I had a pocket full of change, no local knowledge and a singlefin – no hole in the wall would give me any coarse folding paper, and by now I had given up worrying about insufficient funds!
Group commitment to fuel resembled a rock, paper, scissors show of hands because the shark was thirsty and someone had to pay. The waves ahead were ours; the coastline was littered with twisting, hedge-bordered roads that would deposit us at the peaks of choice. I was lost, not actually knowing where I was, but knowing I was going surfing.
What had wrenched me from an inland slumber to a coast with the most? I can still feel the warm breeze on my feet as they hung regardlessly out of the window and the hum of the shark’s engine lulled me to sleep, while the grass growing in the footwells of the car was soft on tender toes.
You can just about make out my Cheshire cat grin in the back corner seat… I have no money and no home, but I’m the richest one there – happy, taking each day at a time and each wave at a time and being thankful for what I have, sharing the waves, enjoying the conditions no matter what.
I still carry on that ritual today.
I ride many boards in my own way, I fall off, I make some and repeat.
I try to smile at strangers in the line-up and share the playground.
It’s good to hoot out loud, open my eyes underwater and forget about land time.