He did it with an aura of innocence, as though
nothing about this choice could possibly wrong. He was just
surfing, man.
The other day, I went surfing. This should not come as a
surprise to any of you at this point.
As usual, I encountered a strange new species of surfer. This
also should not come as a surprise to any of you.
But that is getting ahead of the story.
Sloppy windswell topped with devil wind sloshed its way around
the lineup. It was the kind of day when you go, try to get a few,
then go home. In the normal way of things, you wouldn’t expect to
see many other people out there. But that was then.
These days, there’s always a crowd even on the worst days. The
new kids don’t seem to know good waves from bad. They check
Surfline, see some numbers and colors, and go surf.
It’s a little bumpy out here today, they might say. Or, they
might not notice at all.
I don’t mind bad surf, necessarily. It’s an entertaining game to
Tetris the sections together and try to make it work. I don’t want
to do it every day, but it’s not the worst way to waste an hour or
two.
Surf bad waves, eat ice cream: There are worse ways to spend a
day.
There I was, getting some waves, making it work, going over the
falls, getting smashed by errant sections. You know, surfing.
After a while, a man drifted into my field of vision. He was
riding a fun shape, somewhere in the 8-foot range. It was not a
proper longboard, necessarily. It looked like a large, mostly
shapeless chunk of foam with a thruster setup.
The man looked to be about two years into his surfing journey.
He paddled with his Vans booties splayed outward, dangling over the
board’s bulbous rails. He had a sidekick riding a Wavestorm. They
always have a sidekick riding a Wavestorm.
Eventually, I noticed that he was burning everyone. He did it
with an aura of innocence, as though nothing about this choice
could possibly wrong. Burning Man would never sin.
He was just surfing, man.
After every wave, he would return to his sidekick and give a
full accounting of his ride. The waves were short. His commentary
was not. I could never quite hear the details, but it was clear
that he was having an awesome day.
I almost didn’t come out here today, he said. So glad I did!
I watched intrigued to see what would happen next. I couldn’t
help it. The drama! Would anyone call him off? Would he be allowed
to happily burn everyone forever?
No one called him off. Wave after wave, there he went, piloting
his ginormous surfboard down the face, arms in the air, somehow
defying gravity’s pull. He did not fall! I do not know how he did
not fall.
Riding a few waves, I was temporarily separated from the
adventures of Burning Man. Presumably, he kept burning. I kept
trying to surf. It was the kind of day where I felt like I did more
duck-diving than surfing. This is not the ideal kind of day.
Paddling back out, I saw one of the better shortboarders in the
lineup get a wave. He was determined. Going fast. Definitely going
to make the section. He was definitely spending less time
duck-diving than I was.
But there was Burning Man. Would he go?
Sure enough, Burning Man needed to surf more waves. He was
having the best time! Arms in the air, he dropped straight in, and
pointed his large craft roughly to the right. This felt like a
miracle, actually.
Then to his complete surprise, the shortboarder caught him!
Burning Man looked so confused, as though this had never happened
to him in his whole damn life. Maybe it hadn’t.
With easy skill, the shortboarder turned under Burning Man, and
continued on his way. It was all so smooth. No drama, no shouting.
Just surfing right on by.
It turned out that Burning Man had a theory about surfing, and
maybe more than one. I learned this fact when he returned to the
lineup and began to explain the whole thing to his sidekick. It has
to do with how long his board is, and how it’s just so fast. He
seemed so convinced of the truth of his ideas.
I have a longer board and it goes faster, he said. I can drop in
on everyone!
I do not know where these people come from, or how they end up
right next to me in the lineup every time.
I promise you, I did not invent this man. He was right there, on
a giant board, legs splayed. He was impossible to miss.
And he had so many words. I get paid to make words about
surfing, but I’ve got nothing on this guy. Someone should probably
hire him.
Still, Burning Man could not figure out how the shortboard had
magically caught up to him. I could tell that this new experience
troubled him. His theory could not account for it.
His board must be longer! he said. That shortboarder must have a
special board.
Burning Man continued to talk at some length. I did not stick
around to hear more. The whole thing had begun to melt my brain.
Surfing is only as complicated as you make it, and I prefer not to
make it too complicated.
Later in the parking lot, I saw Burning Man and his sidekick
getting ready to leave. Rinse kits at the ready, they pulled off
their suits. Burning Man was still talking. I can’t imagine what
else he could possibly have to say. I was not about to linger and
find out.
A girl should never get between a man and his theories.
