Revealed: Some places are better than others to be a surfer and Central Florida is that place!

Or, on becoming a god.

As previously declared, I am currently in New Smyrna Beach, Florida and for those not familiar with America’s naughty li’l dangler it is an hour and a half drive from Jacksonville to the north, a three and a half hour from Miami to the south, next to Daytona Beach where mustache men drive souped up sedans in one large circle 500 times.

Two days ago, I surfed very fun waves in trunks and felt good. The water was warm, the air was warm and even though the lineup was plenty crowded it didn’t feel that way. Many peaks. Much spread. Little ego. It was one of the most enjoyable surfs I’ve had in weeks.

Yesterday there was bad wind and not waves but it was Saturday and the number 1 college football team in the country was playing the number 2 college football team in the country, both of which happen to be in the SEC or Southeastern Conference. Now, those who care about such things know that the SEC dominates the college football conversation and to be in Florida, which also happens to have a team in the SEC, during a potentially historic game felt fated. I wandered through town to a sports bar, pulled out a stool, ate chicken wings, drank vodka soda with a twist of lime and only received slight frowns from the otherwise friendly locals for that second choice.

Did you know they call vodka sodas “skinny bitches” in Denmark?

Watching LSU throttle Alabama surrounded by southerners was a culturally rich experience. Fulfilling. There was a man who cheered loudly and had a long braided beard that he paired with a Trump 2020 hunting cap. A couple that looked fourteen but must have been twenty-one in matching shirts that read “Let’s get slothed” featuring a stoned sloth. A grandma who cursed Alabama like a sailor. A bartender who insisted on shouting “Roll Tide” in her weathered face. Smiles and backslaps. Groans and hollers but it was as if everyone was family.

Then last night, under the stars at the Florida Surf Film Festival, the very best surf film festival in the entire world, I chatted with Shea Lopez about outwitting Surfline, flying down to Puerto Rico before breakfast, surfing all day and being home for dinner and the all to easy plus plentiful plus short routes to Central America.

Hunter Martinez’s Lost in Thought played in the background, a fine film, and I thought to myself, “Some places are better than others to be a surfer and between fun warm waves, easy flights to funner warmer waves, college football, chicken wings and only slight frowns from otherwise friendly locals for being a skinny bitch, central Florida is that place.”