The Downward Spiral of the Surf Obsessed
I suppose it started during the weeks after I returned from a fifteen day surf trip to a rather crowded but otherwise awesome spot in Costa Rica. Returning to colder climates, surfing in a suit, driving four hours in Fargo - these things almost always suck. But this time was different. This time I felt (feel, depending on when you're reading to this), that there was something else I ought to be doing. Riding my motorcycle, mostly.
While we search for waves every weekend - driving two-to-five hours in any given direction, scoring sometimes, being skunked more often then not - we weren't really exploring other areas. Albeit necessary to some, surfing the same spot(s) over and over again is limiting, to say the least. And while we have surfed other areas: Oregon, California, Costa Rica, Mexico, Hawaii and even Israel, I feel as though surfing keeps us close to home. The idea of living inland or landlocked is fully frightening. And herein lies the problem...
Save for a few days during the summer, I've been off my motorcycle for two plus years. Riding at a rally sponsored by a company I keep as a client, I couldn't help but feel as if I've spent the last two years living without something I find incredible: the sound of speed, fir trees flying past my face, the backend of my bike coming loose around a corner, climbing, accelerating, escaping.
And so here I sit, confused as to what exactly I want, wondering if this wave riding stuff is really worth all, or even some of my energy. Wondering if I should instead spend my time searching for a smile, in whatever way I can acquire one. Motorcycles, maybe, but more importantly not limiting myself to one spot, one source. Diversifying my stoke supplier.
tags: Expression Session