bottom turn I fucking recover. My body jerks awkwardly upright, an obvious save. The section’s running away, I pump to make the shoulder, but the next section is too long and spilling, so I wipe out. I take another trip into the deep, but I’m stoked with the way that the morning’s going.

    Sitting on the outside is working. I get a little brazen on the next wave and keep drawing a high line. As the sections are about to break in front of me, I careen off of the lips before they spill. Ideally, they’re good floater sections, but I’d rather practice a floater on something less critical. The wave closes out when I’m at mid face, and then it’s like zero gravity. It’s not a good place to be on the wave. I’m in a wall of water that turns upside down. My board and I are in suspended animation, it’s now next to me, and everything under my feet is gone; I’m both mid-air and mid-water. I can‘t tell you how long the plunge is, but these are just some of the moments that make surfing what it is. No, not everyone is wiping out all the time. It sounds crazy, but the epic wipeout experience still merits some kind of heroics, almost as much as catching that big wave.

    I paddle up to Randy. I want to be giddy, but I stop myself. He asks if I made the section, and I tell him that I didn’t. “You’re going for the big ones,” he says. “That’s good.” It feels good to hear that from him.


Thanks for Being an Asshole:


    I’m close to hitting the two hour mark. I still have another session for the afternoon, so I’m thinking about catching one in. My morning is going good. The only thing that would be better is a barrel. I’m catching waves from the bigger sets. It’s somewhat defining for me. I’m actually getting more comfortable in big surf. This day is marked in that long and infinite surfer learning curve.

    Buddha bless you, I’m paddling for another T&G, and it feels even steeper than the last one. It’s one of those straight vertical drops again, I’m on my board, I feel the building speed, and I’m thinking, Yes, yes, this is what life is all about! I look at the line I want to draw, and sure as shit, one of the morning surfers is at the base of the wave paddling out. I look at him, he looks at me, I say “Shiiiiiiit!” and I am forced to step off of rail where all the wave’s power is generating. You ever go to the laundry mat, and there are those big ass washing machines that cost like five bucks to use? I don’t get washed, I get super washed. I resurface, and he’s right in front of me towards shore. Fuckin guy ditched his board. I’m pissed, glaring at him. He is too, and he’s glaring at me. It’s a stale mate. I hold the stare a little bit longer to let him know that he fucked me on my wave. I just don’t understand it. I mean, it’s a left hand point break. It’s dead obvious that I’m going left; I can only go left! And instead of paddling to where the wave is breaking, he tries to paddle through the open face where I’m coming straight down. Unbelievable.

    In the water I calm myself down, but it’s hard. It’s a potentially dangerous situation, I’m robbed of the wave, but he’s not hurt, my board’s fine, I’m fine, so fuck it . . . forget about it. Randy’s paddling towards me and says, “What happened to that one?”

    “This guy was in my way,” I say. He’s right next to me.

    “Who?”

    “This guy right here!” I nod in his direction. He says nothing and paddles away.

I do my best to fumble with my camera every time I see something. It's not easy, but I do it for all of you!

    All right, I’m looking for my last fucking wave of the morning; I need to make up for that last mishap. I scratch out on a couple, and there’s this other guy that’s sitting by Randy and I. He looks old, a little chubby, neck length hair, balding a little on top, kind of like how a high school teacher that works at a porn shop would look like. My moment arrives. I’m on another big one. Yes, a big one because it is my fucking day! The section’s fast, so I’m trying to gain speed down the line. I look ahead of me, and that motherfuckin’ pervert, child-molesting looking motherfucker is paddling out in my fucking way! I don’t even comprehend how fucked up this is; it’s happening again. I see this fucking guy get nervous at the sight of me, slide his board to the side, and go under the water. I have to fade out of the wave to avoid him and his board. I look back at the section, it’s holding a big shoulder, and it’s running away. I yell, “FUUUUUUUCK!” as I straighten up at head towards the inside. I go all the way to shore, standing. Guys are watching from the beach, but they probably don’t know the mini drama going on in my head.  Randy paddles up, I vent, and he says, “Some guys just aren’t trained to paddle out of the way.”

    I order just one pancake this time, and we each order an orange juice. I still go back to the vision of that guy sliding off of his board. Oh well . . . you gotta deal with’m.