The Ride

In the late afternoon breeze, I try to coax a few more rides from small surf and the reluctant Oregon sunhine.  I am only 40 feet from shore.  My arms are almost too tired to paddle after two days chasing some fickle breaks and stroking out of the way of the weathered locals.  I relegate myself to the shorebreak and my first Alaia.  Accidentally made my first board hardwood, and being a skinny spectacle, I lack some float here.  My noodled arms won't paddle this thin, chestnut-brown art piece very far.  Not now, in the heat of exhaustion.  Reluctantly, I crouch in the shallows, ready to pounce on any tiny reform with the vaguaries of shape.  My eyes at waterline, I scan the (nearby) horizon.  My board is so thin it lurks next to me, just under the surface, holding in place effortlessly, knifing through the whitewash so easily, I almost forget what I'm waiting for.  Suddenly, a line appears; just fifteen feet away the remnants of swell have given me a short window.  Just enough time to push my board and paddle.  From my drowning-ants-eye view, the wave seemed like any: a monster, ready to crush me in sandy humiliation or thrust me on in the glory of whitewash victory.  Belly first i lunge and leap onto my board, preparing to paddle to slides worth envying.  Alas, I sink inches into the water, feeling a hopeless grip of water around my flailing arms.  I hear the tiny roar of the now-whitewash approach.  My nose sinks.  I'm done for.  I give one last stroke as I prepare to meet near-shore mayhem and fill my wetsuit with sandcrabs.  With my eyes closed for impact, I am so shocked when the board rockets off I pee my suit. again.  The long, sharp edge of my board bites the wave with a vengance for the quickest takeoff I've ever had.  I'm not sure the ride is as fast as I've been told to expect, but that takeoff was sure hyper and the ride is like nothing else.  Totally different, new.  Even from my midriff-bound view, these tiny waves are insanely fun.  I sit up in inches of water with a grin any sponger would envy and go back for more.  The long, dead-flat planing surface goes from drowning to a slick ride in the blink of an eye.  Think Boogie board on speed.  I quickly find out what Weggie is talking about when he says you can manipulate the rocker on these boards.  As my waves shrink to truly dismal sizes, I reach out and push down on the nose to find myself sucked back into the ripple.  A surfer in a green trucker hat does a double-take as I zoom past his ankles and ride the wave into one inch of water.  One inch wave, one inch of water, now rideable.  I roll off my board and stand on the dry shore, smiling at the new possibilities and challenges.  I'm not Rob Machado and I'll be dead before I can surf like him.  This is a new way to surf, and I might look weird to some people, but with a new ride to get wired and new waves to ride, I no longer care.