A JACKASS IN JAVA: DAY NINE (26MAY2013)

     No one’s making a motion to head towards any of the other spots. The swell’ still huge, and even though it’s fading, we expect there to be enough size locally. I check the surf in the morning, and as usual, it’s not working. Al and I gamble on the internet again at the wifi restaurant, and this time it works. The French Pros arrive to get on the wifi too. We chat with them a little, but really, what can we say? These guys are so good that they get barreled out of their minds. They’re not even surfing Choco Point. For them, it’s The Machine or nothing.

     I see that Bri has sent me a bunch of email, which is awesome. I’m stoked to get mail from her. She says she’s been up to her solo sessions still and that she has killed off all of the food in my apartment, now moving on to the marshmallows all the way in the back of my fridge. I also haven’t whacked off since I’ve been here, which is something else that I’m trying to accomplish: not jacking off this entire trip. So, Bri’s gonna be pretty busy when I get back. However, this feat will be more challenging once Al leaves. I’ll have to leave the front door open to make sure I don’t stray from my goal.

     My Facebook has a lot of notifications, but I don’t have time to respond to them. This restaurant is muggy and hot, I have pics and blogs to post, and the internet is really slow. Afterwards, we head to Padangs for lunch: green beans with coconut shavings, tempe, chicken curry, Indo Spinach, eggplant, and rice. Total, 10000 IR because of the chicken. This costs roughly a dollar.

     Since first light here is at 0530 in the morning, I wake up early. The morning is the longest part of the day. If we surf local, shortly after lunch by about 1430, we should be in the water. By 1730 the sun is down. We’ve been going to bed pretty early. Like 2200 is super late to be up over here. I’ve never had a sleeping pattern like this in the states, but I like it. As much as I’d like to keep to something similar to this back home, I know it won’t happen. Our culture is just too different. You figure rush hour traffic dies around seven. Sometimes we’re cooking dinner around eight or nine. Then there’s TV or something. If you’re going out for dinner, eight o’clock is a pretty normal time. Besides PS3, it’s just so normal to go to bed late back home, like around midnight. Maybe I can experiment and try to hold this line when I get back home. It would be ideal for a surfer. I also wonder, what the hell is going on with the ASP World Tour right now? The NBA Playoffs? Has Memphis made it to the Western Conference Finals? Has any team stopped the Miami Machine? Does any of this even matter? Here in my AC chilled room, catching up on blogs, Al knocked out in the besd next to mine, seeing the view of the gate to our compound with the grass field in the background and the ocean behind it, in this solitude I guess such things don’t matter.

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     By 1440, Al and I are already heading out. Today I’m on my Lost board because I could use the volume. The Japanese van is already here when we show up. So are some new arrivals to Indo-Napili. Today is more crowded than yesterday, and it’s annoying because, with the swell dropping, the surf isn’t as consistent.

     Everyone’s sitting at the point, but I’m sitting off to the side again. A good wave comes my way, a wave that’s too mooshy at the point but breaks where I’m sitting. It’s only an eight footer, but the shape is really nice, and for the first time in my life, I pull off a legit, wrap around cutback. Until this moment, from yesterday, I had only been bottom turning into the pocket. This time, I begin my cutback and from the base of the wave, I bang a backhand rebound off of the highline where the wave is peeling. I’m slow, redirecting myself back into the wave, but I stay in the pocket and keep my momentum. It’s progression for me, the beginning of something new.

     On the way back out, I feel so weak paddling. My upper back muscles are still worn out from yesterday, and then I start making mistakes. Everyone does. Some Indo groms are falling off of their waves. The Japanese guys are losing balance. I try my wrap around cutback twice more, but go I little too high on the rebound and completely lose the waves, helplessly watching them peel away from behind.

     But some people are doing okay. One of the German girls from Compound One catches her first solid wave, not a bullshit insider. With a waterbug stance, she holds her line and rides it until it mooshes out. At the end, I see her fist pump in the air and claim it. People must be getting tired early, as the lineup clears a little more with an hour left of daylight. I move to the top of the wave. Still making some mistakes, I find myself a little too deep on some and then make up for it on other rides.

     It’s the same routine again. Al and I get out, head back to the compound, meet up with the homies, and head to the market. This time Al and I go for the chicken satay dish. It’s grilled chicken skewered on a bunch of sticks and smothered in peanut sauce over a bed of rice. Again, a buck. Reese suggests that we order the martabak, which is a giant pancake desert, which has different choices of filling. We go for the chocolate banana, and it’s delicious. Price, eighty cents. There is also a fried stall, where they have tofu and tempe. The tofu is stuffed with veggies and costs mere cents.

     Before going to sleep, we know that something’s missing. Choco Point is fun, but it’s time that we challenge ourselves again. It’s time for The Machine.