If his story doesn’t make something under your
breastbone feel a little warm, I’m not sure you have anything in
there.
I am a bad surf journalisming.
On the first day of the Olympics, I drove the 405, because I am
a Californian and that’s what we do. I did not watch surfing on the
opening day. As I traversed the 5, the 73, the 405, the 10, the 1,
and the 101, updates from friends hopscotched the cell phone
towers. Once in a while, I sneaked a look. Mostly, I didn’t know
what was happening and I felt fine — as fine as a girl can feel on
the 405 and all the other freeways.
Driving in the summer in Southern California is an adventure,
and not in a good way. Every time I get in the car, it feels like
paddling out on the most crowded day I’ve ever surfed. There’s
always that one guy. Parking is about as likely as scoring a set
wave during a Surfline Swell at Trestles. I’m desperately trying to
focus on doing the thing — catching a wave, or driving the car —
while fighting against becoming the worst version of myself. I’m
just an idiot surrounded by a sea of other idiots.
Last Tuesday I surfed tiny Swamis, mostly just to savor the
absurdly warm ocean temperatures. I got lucky and scored a parking
place not that far away at all. I wore a bikini which felt
delightfully breezy after so much time in rubber. Two long-timers
paddled around, happy to be there. How’s it going, bro? Oh, you
know, living the dream!
On Saturday I was in San Clemente at Sur Coffee — they have a
delightful elderberry hibiscus iced tea — when I messaged my friend
to ask if Caroline won her heat. Parked on the 405, I eventually
saw the answer. Caroline won — and by the end of the day, she had
the highest heat score of the opening round.
That was right around the time that a friendly dude tried to
tell me that the hood on my rental car was not securely latched.
Now, you would think that a modern car with every convenience would
tell me this very important thing. It did not. Also, it is very
hard to understand a helpful dude while driving in traffic on the
405. Only once I went much faster did I see my hood begin to
levitate. This seemed bad, actually.
I pulled over to the slim excuse for a shoulder and punched the
hazards. Crawling through the car, I exited on the passenger side.
I smashed that hood down. But it didn’t stay! This also seemed bad.
I smashed it again! Then it stayed. It just needed some extra
convincing. I crawled back through the car, merged into traffic,
and continued on my way. Thanks, helpful 405 dude!
In Malibu, I saw four bros packed into a GTI with a Sex Wax air
freshener hanging from the rearview and four boards stacked on the
roof. The whole setup looked like a clown car, what with the bros,
the giant boards, and the tiny car. Living their best life! Bro
Summer is here,
baby!
At the Malibu Blue Bottle, where a crazy lady had locked herself
in the bathroom, I learned that Caity won her heat, too.
On the second day of the Olympics, well, you can see how this
whole thing was going. You’d think that the next day, being home
and no longer on the 405 — which, at a certain point, I began to
think that maybe the 405 was going to become my home — I would in
fact, watch the Olympics. But, I did not.
Blame the fleas. Living on the coast in California is great.
Really, it is. But occasionally, there are some minor threats to
the tranquility of the whole situation. Eventually, inevitably,
there will be fleas. And you know what? I hate those little
assholes. Burn me on a good wave on your stupid Wavestorm and I
will still hate you less than I hate fleas. But fleas, we had
them.
Between vacuuming the couch and combing the cats, I dropped into
the Olympics livestream. The waves looked bad. Also, I had fleas to
kill. So, I did not watch the second day of the Olympics. My cats
were very happy about this life choice.
I do know that Molly lost to Johanne and it didn’t seem right
that they met in the second round. Eventually, the gaps in
performance levels on the women’s side should narrow, and the
double-CT heats won’t stand out quite so much. At least, I hope
that’s what happens. For now, the draw is weirdly lopsided. Caity
meets Tati in round 3, for instance. I don’t love it.
On the third day of the Olympics, I watched the surfing out of
one eye, while I tried to finish a story on deadline with the other
eye. This was not an easy task. Do not try this at home. I am a
trained professional. At something. My editor wanted his copy.
Teahupoo was firing.
I stopped writing long enough to watch Kauli dispatch Griff.
It’s a tough loss for Griff, but it’s hard not to be happy to see
the local boy advance. I skipped some heats to finish my story.
It’s hard to be responsible.
But the men fucking sent it today. João’s return from his horrifying
injury at Pipe to win his heat in massive Teahupoo caverns is a
near-perfect sports story. If his story doesn’t make
something under your breastbone feel a little warm, I’m not sure
you have anything in there. He fought a brutal hand-to-hand battle
with Ramzi in which they traded nearly non-stop barrels. It was up
there with one of the best heats I’ve watched lately — and maybe
ever.
After that no-holds barred fight, the much-anticipated John-Jack
heat felt anti-climactic. The wind began to hit it, and both of
them got smoked on their opening waves. The swell lulled out. Jack
managed to put it back together and get the scores. Inside three
minutes to go, John pulled into deep one, but it was too little,
too late. Jack advanced, and both Americans are out.
If João’s heat was one of the best I’ve seen, I’m pretty sure
the final heat of the day was one of the scariest. The wind whipped
through the lineup and turned it to chaos. Ethan and Connor surfed
like they believed in immortality. Watching Connor cartwheel down
the face, I wasn’t sure he was going to come back up. Ethan won it
in a ballsy as fuck performance. If you were thinking he’s just a
pretty face with stylish turns, guess again. They played for
keeps.
The men’s quarterfinal draw is hilarious, really. Alonso Correa
and Inaba Reo open the party. Then it gets silly, and I’m beginning
to think ISA needs a rule against seeding surfers from the same
country against one another. Kauli and Joan, Gabe and João, and
Jack and Ethan all meet in the quarters. Two Australians enter,
only one can leave. You get the idea.
Next call is tomorrow morning, and women’s round 3 could be
next. Caity and Tati meet in heat 6, and it should be straight fire
if it runs in good waves. Looking at the seeding, I’d expect most
of the CT girls to advance, though there’s always the possibility
for surprises. I do like surprises.
Unless they’re fleas. Fuck fleas.
