CHANGE, FRI 15JUN2012 MOR

Loc: 26th

Crew: Khang & CC

Conditions: 2 FT occasional 3

     The original plan was to surf 26^th Street, but as I stand here looking at it, it’s just too small. It looks typical of the small days here; it’s only gonna break close to shore. There’s a good roster for the morning. Shan, Khang, and CC are supposed to be coming out, but I’m the first one here, and I’m thinking about Porto instead. As much as I fucking hate paying for parking, it’s usually a hair bigger there, and on a morning like this another foot makes a HUGE difference.

     I drive to Porto and send out the bat signal, letting everyone else know the change of location. I’m not in the water long before I spot Khang on the sand. We sit north of 45^th. It’s small, but it’s still rideable. I can’t remember any of Khang’s waves because for the most part it’s an insignificant morning. However, I do remember one of mine.

     I’m starting to realize that I’m much more aggressive on my finishing turn on the smaller days. Probably because they are turns without consequence, especially when the wave is a tapering shoulder from three down to two-feet. But I “geev’um” on that finishing turn, trying to gouge out whatever’s left. I catch a right that I get two pumps on. To end the ride, I hook it off the top as hard as I can, almost pointing the nose back from where I just came, stalling in place, completing the movement with a nice little wrap. It’s like falling into the turn.

     “Matt, that turn was pretty tight,” says Khang.

     CC’s on the sand warming up next to her fish. She paddles out, again bothered by her shoulder but trudging through it. She says she could’ve spent her morning cleaning the apartment or coming out to surf with us. She chose wisely. She struggles to get into some of the outside waves, but she ends up getting some towards the outside.

     Shan? He’s nowhere to be found.

     I tell them about my plans for the day, how a friend from class wants to come out and surf. Khang and CC are stoked for me, and they tell me not to be too much of an idiot on the first date. That’s one of my problems: toning it down.

     When I leave, I head to Boris’ to pick up the NSP that I pretty much let him have, but he hasn’t used it. Why let it collect dust when I can find a rider for it? I head to Surf Concepts in Manhattan Beach and buy a longboard leash, wax, and then go home to prep the NSP.

#

     Usually I consider any paddle out to be a surf session, but if I don’t catch any waves, then it doesn’t count. I need at least ONE wave to make it a surf session. No less. 

     Briana took a surfing class at UCSB. She also bodyboards and is a certified diver. As cautious as I am not to let her hurt herself, she gives me the impression that she knows what she’s doing. Since it’s been a while for her, I take her to PV. PV because it’s good for longboarding, it’s usually not too crowded, and I don’t expect it to be with the lack of swell. Also because it’s a beautiful place. 

#

     It’s funny when it’s time to change. I’m about to be in my wetsuit. She’s going to see my junk through the neoprene. It’s inevitable. This is where she’ll make her judgment on my penis, a sneak preview. She has her bikini on while she slips into her wetsuit. I am NOT disappointed.

     I carry the NSP and let her hold my JS since it’s lighter. Not one surfer is out. On the way down the trail, two guys are coming up. “Are you sure?” one of them says. “There’s nothing right now. The tide is coming up.”

     “Well, we’re just gonna check it out for a little bit.”

     He shakes his head. “Okay, but you should go to Rat Beach, just up north a little.”

     I nod my head and smile, the universal sign for: I’m gonna do what I want, regardless.

     Down at the water, I’m stoked at the sight. Yes, it’s small, maybe one foot, but it should be good for the NSP. Also, the water’s much calmer compared to the other breaks we just passed to get over here. The cliffs keep the surface chatter down to a minimum. A two-footer breaks on the outside. Stoked, I say, “Yeah, you’re gonna catch some waves out here.”

#

     My bionic arms are no match for the small and mooshy surf. The guys on the hill were right. This tide is making it swampy, and this two-foot swell doesn’t stand a chance to poke through it. Still, the sun beams down on our faces. The Vertra’s sticking to me like mascara. The water’s still nice, the cliff’s looming overhead give us seclusion, and the fact that no one else is in the water makes things . . . (this is going to sound cheesy) romantic. I tie a strand of seaweed around my head.

      “Let me tie it around you,” she says.

     I don’t know what to make of this. I mean . . . I should know. I know gawd damn well that I can tie this thing around my head myself. She has to know this too. So here we are, floating in the water off of our boards. She’s practically straddling me, Lamaze style, while she ties this seaweed around me. The current moves the boards, bringing them to near collisions but stopping short from impact. First kiss? Don’t risk it. We go back to our boards, laughing at the crooked, green bandana on my head. We try again.

     Even though we don’t catch any waves, we talk the whole time out there. The conversation is flowing; the energy is good, and I’m thinking this is too good to be true.

#

     I’m still bummed that we can’t paddle into any of these waves. We go in.

     We’re changing out when she says, “Oops . . . Matt. . . . “

     I look over. “Huh?”

     “Ummmmm, can you help me?”

     Her bikini strap came undone. Between the folds of her wetsuit I can see the soft, young, brown, unblemished, Italian skin. Her bikini top straps dangle off her back like candy cane ribbons. I tie them up, making sure that they’re not too tight or too loose. It’s impossible to avoid the back of my hand rubbing against her.

     “Thanks,” she says.

     After all that I’ve been through . . . maybe it was meant to be to lead up to this.