Mike’s mom’s ’68 Mustang was loaded up with at least 5 teens every Friday night during the summer of ’78, San Clemente bound. The BMX bike and Schwinn Le Tour and unicycle tires all went flat. The surf was up, Just What I Needed: friends, waves and trouble.
We’d ride skateboards down to Trestles. Boards in one arm, sleeping bags around our necks… someone always wound up sitting on the cooler.
We learned to surf out of love, none of us had a clue just the bug. Paddling until our arms fell off we lay like sea lions on the morning sand. Rock, paper, scissors settled who took our few dollars to Carl’s Jr for Happy Stars.
But the surf is like a bad girlfriend. You never know what you’re going to get… warm lips or cold shoulder, waves or no waves, crowd or no crowd.
Eventually the air got back in those bike tires. Forlorn, and abandoned, all they needed was care. Loyal and faithful, ever ready. The bike is true love.
Which brings me to triathlon season: summertime.
Get up early and ride.
Do the chores.
Today, Surfergirl surprised me. Basking in the afterglow of an excellent ride, I sipped cooly at Kaylani’s. Thinking (not doing) I oughta head home and get some things done. Her text said it all: heading to (surf) trails.
When you do the triathlon out of order, ride then surf, you usually end up with just a duathlon…
… Fathers’s (day) Weekend.