Looking around the lineup, he realizes there are a
lot of people out. They don’t care about his new beard or his
midlength. All they want is waves.
Long before dawn, Surfline Man cues up his fave Jack
Johnson mix and pilots the Sprinter north on the 5.
He speeds through a sleeping San Clemente, merges smoothly to
the 405, giggles at the Hooters that sits right next to the Vans
headquarters, and Bam! He’s right through Huntington Beach.
Past Sunset Boulevard, over Sepulveda, he speeds along the 101
through the Val, the strip malls streaming by on repeat. He stops
in Agoura for a gas station coffee. Then, down Conejo Grade, and
he’s so close now. The oil rig lights dance on the horizon.
Rincon! He’ll be there in no time.
Exiting Bates Road, Surfline Man pulls into the parking lot.
It’s still dark and he’s not even the first one there. Already cars
fill the sought-after parking spots closest to the trail. He feels
a little grumpy about this. He wanted to be first.
But here he is! The world’s greatest point break! Except a few
others he can’t remember, but they’re all so far away, like South
Africa or something.
With his Yeti mug filled with gas station coffee in hand,
Surfline Man saunters through the parking lot from his
less-than-perfect parking spot and heads down the trail to take a
look at the surf.
it’s totally firing dude
you should totally drive up here
Even through the high tide, Surfline Man can tell the waves are
so good. He can’t resist texting his buddy to tell him what he’s
missing. He’s pretty sure this is what friends are for. Why else
would he put up with those bros?
After a short nap, cuddled up in a spare boardbag he found in
the back of the Sprinter, Surfline Man is ready to surf. He pulls
on his new Patagonia wetsuit. It’s a little tight, but he’s sure
it’ll loosen up. Then Surfline Man carefully unwraps his precious
midlength and gives it a quick touch-up with a fresh block of cold
water wax.
Surfline Man catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window,
new wetsuit, new beard, midlength. He feels so good right now, like
a surfer in a magazine or from one of his favorite videos.
Maybe he should make a video. Like, he could have his own
Youtube channel, even. That would be so cool.
Trying to be chill, Surfline Man heads for the trail, but he
can’t contain his excitement. He’s going surfing! The waves are so
good and the tide is totally perfect. He is so ready to rip
now!
Surfline Man tiptoes through the cobbles, pretty sure that
everyone on the beach is watching him. He’s going to fall on his
face with his beautiful midlength, new wetsuit, and new beard, and
everyone is totally going to laugh. This is like, the most
stressful thing ever.
Safely through the cobbles, Surfline Man makes the paddle out
between sets like, so easy. Dry hair, don’t care, he is feeling so
pro.
Looking around the lineup, he realizes there are a lot of people
out. They don’t care about his new beard or his midlength. All they
want is waves.
Maybe he should have skipped the nap, and surfed the high tide.
It’s too late now.
A set comes, and Surfline Man scrambles with the crowd. He looks
up to see a bearded man sliding smoothly down the line. He can’t
decide if he’s more jealous of the beard or the surfing, but the
dude can surf and he thinks the beard looks super familiar. He’s
pretty sure it’s Keith Malloy, I mean, who else could it be.
Starstruck, Surfline Man totally misses the set looming outside.
Faster than he can even think, the set is right there, and Surfline
Man discovers the perils of his beautiful midlength. He tries to
duckdive, but he lacks the strength to shove all that volume
underwater. Instead, Surfline Man gets so tossed.
Four more waves follow and he’s helpless to do anything but get
washed all the way down the point like a leaf in a fast-moving
stream or some other poetic nature shit like that.
Frazzled, but he’s not about to give up. At the bottom of the
point, Surfline Man sees a wave. It’s not much, but he goes for it,
and rides it all the way to the beach, which really, if he’s
honest, wasn’t that far away.
Fuckyeah! He caught a wave at Rincon. He struts up the point,
like he’s just made the wave of the day.
This time, this time, it’s going to be different, he thinks, as
he paddles back out. He’s not going to get distracted by Keith
Malloy’s beard, if in fact, it was even Keith Malloy, which maybe
it wasn’t. Really, he doesn’t have time to think about that
now.
Waves. He needs to catch one!
After three hours, even Surfline Man’s beard is defeated. Sure,
he managed to pick off a couple of insiders. He didn’t get to do
his cutback that he’s been practicing so hard, but he’s pretty sure
he looked super stylish anyway.
It was fine. Really, he’s stoked. It was super fun.
Surfline Man walks up the trail to his not-perfect parking spot.
He carefully wraps up his precious midlength and standing on his
yoga mat, he wiggles out of his suit. He pours soothing warm water
from his rinse kit over his head. Then he cooks up some Mac and
Cheese. A man needs his comforts after a hard day of surfing.
How’d you do out there? Get any? asks the dude in the
Sprinter across the way.
Yah, it was so fun out there! Super stoked! Surfline
Man says.
Driving south down the 101, rocking out to Rebelution, Surfline
Man plots his triumphant return to the Rincon lineup. For one
thing, his midlength was totally the wrong choice. He should have
known better. Really, Surfline should tell him what board to ride.
That would be so helpful.
Whatever. Next time, it’s going to be totally different. He’s
going to get so many set waves.
Surfline Man just needs to find the perfect surfboard.
