KeithWikle.com

Brooks Tuiliq on order. I need help. I am now a dork. Just look at the photo.

After three false starts to South Haven over the last two weeks a storm of moderate proportions finally hit that bears comment.

The wind started out of the due west at 20-25 knots and then veered northwest until it peaked at 30 knots. Risking catastrophe at work and home, I made my excuses in the middle of the day to drive to the beach to surf. I had that knot in my gut that it would not be worth all the effort. But finally as I approached the beach I saw a solid tier of breakers as far as the eye could see. The surf angled in to the beach from the NW in the way that makes my heart all warm and fuzzy. There were sheer glassy faces peaking at 6-8 feet. The connection line tied with a knot of anxiety that I associate to my terrestrial life eased and went then went slack as I suited up to surf.

I hopped in the boogie and then broke out about 300 yards, with some serious effort. I waited until I saw a rip in the water and followed it out like a runway. It’s funny because when you are breaking out, the waves closer to shore are quicker and dump a little more forcefully so the pit of dread in your heart wells up as you head out in a little 7’9 surf boat every time your bow rises higher than your head. But once out, even really big waves seem manageable because you start to get a quick feel for exactly how steep the wave needs to be to get a good ride. I spent a fair amount of time watching the break and trying to judge where I could get a good ride.

My first decent ride brought me down a steep 5 foot face and a quick cut back kept me on the greenwater, my tail skidded out a bit, but I managed to hold it. And then it closed out and I ended up in the white water almost all the way to shore. This resulted in a whiteknuckled concrete dig all the way back out.

Once out again, I closed in on the pier and a board surfer and I started swapping waves. The first one I caught was a beauty but I didn’t get the diagonal line I wanted and I got nuked hard, rolled up, got nuked by the wave’s little brother and then rolled up again. Luckily I didn’t have to break back out again.

Shortly after this, I nabbed the golden fleece of rides, a beautiful glassy steep spiller just off the pier, that I caught just right, I edged hard onto the wave I sped downwave at an amazing rate, cutting back as the wave curled and then flew off the back as it closed out. I have to say I had no thoughts of work, home, or anything other than pure joy at that point. To quote Bono again,

you can’t sell it or buy it, you already lost it

That is the essence of surfing I think.

All I got to say is, I hope fall has a few more storms like this, and make the next one on a saturday!!!

Ran 6 miles in 49:55 yesterday. I hit it out of the blocks up and down windy Kalamazoo hills until my breath came in ragged gasps. I didn’t want to stop, every hill I saw, I wanted to paint my foot prints on, burn the rubber down to say “I ran this hill at top speed once.” Confidence and assurance in your own abilities comes so infrequently in adult life, often because of interactions with other people. Running is solo, you and the path is all there is. No lies, no interdependencies, no assumptions, you can either do it or you can’t. I take pride in my mini accomplishments, because no matter how down the rest of life gets, no can take them away, and the obstacles I set for myself are only at the limit of my body, and my mental discipline. While this is probably overly dramatic, it is great to pass a series of college kids 1/3 your age at top speed uphill.

Wolf Parade-Lyrics
I got a number on me
I got a number
Won’t make it through the high noon sun
I am my father’s son
I am my father’s son
His bed is made
I was a hero
Early in the morning
I ain’t no hero
In the night
I am my father’s son
And I’ll build a house inside of you
I’ll go in through the mouth
I’ll draw three figures on your heart
One of them will be me as a boy
One of them will be me
One of them will be me watching you run
watching you run
Into the high noon sun
Watching you run
Farther than guns will go
You are a runner
With a stolen voice
And you are a runner
And I am my father’s son
I am my father’s son
I am my father’s son

Sometimes you forget why being young and full of energy is so much fun. And then you go out till two in the morning to see live music. I’ve been to see some stellar shows this year, Sigur Ros, Tom Waits, and later on I will see the Decemberists too. Oddly enough seeing Wolf Parade tops the list for sheer energy. One of the band members had an allergy attack and had to go to the hospital to get 500cc’s of epinephrine, (wow do I empathise). They played for over an hour anyway.

Simply put it is so cool to feel the floor shake, the glasses rattling on the bar, and then watch the room jump. I love that feeling at rock shows where you don’t know what is going to happen. Of course there is a limited range of variables. But having been to shows where: everyone sits in their seat, no one dances, and that token dorky white guy doesn’t do that crazy arm pumping thing, no one needlessly takes off their shirt, no one falls down drunk; can you really call it rock and roll?

I say no.