THE SOUTH BAY BLUES, FRI 14OCT2011 MOR

 Time: 0800-1000, 2 hrs.

Conditions: Hot, sunny, glassy, mid to high tide window, 3 feet, soft, some shoulders.

            I’m supposed to take my niece to school this morning, but my sister’s text message lets me know she got the day off. It’s too bad I didn’t find out earlier because I would’ve been out at first light. I head to Parks again, but I forget that parking is a bitch on Fridays because of street cleaning. I drive around for nearly a half hour looking for parking that’s not affected, but I end up at the metered lots at 26^th. The plan is to surf for an hour then score free parking after 0900. 

 

            The weather is wonderful; it’s a surfer’s day. The sky is so blue with a couple streaks of white. It’s warm. I wear my short sleeve wetsuit for the occasion. It’s mid tide right now, and as I get to the tower I see a nice shoulder-high set come in. It’s a little walled, but the shoulders definitely look much more makeable than my last go out. Only a couple surfers are fast enough to make the sections, and I hope I can be one of them. 

            I don’t warm up; I just want to get out there. There’s a bit of a crowd for this Friday morning. It’s not nut-to-butt, but there’s a crowd at every take off spot. I sit in between the peaks, hoping that something will swing wide on either side. Bruce paddles next to me. I say, “Good morning, Bruce.” He doesn’t know my name, maybe my face, but I’m not sure.

            “Good morning,” he replies. “Looks like there’s some fun ones out here.”

            “Yeah . . . if you’re sitting in the right spot.” I pass on a couple waves. They are more on the walled side and have no shape to them. I take a chance on a right, but the whole lip crumbles and crashes. My next wave is a left, and thank goodness it holds shape for a couple pumps. Don watches me as he paddles back out. As I get back to the lineup, it’s obvious that the waves are soft. There’s no umph to them like Wednesday. However, some of the waves do open up for decent rides. I get another left with a guy behind me. I take off because I have a feeling that he won’t make the section. I have the open shoulder. I turn around and the guy says, “Go, go!” Now there goes a gentleman in the water if I do say so myself. I’m able to pump down the line but fail to get any turns. 

            Listening to the older guys in the lineup is comedy to me. Bruce, talking to his buddy, says, “I can’t afford a corvette for my midlife crisis . . . so I’m catching closeouts instead!” 

            It’s almost 0900. I catch a wave in, head to the car, and move it to the top of the hill. I paddle back out a little further north of the tower, but the waves right now are looking even softer than before. I see Roy catching good lefts to my south. Man . . . ride after ride, he gets whatever wave he wants. I really want to sit where he is, but there’s a pack there. I hate crowds or competing, so I sit here where it’s inconsistent. A couple waves come without much shape, but I do catch a few which take me some distance. I can’t complain I guess. As Surfing Grandma of the OC would say, “A day of surfing is better than a day at work.” How can I argue with that?

            Afterwards, I head to the VA hospital in Westwood to give some blood, and then I meet up with Lauren for lunch. We go to Noodle World. I must say, for that part of town the food, price, and portions are good. I’m surprised that the Asian food here isn’t that watered down. 

Walking around UCLA town, I see office workers on their lunch breaks in their slacks, dress shoes, buttoned up shirts, and ties. I cringe, remembering that I myself came from a cubicle and was part of the “lunchtime” culture. I walk back to my car amongst shoppers, women that wear designer clothes from their shoes to their shades, and not to mention their plastic surgery. I pass a guy wearing a Hurley shirt, pale as a ghost, this man has barely let his skin touch the sun, yet he’s wearing surf apparel. These are just my biases that may pass one day. Amongst the high class, here I am: flip flops, stale boardshorts, Bintang tank top, dark skinned, eyes bloodshot, and saltier than ever. I may as well be a tramp amongst this mass. While they have possessions and bear the brands of status and wealth, I can only think of one thing: I need to get back in the water.