"Manifested it."

Who knew that “limp mode” was a thing? I sure didn’t until Ray’s Truck Garage in Tucumcari, New Mexico told me one of the Volkswagen’s problem, a busted throttle box and something they couldn’t fix, kicked the car into “limp mode” wherein it couldn’t go faster than 40 mph.

Limp mode.

I wondered if I could limp mode all the way to Amarillo, Texas, where a Volkswagen dealership tantalizingly floated 130-odd miles away, but had witnessed the aftermath of a semi-truck/car fatality yesterday and imagined limp mode would end me in the same spot.

My next tow driver, Julio, agreed.

“Truckers here? Man, they don’t give a fuck. They will run you over.”

Julio had served in Desert Storm and had the remains of a bullet bulging out his back, which he showed me while driving full freeway speed, swerving violently onto the shoulder and kicking dust into the hot wind.

Salt of the earth.

“Does it bug you?” I asked.

“Only when it’s hot, then it fries my skin,” he responded.

Obviously he did not know about, or watch, competitive professional surfing.

While I was slouching in my passenger seat, though, chatting with Julio about all the children he had fathered, Cadillac Ranch and the Middle East, trying to get my epic quest to find non-surfing World Surf League fans back on track, World Surf League CEO Eric “ELo” Logan was elating his core with the most inspirational of messages.

Grateful everyday to be the CEO of the World Surf League @wsl . A global of team of people all focused and aligned on building this massive platform.

The journey to get here might have been serendipitous, but it has been life changing. Growing up in Oklahoma City, I was terrified of the ocean and even lakes… (Thank you Steven Spielberg) like many, I was traumatized by the film Jaws. But, a family gift of a wetsuit right when I turned 41, when I moved to Manhattan Beach, changed everything.

Now, surfing has become my sanctuary. And such a rare business opportunity to bring my professional experiences to bear and watch the best surfers in the world chase their dreams. There is so much satisfaction in working to see others achieve so much and seeing them blow past all their own dreams is SO rewarding.

I was riding my @markrichardssurfboards this weekend and I wanted to say again, to @oursouthbay, thank you for allowing me to share my story on your platform and in our local community. (Link in my bio). #liveyourpassion

 

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Praise was universal, ranging from “You. Are. Amazing. I love you.” to “Finding your peace. We say it but rarely land it.” to “Johnny Utah.” to “Thank you for ushering equality into the WSL. Loving the environmental programs, too. Excellent work.” to “Riding the wave of life.” to “Such an amazing story. The WSL is killing it.” to “Manifested it.” to “That’s a left, no?”

And what was I doing?

Limp mode.

The Volkswagen gets out tomorrow, theoretically, and I shall redouble my efforts, attempting to achieve so much and blow past all my own dreams.

Non-surfing World Surf League fans here I come!

(Tomorrow).

Hope springs eternal.

I am still in Tucumcari, New Mexico, currently buoyed by “You should have known better…” comments. John John Florence is in Hawaii, or somewhere there abouts, with multiple surfboards loaded onto his boat, at the start of his own epic quest. The two-time world champion took to Instagram, days ago, cryptically writing, “South we go, excited and a bit nervous. I have never done a trip like this. Our first leg will be a little more than 3000 miles over two weeks. It’s been so fun looking over charts this month imagining the setups and waves we can sail to. It feels like a dream to have this chance to search for waves on our own. We will try to share as much as we can here. I’m grateful for the opportunity, and looking forward to the challenge!!”

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Beleaguered surf fans of competitive professional surfing immediately broke out nautical charts, protractors and quickly realized that French Polynesia, home to Teahupoo, is directly south from Hawaii and started buzzing.

Could it be?

Might it be?

Florence sailing south in order to anchor off that place of broken skulls and participate in the upcoming Outerknown Tahiti Pro which kicks off August 11?

There is no current professional surfer as universally adored as the prodigy done good. He has proven himself in big waves, small waves, competitively and artistically. An artist in his prime. If his knee is good enough to sail and surf explore, is there a possibility it is also good enough to defeat current world number one Filipe Toledo at a thumping slab?

What do you think about that?

Hop on the sled and reset.

The Volkswagen broke down two hours outside of Albuquerque and I thought, “Oh, dang.” The day had started fine as can be. Hot morning sun shining overhead, hares and lizards scampering for cover. I went for an early swim in the Hotel Albuquerque’s temperate pool, lap length, before hitting the road, pointed toward Oklahoma City with much hope and roasted green chilies flooding my heart.

The first full day of my epic quest had not produced the bonanza I had imagined, but still, I received a shaka and met someone who knew of Bethany Hamilton but didn’t know her name.

Oklahoma City, though, certain to be a jackpot of non-surfing World Surf League fans, the very same for which I am searching these great United States. You, of course, know that the Sooner state’s capital has a famous first son and he just so happens to be CEO of the aforementioned WSL.

The tall tale of Eric “ELo” Logan must certainly be passed from father to son, birthing person to them, whispered in cowboy bars, shouted at Thunder games like those of Pecos Bill and Davy Crocket.

The boy who was afraid of water finding his wetsuit of armor and ruling professional competitive surfing at its very peak.

Beautiful folklore.

And I was thinking about this when notifications began popping above the freeway that the 40 east, my route, was closed due big wreck. Well, I stopped at a truck stop, asked a trucker if it was true and he told me it wasn’t closed, just rerouted onto a frontage road then dumped right back on.

I asked him if he happened to be a fan of competitive professional surfing.

He simply said, “No.”

20 miles later, exactly as it was foretold, traffic was rerouted onto a frontage road, creeped along for half an hour then dumped right back on except when I tried to dump right back on something happened. The Volkswagen lost power and warning lights began flashing wildly. I coasted off to the shoulder, restarted and the engine light was on but no warning ones and I had enough power to limp one mile down the road to the Pajarito Rest Area.

Figuring it was an oil issue, I bummed a sip off a fellow traveler but couldn’t get anymore so figured adventure was in order. The last time I was broken down in a desert was rural Yemen and adventure was only the half of it (buy here).

The nearest gas station was a two mile hike down the freeway. Hiking up my black wool Comme des Garçons trousers, I was off. Initially, I didn’t want to walk along the freeway so hopped a barbed wire fence and found a road that looked like it headed toward my destination. Then I thought, “People get shot on private land and who knows how far the legend of Eric Logan stretches,” so I re-hopped the barbed wire, got a nice nick on my finger and proceeded down the freeway, scampering across it during a break to be on the right side.

Oil acquired, I hitched a ride with a kind Native American living off the grid. He didn’t watch competitive professional surfing because he had yet to install solar panels.

Back to the Volkswagen, I discovered oil wasn’t the problem and neither was vapor lock, as a kind motorist suggested. I could get up to about 30 mph then power would drain.

Being non-mechanical, I called a tow truck.

It took forever to arrive, due the same big wreck, leaving me much time to stare at the clouds, get bitten by ants and think. I was stuck in the middle of absolute nowhere, my exceptionally talented daughter was not going to get her car, I was going to have to walk the freeway all the way back to Cardiff by the Sea.

Bleak.

But then it struck me.

What has the World Surf League been steadily building for the last five years?

What has it poured its entire credibility into?

Exactly.

A glorious, and patented, Wall of Positive Noise.

When the waves are two foot and dumping?

Eight foot and draining.

When Kelly Slater doesn’t want to show up in El Salvador or Brazil because he thinks they suck?

Injury.

The list goes on and on and on and I could just hear Joe Turpel’s voice ringing in my head.

“Hop on the sled and reset.”

“Hop on the sled and reset.”

“Hop on the sled and reset.”

By the time the tow truck driver arrived, and loaded the Volkswagen on his flatbed, I was a changed man a changed man on an epic quest who would not be undone by harsh realities.

Victor told me that he could get me to Tucumcari and that sounded just fine. We chatted on the road, he told me everything about tow trucking like Bubba told Forrest everything about shrimping, and then there was a pause. I pounced.

“Do you happen to watch competitive professional surfing?”

Victor smiled, “I don’t know what that is but I used to watch surfing on YouTube sometimes.”

“Why?” I asked.

He had a wonderful laconic drawl and stopped for a minute before answering, “I used to think I wanted to surf but we have this thing where I live called the Blue Hole. Have you heard of it?”

I had seen a sign for it and assumed it was like Crater Lake in my home state of Oregon so nodded.

“Well,” Victor continued, “I get in there and I think something is going to come up and eat me. I know it’s not, but I can’t get the anxiety out of my head so figure there is no way I’ll ever get in the ocean. But I liked those YouTube surfers.”

We pulled into Tucumcari about that time, Ray’s Truck Garage as it was closing, mechanic told me he’d take a look tomorrow, and reading the name sparked a clear memory. On the very first post detailing my epic quest, three days ago, our very own thevoiceofnoreason made two comments.

The second was, “PS If you go through Gallup, NM, stop at Zuni Trader and buy your baby some Zuni Pointallism jewelry. Say Keshi (kay-SHE) when you greet to the salesperson. You’re welcome.”

I did go through Gallup though did not stop, even though I said I would, as it was late and I was pushing to get to Albuquerque before restaurants closed.

The first was, “Tucumcari, NM. Drive safe, Charles.”

Here I am.

Democracy dies in darkness.

Kelly Slater, world’s greatest surfer, 11x competitive professional surfing champion, etc. recently made waves by putting one of his two Oahu North Shore homes on the rental marketplace for a song ($36,000 per month). Recent changes in local laws allow for homes to be rented out for at least three months and surfers world over checked under couch cushions, rifled through pockets to see if a spare $108,000 might be found.

BeachGrit, which broke the story, lovingly described the property, adding it would be safe from ocean rage thanks to a burrito, or sand filled bag that stops erosion, out the front and a Buddha statue by the swimming pool.

Well, Slater’s Hawaiian realtor was kind enough to call me as I drove east, yesterday, in search of the mythical non-surfing WSL surf fan and shared there was, as it were, no Buddha by the pool and no burrito out front. In fact, she declared, the most recent Pro Pipeline winner has never used burritos on either of his North Shore homes and it was all an untruth.

You certainly recall the original story in the Dec. 5, 2020 issue of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser in which reporter Sophie Cocke investigated “wealthy and famous homeowners endangering Hawaii’s beaches.”

Included:

In 2018, Kelly Slater, an 11-time world surfing champion who lives on Ehukai Beach by the world-famous Banzai Pipeline surf break, illegally installed a burrito. He, as well as his neighbors, were fined just $2,000.

Slater paid the fine and wrote to the Department of Land and Natural Resources last year asking it to approve his illegal structure so his home would be protected from future hurricane surf, as well as unexpected and seasonal weather. Lemmo, in response, rejected the request and underscored the seriousness of the situation.

Blame fell on The Inertia for spreading that bit of misinformation and I did not disagree with her one bit.

So the record is now, officially, corrected.