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| Breakfast of champions |
When in
Indo . . .:
When we first arrived, my brother had told
me that we either have to put our shit-stained toilet paper in the trash or use
the pail to “rinse.” He told me that this is why we either shake hands or hand
everything over with our right hand because the left hand is used to “clean.”
Now . . . I guess this makes me a red-blooded American because I have no idea
how to do this “pail method,” but I finally have to poop. After I release my
loose, backed-up stool from EVA Air, I grab the pail. I pour it down my back,
but I miss my ass completely and spill water on the toilet seat. I lean forward
more, pouring the water on my lower back, but it runs down into the toilet,
missing my anus by a mile. I lean forward more, this time pouring water on my
cheeks, but the water misses my anus again. I wish I had access to Youtube so I
could see how this is done properly. So now I lean back against the toilet as
reclined as I can possibly get, pick my balls up with my right hand, and pour
water down my sac. I feel the refreshing, cool water hit my sphincter. I do it
again, three or more times. I now see how it’s done. Yes, this is the Indo
secret! I grab some toilet paper to do an anus check to make sure that I did it
right. I look down at the paper after I wipe. There is shit everywhere.
The Journey
Continues:
With the pros at Machines, Grant, Randy,
Al, and I venture in the opposite direction to find some secret surf spots.
Again, there are beaches along the coast that we’re going to travel to that
none of the Elite have surfed. Al’s concerned about the road, but Grant and
Randy assure him that the roads are fine. There is only one spot there where
the road is terrible, but we are not going there.
On this journey in the opposite direction,
the roads are paved and closer to the coast. Now I have a better vantage point
of the jungle from afar, as green hills lead up to the foresty edge. In about
an hour’s time, we turn off of the road to the right and descend down a muddy
hill. I’m nervous for Al. Even my brother almost slides out. We reach the
bottom and find a reef break, but the surf is not working here. Al takes his
baby wipes and finds a place to shit.
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| Being the good friend that I am, I edited out Al's cock and balls. |
When he comes back, I tell him that I
feel guilty for taking the “easy” moped, and that we can switch bikes because I
don’t want him to hurt himself again. He reassures me that he’s fine with the
bike he’s on and that he’ll just rider smarter.
From there we push on. Spot after spot; we
even accidentally find ourselves in a fishing village where we turn many heads.
A local guy sees us skirting the coastline on our bikes, so he drives up to us
and talks to my brother. From here, he leads us to other more remote breaks,
breaks that require walking some long distances, in ankle deep water and over
hills, before we even see the water. Same thing: beautiful beach but no surf. We’ve
reached the end of the road with our local tour guide. Randy looks at me and
says, “Matt, give him ten thousand.”
First
Session:
“There’s that spot,” says Grant, “Where
there’s a guaranteed wave.”
My brother pauses, looking down at his
handlebars before saying, “But the road, yeah? The road’s bad.” This is the
spot that we said we weren’t going to go to. Al . . . I’m concerned he won’t
make it.
Off of the main highway, we take a right
turn away from the ocean. What’s weird about this route is that it leads
inland, curves onto a hill, becomes mountainous, and somehow leads straight to
the ocean again. It’s a little hard to explain, but anyway, the road becomes
narrow, and it’s like a village on a hilltop. On both sides of the street are
shops and schools. Again with the little kids running towards the street to
greet us. One of them chases Al, running in front of me to the point that I
have to make an abrupt turn to avoid hitting him. On the descent towards the
beach, the road is more like a trail, and at any given time, one side of the
ride is an unbarricaded, steep drop either down to the ocean or in the gulch
below. It’s hard going downhill because we have so much momentum, and we have
to rely on our brakes to make sure we don’t go over the edge.
It’s a tense
drive down, but the last drop leads to the tiny, empty warung in front of the
surf. No one’s been here all day. The woman comes out to welcome us. In the
background, a set wave breaks, walling up in front of us, with a left-hand
shoulder to work with. Al and I don’t even look at each other. After all the
time we’ve spent on failed recon missions, we’re stoked to finally make this
surf trip official.
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| The guy next to Al is Grant, surf vagabond from the UK and international gigalo. |
Grant paddles out first, followed by Al. I
wait for my brother, since I feel most comfortable paddling out with him. The
cool water hits my feet, but it’s only cool because we’ve been baking on our
bikes all day. Once I’m submerged, the ocean is so warm it’s like swimming in
piss. In Java, finally breaking in a newly-bought board from Craigslist that I
bought specifically for this trip, I’m looking forward to catching my first
wave.
Randy draws first blood. Dropping in, we all
see him from behind the wave. He unleashes a nasty bucket of frontside spray,
and then he does it again on the inside. We’re surfing over jagged reef. The
waves are so much more powerful here, that even on this high tide, the wave
sucks me back a little every time I duckdive. I catch my first wave, and it’s a
closeout. Before I kick out, I look into the wall of water and see how
transparent it is: I can see reef so clear just beneath it. And . . . that’s
how this wave is. It’s a little fast because of the section. So far, Randy is
the only one who can make it and get to the open face, where he unleashes a
couple of turns. Regardless, we are happy to be in the water. All around us is
a plethora of palm trees up steep cliffs. There’s a clearing on the side of the
cliff for planting vegetables. It’s just surreal being here. Al and I have
another man-gay moment just purely awestruck by our surroundings. I only get
one turn before the wave I’m on closes out. My board feels too thick at twenty
inches wide, so it’s hard to turn. Grant and Randy test a tiny barrel further
away from us, but the swell’s not big enough and the tide’s too high.
After a couple of hours, we go back to
chill at the warung. Randy buys a drink and we get instant noodles all around.
Today was considered a small day of surf, but from a Cali perspective, it would
have easily been five feet.
The ride back up the hill is easy. Before
we get back on the highway, there’s a fucking baboon chained to a pole. It’s
angry at our presence. It shakes the shackles at its ankles and then grabs its
cock and balls. I snap a photo.
We eat lunch again at Padangs. Randy says
we’re going to The Machine tomorrow. That night, Al gets his favorite board
ready.
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