Hawaiians are generally credited with inventing surfing, or wave sliding, and it was a Hawaiian, George Freeth, who introduced it to Huntington Beach.  In 1914, he put on a demonstration of surf riding at the dedication of the new pier, which at the time was the longest pleasure pier in the States.  Another Hawaiian, Duke Kahanamoku, considered the father of modern surfing, inspired a few Huntington Beach lifeguards to make their own boards a few years later, which at the time were carved out of redwood and weighed over a hundred pounds.

The first West Coast Surfing Championship was held in 1959.  In the 1980s that evolved into the OP Pro, which then became the US Open, which for the last ten years has been sponsored by Van’s, the shoe company most closely associated with surfers, skaters, BMX riders, alternative rockers, and Southern California in general.  By chance, I graduated from El Rancho with one of the family members, but had just moved from North Dakota and knew no one but the other wrestlers on the wrestling team.

Over the years I’d always walked down to check out the contest if I was in town, but didn’t pay much attention to what was going on.   I’d just stand with the crowds on the pier and make a short ramble through the village, and that was that.  This year, however, I was determined to get to the heart of it, with my ukulele on my back, soaking up the energy and trying to participate, in whatever small way I could muster.

When I got back from Balboa, I saw that riders were warming up for the BMX Waffle Cup, so I locked up my bike and went to watch them practice.  I’d been told that there was a free barbecue at noon so went over to check that out, only to run into Jason and Buddy, coming down the steps from the VIP section. 

Jason was the only one from our surf crew, the Gallows, who could really surf.  The story was that he’d been a star in high school, and then later in the courtroom, and that there’d been an accident on PCH that left his Maserati totaled.  His involvement in helping the rest of us learn to surf can only be described as an act of charity.

From what I understood about Buddy, he’d been a running back for the Oklahoma Sooners, who on a crucial third and goal had had his head driven further back into his shoulders than the ball had advanced downfield.  He was crazy to surf, but the day I first met him looked like he’d never been on a board before.  I wasn’t any better. 

From the beginning, we competed in our own kook Olympics, perfecting such maneuvers as the stunt man left, stunt man right, the pearl jam, the hang zero, the Niagara plunge, and the Malachi crunch.  All in all, the Gallows was a sight to behold.  Dignity?  We had none to spare.  We’d paddle out under any conditions, to see who could get destroyed in the most brutal and ridiculous fashion, and then all laugh about it later.

Eventually, a few of us improved and started getting expectations.  I didn’t begrudge Buddy for sticking with Jason and going off in search of greener pastures.  He’d worked harder and was making more progress.  I was still flopping and floundering most of the time, chasing waves I couldn’t catch, then getting caught too far inside when the rest of the set came through.  I could never seem to find the sweet spot.  We were all still friends though.

On this particular day they had a surprise for me.  Jason had managed to finagle some VIP passes from a secret source, and though they’d already made their rounds, they had an extra wristband they gladly handed over.  One minute I was waiting in line for a hotdog, the next I was upstairs at the Waffle Cup, watching the BMX riders and eating fish and chicken tacos, right next to the mayor of Huntington Beach. 

Later, I went over to watch the surfing in another reserved section, where there were fruit plates, bowls of peanut M&Ms, and a cooler stocked with Red Bulls.

My idea had been to immerse myself in the US Open, and now, only four hours into it, I was sitting in the VIP sections with an all-access wristband.  That was incredible, for sure, but things had gotten way too good, way too fast.  I’d need to get a flat tire on my bike on the way home in order to restore balance to the universe.