Parker: “Day Three, North Shore!”

Where your fav writer gets tubed, is served bad salsa and worries about John John's future.

Yesterday was Saturday. Today is Sunday. The contest is, once again, on hold. The surf is, once again, very fun. Just small, by North Shore standards.

Which didn’t keep me from getting one of the better tube slides of my life yesterday. Surfed another out of the way patch. Was explaining the spot to a friend.

“You want to take off behind the section, do your bottom turn, then wait for it to hit the shallow spot inside, bend toward you and grow.”

Always easier said than done. Always run the risk of running your mouth about your supposed knowledge, then getting totally skunked and looking like Mr Big Mouth Barney 5000.

So I was gratified when I found a gem of a nugget mid-session. Set the line, only a minor tuck to fit, saw that lip well out in front. Shamelessly no-claim claimed when I got spat out. Not that I actually got spat out. But I’m a normal human, it was plenty good to give me a memory I’ll hang onto for a while.

The sun reappeared this morning.

Stereotypical idyllic Hawaii weather. Trades are barely blowing, mobs are currently making their way up H2. Course set to clog the roads, litter the beaches with buffoonery. Spray-on sunscreen hanging in the air, filling your nose and torturing your taste buds. How hard it is to rub stuff on your ass? Not very.

Happy Hour at Luibueno’s is still a scene. Enjoyed a good margarita and some okay tacos. Solid by Oahu standards. Sub par by mine.

Their salsa is garbage. Fucking pitiful. Shameful tomato blah.

“We’ve got spicier if you want it,” the waitress said.

“I do want. I do.”

She handed me a bottle of Tapatio. I struggled to resist throwing it back in her face. Not her fault, she’s just works there.

They pack you in tight. I kept elbowing the guy sitting behind me in the spine. Sorry, buddy.  Sorry, buddy.

I eavesdropped on their conversation, because I do that. And because they were speaking very loudly. You had to near shout to make yourself heard. Still, though, they were being a bit over the top. Which is how I know all about the boards they ordered, their sponsors, plans for filming.

Thing is, I don’t know who the fuck they were. Didn’t look familiar at all.

It reminded me of the assholes in LA who’d have loud conversations in the lineup about how much they were making on real estate deals. Show off type shit. Look how big I am.

Probably should dial it back a bit. Doesn’t fly too well in a place that puts a strange premium on humility. Don’t make big body, dude.

Signs for John John are everywhere. Outside Haleiwa Joe’s. Spray painted across the barriers outside the skatepark. Nailed to telephone poles and soaped onto car windows.

Poor kid. That shit would put me in a panic. He’s done amazing things, sure to have a long awesome career.

But the problem with accomplishments, there comes a moment you have to go, “Okay, what next?”

The answer is difficult enough when you’re a typical slob. But how the fuck do you improve when you’re already on top?

If you’re Filipe and Gabby, you dance!

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