VAN LIFE 2

I want to guess that I've been surfing an average of five days a week lately with my buddy, Tim: sessions that are no shorter than 3 to 4 hours. It's fantastic. Tim and I became friends up in Santa Cruz where we were both completing our credential. Whereas I was in the single-subject program, Tim was getting his credential in multiple-subjects to teach the little ones. The multiple-subject people also knew how to party way harder: this is a well-known fact. He asked me to surf one day at 38th Avenue on the East side of town, and we never looked back. Tim is also the fellow whose family's house where my van is currently parked. Things are uneasy at the other house. Besides, I'm getting meals and much hospitality in return for doing the dishes, picking up the dog shit, and teaching Tim's mom to make bread. Not a bad deal.

We have two spots where we typically surf: C-Street down in Ventura (see above), which is a wonderful point break with beautiful rights that push much like the waves up in Santa Cruz; and a wide stretch of beach off the "State Parks" exit on Hwy 101, which we've appropriately dubbed "Dumpsters" (generally, the best breaks we've found at this desolate beach-break, close-out-ridden spot have been right in front of the county RV park's dumpsters). The waves are bigger than elsewhere at this spot, but the break is terrible: you're going to get wrecked. That's why no one is there, and that's why we love it so much. If you've driven 101, between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara, you most likely know this stretch: look for the RVs--beachside--with their American, military, rainbow, and "Beer Station" flags waving wyldly in the wind. Lately, we've started at C-Street, paddled out for a few hours, gotten sick of the crowds, and relocated to Dumpsters for stellar drop-ins and getting mucked-up, with only the ocean, a breeze, and some dolphins to keep us company. 

At this point, I'm literally surfing more hours than I'm working, which has only been about two days a week for 7 hours each day. Unfortunately, I either cracked a rib or merely pulled a muscle directly atop my rib, because I've been in sheer pain for the past few days, resisting laughing or sneezing, fearful of the pain that follows. Addicted to water, we now spend our time in the local spa at the polo fields down the street. Water seems to be life at this point. Sand is all over my van. The bright light of the waxing moon fills my car at night. It's beautiful, but keeps me up. Oh well.