Another contribution from storymeister Foondoggy, this time some summer stoke from down south. The photos aren't of the FoonBoy but I figure a one-two bodysurfing barrel comes something close to what he would've liked to have gotten.

Good weather -- bad karma!

As I flew into Burbank Airport on a smoggy, sunny, warm afternoon, there should have been a sign saying, "Foondoggy GO HOME!" I was having grave misgivings about spending the next five days in the San Fernando Valley. What further bummed me was the fact I had arrived with the first symptoms of a viscious headcold that I would battle the whole time I was there. As I walked across the tarmac to the terminal, I could sense the pulse from across the mountains - there was surf in the Southland. But I could also feel a vibe of foreboding - Huey did not want me here.

I was in town to attend the party celebrating the 50th Wedding Anniversary of my in-laws, a couple who had fought tooth and nail for 30 of those year, yet remained married mainly because no one else would have them. My plan was to do the family gig then bolt for the coast to catch some much needed waves. Having spent my birthday in Denver the previous Sunday, I was stopped up and surf-thirsty for some good SoCal juice.

My tolerance for the Valley and the company of my in-laws was about 72 hours. This patience was completely destroyed by the events of my first evening in town. While I was driving back from an excellent Mexican dinner with the family, in my sister-in-laws Jeep Cherokee, the back window was shattered by a high-speed projectile. Like anyone in the same situation, I panicked and hit the brakes hard, causing the car to skid and swerve. I gained control, changed 2 lanes in seconds and bailed off the freeway. This situation was made all the worse by the fact I had my two young (11 and 6 year old) niece and nephew, strapped in the back seat and they just went berserk! Crying, screaming, yelling, like you can't believe! I quickly pulled into an apartment parking lot and leaped out of the car to check the kids. I saw a couple exiting a car and yelled to them to call for help, we'd just been shot at! Luckily the couple had a car phone and they called the police. Within three minutes I had 2 cruisers and a shift supervisor in the parking lot. I checked the kids over and told them they were alright. The police sergeant popped them into a cruiser with a young cop who had kids and he calmed them down.

The window, we found out, was shot out with a pellet gun. We had become victims of one of hundreds of freeways assaults that had been plaguing the LA highways. After a statement and info exchange the cops kindly offered to drive the kids home, since they were still freaked and were not about to get back in the Jeep. My nerves were also shot, so even though I was taking strong cold medications, when I got home I took three shots of Dr. Jack Daniels. But I did not sleep well that night.

The next day, after followup calls from the police and some more wackiness from my in-laws, I decided, "THAT'S ENOUGH!!" I needed some surf!

Nurse (Mrs.) Foondoggy said, "Absolutely not!"

Since I was then in the grips of the worst part of my headcold. I stared her down and said, "I am going to the ocean, my love. With you or without you, but I am going."

With that she grabbed some medicine and we headed off in the family wagon.

Some of you may recall that I predicted my presence in SoCal would virtually guarantee the waves would be flat for the duration of my stay. What could I have been thinking?!! As though I am that important. Huey has never been reluctant to make kooks and posers like me look foolish, so he arranged to have me infected with a bad cold, then sent some fine surf conditions to my SoCal brothers. It was payback time for my arrogance.

As we charged down Decker Canyon Rd., Nurse Foondoggy said, "I suppose you think I didn't see that gear in the back?"

"That's just in case." I replied.

"In case of what, you imbecile?" she glared. "You are spiking a fever over 100 degrees, you're on some very strong cold drugs, and you're so stressed out your hands are shaking on the wheel! You don't actually think you can surf, do you?"

Actually, I had fooled myself into thinking I could, and the events of the previous night had convinced me I needed relief!

We reached the PCH and quickly pulled into a small State Beach since someone had come along side and pointed out our front brakes were smokin'! (Those of you who've driven Decker Canyon know why). I bolted from the car and ran out on the cliff to see one of the most lovely sights I'd seen in a long time. Three surfers idly waiting for and catching some beautiful headhigh waves. Ahhhhh, I could almost breath again, and the tension and stress just melted out of me.

We got back in the car, checked Leo Carrillo to the North (crowded), then headed South. Coming down off a hill on PCH I could see Zuma stretched out in the distance. I could also see some very hunky thumpers going off with some guys out riding. My nose started to run again. As I pulled up roadside at Zuma I was struck with two contrasting images; a temporarily empty ocean and some guy with a surfboard neatly snapped in half walking back to his car. Intuition told me Huey had a surprise for me at this beach and since I'm a beach break kinda guy, I opened the wagon lid to get my gear.

Mrs.Foon erupted from the car and screamed, "Not on your Fucking Life, My Friend!!"

"Please honey," I reasoned, "I have got to break this surfless curse that Huey has hung on me."

She looked at me with one of the hardest stares I'd ever seen.

"I love you more than life itself, Foonboy, but I swear to God, if you do not survive this go out I will have you stuffed, mounted and fitted with a plaque that says 'FOONDOGGY - Too stupid to accept his own human limitations."

That stung, and even though I knew she was right, I grabbed the springsuit, board and fins and headed for the break.

My rule is to always watch a break for at least 2 sets before I go in. This day I would break that rule in my haste to go in, and barely lived to regret it. As I waded in, with a head full of snot and my chest full of mucus, I detected movement outside, but decided to plunge ahead anyway. I was paddling for a group of surfers when Zuma (and Huey) decided to welcome me to the Left Coast by nailing and working me over with three headhigh pounders.

POW, POW, POW!!

I got tumbled and bounced off the bottom, held down and squashed. I let the whitewater wash me back up on the sandy beach where I proceeded to lay on my back wheezing and gasping for air. Nurse Foon raced over to me and knelt down watching me regain my breath.

"What's it gonna be Foonboy, an ambulance or a taxidermist? You decide."

Her loving remarks were all it took to make me realize I was done. I raised myself on one elbow and looked longingly out to the break knowing full well I was not to ride this day.

Wistfully I said, "I think I'll walk down to Pt.Dume to see what all the excitement is."

Mrs. Foon saw right through this and was having none of it. She said as she got up to go, "Be sure you save enough energy to hitchhike back to the Valley pal, I won't be here."

Jesus, she is a tough broad! But I know she loves me. I watched 2 more sets of SoCal fun entertain riders healthy enough to enjoy then trudged back to the car - defeated.

To placate the raging Mrs. I offered to buy her lunch in Malibu, our next destination. She accepted but warned me we would not be dining in surfer hangouts like the legendary "Jack in the Bu" or Malibu Chicken. No, she decided we'd be much better served in the touristy but pleasant "Coogies" in the Malibu Plaza.

After lunch and a quick visit to Beckers Surf Shop next door to Coogies, we headed South to view the "Bu". Some fog and haze obscured what was happening, but judging by the traffic and parking, someone was riding something this day. As we continued on approaching Topanga Canyon I glanced out the window and saw someone balancing a sweet, crouching, cheater five on a long mellow wall. I headed for the shoulder of the road to watch.

Mrs.Foon quietly said, "Why torture yourself Foonboy?"

I looked over at her nervously and adjusted the bill of my "Surf Free or Die" Ball cap. "I have to hon. If I can't go in, I must watch, learn, rejuvinate the stoke and resolve to come back someday and ride."

We sat and watched for about a half hour while some of the crew at Topanga showed me what it's like to soul surf again. Renewed and inspired, I pulled away from the curb and headed back to the Valley. I swore I would be back.

As I flew back to the Right Coast, I prayed Huey would forgive me for being so boastful. How could I, a mere mortal, pretend to have any influence on the surf of others. For this I humbly apologize. With great anticipation I look forward to my next session at my home break this weekend. Come on Rocktober. Forgive me Huey.

Oh, the Party? Actually it was pretty cool. Apparently I got drunk enough to lead 120 people in the Macarena, sit in for the drummer of the band, and play a passible version of "Wipeout". (Hey out there. I heard that!)

Santa Barbara Surfing -- Last updated 1/6/1999.