Off the Wagon

Between battling a bad back and an extended flat spell, I was out of the drink for nearly a month. Well, this past week I was finally able to fall off the wagon. In a good way. With my back at about half-mast, I headed out to a nice stretch of beach just north of the city. My ol' pal Shitbird brought an extra log for me and his gal pal, Charlotte Sometimes. Gliding on a log seemed the best way to test my sore back and, given the sea was wearing knee-highs, it was the best way to enjoy the surf.

It turned into a very grin-worthy day. Easily paddling into little rollers and trimming all the way to the inside. It was nice to be reminded of surfing's essence: pure joy for joy's sake. After a bit my back was aching like the Elephant Man, so I paddled in and took some photos of the surfing couple. I think Mrs. Sometimes has a thing or two to teach Senor Shitbird about style and grace. What can you expect he's old.

Yesterday, Shitbird and I were on it again. This time we drove farther north. The wind was on it and so were the masses. The crowd was pretty spread out, though, so we suited up and paddled out. I took out my fish stick, as my back was closer to Homo Sapien than Homo Wreckus. The foamy, frothy conditions were far from ideal, but there were fun sections that bumped and ledged for quick little launches and bunny hops.

After a couple hours my back sent signals shooting up my spine to let me know it was time to leave. Obligingly, I caught one more bumpy ride that blew up around shoulder high.

Another day in the water. Another day to the good.

Cop + Brownie = Living Dead
(Law enforcement at its best...not to mention tax dollars)