Crew: Francis
Time: 1645-1845, 2 hrs.
Conditions: Overcast, onshore wind, scattered peaks, cold, 3 ft.
Options?:
We decide on taking another look at some of the other peaks that we passed up on the way to Blacks. We first pull into Solano beach on accident. There's no surf, it's a swimmer's beach, and you have to pay for parking, so we turn around. We pass some other breaks that I don't know, but there's traffic, and turning around's a bitch. Francis and I exchange farts the whole way. I can smell my own, but I can't catch his scent. We finally pull into a quiet beach parking lot. We are surprised that there are open spots and that it's, once again, free. We are at a lookout point right over Swamis. The wind here is light, the water looks glassy, the waves are clean, but they are tiny. It's barely two feet, and there are about eight longboarders out. Francis calls it “mind surfing.” We watch the waves imagining what kind of rides we'd get out of them, but we're both lying to ourselves. “San Onofre?” Francis says.
I look at surfline's report. “The wind's dying over there. It's gonna be clean, but it might be too small,” I reply. I spend more time pouring over our possibilities. We finally decide to backtrack and go to Blacks.
Cock & Balls Beach round two:
 |
| Uh oh. Bad omen? |
We arrive at a now crowded parking lot. The sky is filled with parachute gliders, and we still find an open spot with ease. In fact, it looks like the same spot we parked at this morning. We thought about trunking it after the first session, but the onshore winds definitely put a chill in our spines to beg the differ. “You gonna take your slippers?” I ask.
“Nah, gonna keep my feet Hawaiian!” he says. We scale down the path again, stepping aside to let people hike up from time to time. Once we reach the bottom we see a huge White woman with her daughters. She's naked from the waist down; all we see are two huge, pale, bulbous cheeks. We walk towards the break, and there's a guy lying out next to his naked wife who's tanning butt naked on her stomach. Out of respect, I look out at the ocean, but Francis asks me a question which forces me to face the direction of the woman's pale ass. We near the break by the lifeguard hut, and a couple is body surfing waves on the inside. For some reason, the dude's girlfriend takes off her top and starts bodysurfing with her tits hanging out. “Floaties,” says Francis.
“Unfuckinbelievable,” I say. There are only about six surfers out. It's just like this morning, no one's by the other random peaks, and everyone is concentrated in one area. It's a little smaller, the wind is putting more texture on the water, but there are still some corners to be had. As soon as we hit the water, the evening crowd starts to appear out of no where. Next thing you know, those peaks that we walked by fill up again with surfers. Despite the dwindling conditions, the surf is more fun than it looks. The rides are shorter, but I'm at least cranking out one turn before the waves close out. I sit just outside of the pack while Francis fully immerses himself amongst the crowd. Eventually I work my way towards him. We surf for two hours, milking the most that we can out of the session.
On the way back to the truck I ask Francis, “So what's it gonna be this time? Cock, balls, ass, or vagina.”
Francis has an aimless gaze but wears a smile. “Schlong,” he says. There's nothing on the way back. We're behind the lifeguard hill walking towards the steps, but as we round the corner we see what's behind the hill.
“Fuck, you were right,” I say. Right there before us is a guy, butt naked, walking out for a skinny dip.
“Told you.”
We keep walking, but I turn to stop. I tell him, “Wait. We gotta wait til' he turns around.” The guy turns, and there's a huge patch of pubes where his penis should be; it looks like an eagle's nest. The guy can pass for a caveman.
The Great Churro Adventure:
We're dressed, it's just past 1930, and we're pulling out of the lot. I turn to Francis and say, “I had fun! It was definitely worth coming out, but next time we're gonna have to find that churro place that you were talking about.” Rewind to this morning, Francis talked about this churro cart in downtown SD and how they have the best churros. He opted not to go there because it could be hard finding the cart.
“Let's go right now!” he says.
“No, no, I was just joking. We can go next time.”
“Nah, we can find it. It'll go good with the coffee.” And just like that, we're heading south looking for some churro action. We end up in an urban Mexican neighborhood where the churro cart should be, but is not there. Francis takes some time to find the coordinates on his GPS, and he learns that it's just down the street a little bit more. “There it is!” he yells, as we spot the cart right in front of a Mexican market. I love churros. I'm so fucking excited to eat some without getting gouged by Disneyland prices; I can't wait any longer.
The kid working the cart is named Luis, and Luis and Francis start hitting it off. Churros El Tigre is the name of the business. Luis offers their churro and fried banana ice cream dessert, but we tell him we'll do it next time. The churros take fucking forever. The kid is cool but can't stop talking, and we let him give our initial order to two ladies that need to catch the bus. A little over a half-hour later, we finally have them. Luis is cool, as he gives us an extra bag for our troubles. There are a lot in one bag. By the time I polish off one, I'm good on churros for a whole fucking month. We find a Starbucks, grab some coffees for the road, and hit the freeway.
Today's staycation was well worth the trouble. We got some familiarity with a new spot, caught the best surf that SoCal had for the day, and scored waves on two sessions. It's still not the epic session that I've been waiting for, but it's the best session since being home thus far.
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