Tomorrow, he’s totally going to score.
You were thinking that maybe Surfline Man had
disappeared forever. Perhaps you imagined that he had left
surfing behind and taken up something else entirely, like say trail
running or roller blading.
After all, Surfine Man had already bought an ebike, so surely
roller blades were next.
And in fact, his best friend did score a sweet new mountain
bike, and Surfline Man was super tempted.
But the truth is, Surfline Man has never enjoyed sweating.
So gross. So clammy.
Really, he should have known from the start that his lululemon
clothes would never see the inside of a yoga studio, because not
only would he have to sweat, he would have to sweat in front of a
cute girl.
That was never going to happen, like ever.
In the meantime, Surfline Man has discovered that lululemon’s
fancy technical fabrics are pretty great for lounging on the couch.
Just wearing the clothes must count for something, he figures, and
he has spent many hours balancing his chakras and stuff, without
even getting sweaty.
He’s lying on the couch right now, in fact, with his laptop open
on his belly. Surfline Man heard about a secret spot up north, and
he’s scouring Google Maps, carefully charting every nook and
cranny.
Surfline Man has big plans.
Why even have a Sprinter if you’re not going to head out into
the unknown once in a while? Tracing the curve of the coastline and
following the roads until they end, Surfline Man believes he has it
all figured out. Switching over to Surfline, he double-checks the
forecast.
It looks so good.
Tomorrow, Surfline Man is going to find the secret spot.
Tomorrow, he’s totally going to score.
Confident in his plan, Surfline Man shuts the lid of his
computer and heads out to his garage. He hops on his ebike, the
orange Rad Power Bike exactly like Kelly Slater has, and zips down
to Swamis, just in time to catch the sunset.
Sitting on a bench on the bluffs, he sips a beer out of his Yeti
tumbler. The forerunners of the new swell are just starting to show
and spray flies toward the sky, glowing orange in the setting
sun.
It’s all so perfect California, totally like a dream.
Surfline Man watches as a surfer cruises down the line, drawing
lazy loops. In his mind, he’s right there too, sliding along on his
new surfboard that’s going to be a fish, the one that shaper Mike
is making for him. Surfline Man wonders when his new surfboard will
be ready. But he knows better than to rush a genius, especially a
genius who’s been entrusted with making the perfect surfboard.
A friend wanders up, also carrying a beer in a tumbler.
— you surfing tomorrow, bro?
— gona go up north. got a spot i want to check out. you?
— gona keep it local. should be good
— yah i’ve just been wantin’ to do a little road trip
— right on, good luck man
Back at home, Surfline Man meticulously packs the Sprinter for
his big day out. He restocks the drawer of ramen, instant mac n
cheese, and oatmeal packets and carefully slides fresh avocados and
a loaf of bread into the mesh pouch mounted on the wall. Avocado
toast on the road is his favorite and it’s good to be prepared for
anything when setting out for the big unknown.
What boards to take, he is totally not even sure what to do.
Surfline Man stands in front of his board rack, each board neatly
in its place, and stares at them. His newly mended turquoise
midlength is there and you can’t even tell that he broke the tail.
He’s still not sure he likes that board, though.
Maybe he should stick to shortboards for this trip?
The pressure, it’s getting to him. What if he gets to the secret
spot and the waves are so good and he has the wrong board? How
super disappointing would that be? Omg, the worst. Standing there
in his garage, imagining this disaster, he cringes, like with his
whole body.
Okay fuck it, he thinks. Surfline Man grabs his 6’0” thruster, a
6’3” step-up, and his 6’0” fish — which is his old fish, not the
new red fish that Mike is still making. And just in case Surfline
happens to be wrong and the waves are small, he adds his turquoise
midlength to the stack, too, but not before giving it a suspicious
look, like what am I even doing with this board.
He’s still not sure that thing isn’t totally cursed.
Before he can change his mind again, Surfline Man slams the van
doors shut. He’s committed now. One of those boards is totally
going to work.
He can feel it.
The next morning, before dawn, so really before it’s morning at
all, Surfline Man jumps out of bed and fires up the Sprinter. He
punches up his Garmin and points it north. He’s going to the secret
spot! He just needs his gas station coffee and he’s so ready
now.
Surfline Man is so stoked, bopping along the freeway singing
along to The Offspring. He’s really into old punk now. It’s so
intense! It gets him so psyched! Surfline Man is going to find the
best waves ever at the secret spot where he’s never been
before.
No one else will think of going there! He’s going to get so many
waves!
Three hours later, he’s exhausted The Offspring’s catalogue,
even the old stuff that no one’s even heard of, and moved on to
Pennywise. So rocking! According to his Garmin, he’s getting close
to the secret spot now.
Exiting the freeway, Surfline Man begins his quest in earnest.
He follows a series of ever-smaller roads, first right, then left,
then right again. By now, Surfline Man is all turned around, and
he’s not even sure he’s heading in the right direction. All he can
do is put his trust in the Garmin and the Google, and hope they
don’t lead him astray.
Looking ahead, he sees a winding creek dropping down through the
hills, and it looks exactly like the one he saw leading to his
secret spot.
Rolling down his window, he believes he can hear the sound of
surf.
This has to be it, he thinks.
Surfline Man pulls the Sprinter off the road, and parks on the
dirt shoulder. Hungry, he slices an avocado and jams it between two
slices of bread. He can’t even be bothered to toast the bread. He
has a secret spot to find!
Surfline Man grabs his thruster and his fish, and without giving
himself time for second thoughts, he pulls his backpack over his
shoulders, and locks the Sprinter.
Only then does he notice the other cars parked in the same area.
Must be hikers, he thinks. Shrugging, he heads toward the creek.
The directions he found on a long-lost internet forum said to
follow the creekbed under the road to reach the secret spot.
So that’s exactly what Surfline Man does.
Clutching his precious surfboards, Surfline Man scrambles down
the steep mud bank of the creek. He almost trips on a rock, but
saves it just in time. Then he scrambles through the culvert that
passes under the road.
Fortunately, he came prepared, and Surfline Man switches on his
headlamp. He’s not that into bugs and stuff like that, so he tries
not to look too closely at what might be living in the dark damp of
the tunnel. He can see sunlight up ahead, and he heads unerringly
toward it. The secret spot, it’s so close now.
And just like that, Surfline Man comes out into the light.
He standing on a beach and there’s waves.
He forgets all about this headlamp, which is still on his head.
He’s transfixed. He’s actually found the secret spot. He can’t even
believe it.
And, even better, Surfline was right! There’s waves! He can ride
his thruster or he can ride his fish, that isn’t his new red fish,
but a pretty alright fish, all the same.
I mean, he’s not stupid.
Surfline Man knows that the best surfboard is the surfboard he
has right there with him. This is so perfect right now.
Then realizes something. In the excitement of finding the secret
spot and seeing the waves so firing, he had missed one small, but
crucial detail.
He is not alone.
Surfline Man had been so certain. He had thought for sure that
no one else would even be here. He would be alone at the secret
spot with all the waves to himself.
John Severson promised! He promised a surfer could find space
all to himself in the world. Surfline Man is a surfer damn it! What
a big fat lie. All those cars on the road, they weren’t hikers, but
surfers! What fresh hell is this, how could he have been so
betrayed!
Surfline Man sets down his boards and sits down on the beach.
This is a setback.
He had traveled so far and tried so hard. He had braved the dark
culvert and whatever lived in there. All for nothing. Surfing, it’s
so pointless, he thinks, as he sits there. Why does anyone even do
it?
Surfline Man figures he might as well surf. After all, he had
driven all the way here, and listened to all of The Offspring’s
catalogue. It would be stupid to go home empy-handed.
Surfline Man scrambles into his suit, and waxes up his fish, and
paddles out. It’s more crowded than he’d hoped, and the waves turn
out to be less perfect than they looked.
But it’s surfing and it’s something. Surfline Man figures there
are defnitely worse ways to spend a day. Maybe this surfing thing,
even with all these other people, and even with the waves that
aren’t totally perfect, maybe it isn’t so bad.
Surfing is pointless, for sure, but not in a bad way, and maybe
even in a good way.
Exhausted from all the surfing and all the thinking about
surfing, Surfline Man climbs in his Sprinter and points it toward
home.
His phone buzzes.
hey bro how was the road trip
get any good ones?
yah! so epic! totally scored!
yah brah! stoked for ya!
such good waves here today
crowded af tho
felt so good to escape the crowds
so worth the drive
best day ever!
