Sometime in the early 1980s...

We drove up 101 from LA to Santa Barbara on a Friday morning. It was one of those Golden Fall Classic California days where the coastal clouds burned off by mid-morning revealing a brilliant blue sky. By noon the Santa Ana (Devil) winds were moving gently down the canyons pushing offshore. The air was dry as a tic, crackling with negative ions. We checked into one of the oceanfront hotels downtown on the main drag. Mrs. Foondoggy and I were in town as guests at my cousin's wedding on Saturday. Outside it was hot.

Cousin "Raymoondo" was the brother I never had and a lifelong friend. I was here to participate in his second wedding and to make up for my bad behavior at his first.

That's another story and another time, but suffice it to say that when he first got married in Redondo Beach to the sister-in-law of the then-owner of the Dallas Cowboys, Clint Murcheson, the episode with me and one of the Dallas cheerleaders, who was also a bridesmaid, did not endear me to the family. Nuff said.

Raymoondo's current fiancee was the middle daughter of a prominent Santa Barbara psychiatrist, whose plush cliffside home overlooked the Pacific, and would be the outdoor site of the pending nuptuals. Thirty thousand dollars had been spent on flowers and re-landscaping the yard. This was to be a first class blow-out.

From our window I could see some wave action building out front of our hotel. I guessed that Rincon might have something to offer. I was anxious to burn off some energy and I had borrowed a too short board from the bride's younger brother. I wished Mrs.Foondoggy luck in finding the perfect dress shopping downtown and pointed the rental wheels for Rincon.

Paddling out at Rincon to the break with the most bodies, the waves appeared vapor thin, but they had a real nasty, evil quality to them that I immediately liked. The moderate but long-line swells and hot offshore wind combined for some devilishly mean-spirited surf and I tore the faces out of my share.

I was maniacal in my need to abuse and destroy the beauty folding before me! It had to be the wind, I've never surfed so possessed in my life! Wave after wave came through and were picked apart by the pack. Screaming walls, slash and burn shoulders, inside cover up sections, you could do no wrong except trying to stand up through the lip. (Got me twice) The crowd was in a feeding frenzy as each rider challenged the rest to "TOP THIS!" In two hours I was tapped, yet uncommonly agitated.

The rehearsal dinner that night was a casual affair to meet and greet friends, relatives and guests. My cousin announced that all men participants had to go to the local formal wear shop the next morning to pick up our tuxes. The future bride had forbidden any type of bachelor party so I gratefully hit the sack early and had vivid dreams of vicious waves in a blood red ocean. The Santa Anas were blowing stronger, hot and very dry.

The next morning at 9:00am, Raymoondo drove three of us downtown to the tux store only to find out that a minor adjustment to his pants was needed. While we waited I suggested we pop down the corner to a little Cantina for a beverage. I was parched. The little bar was very cozy and we ordered some Bloody Marys. After two rounds the best man decided to make some toasts to the groom using shots of Cuervo Gold. Not soon enough, we realized we had to get back, fast.

Staggering back to the shop and picking up the clothes, we then rushed back to the home of the bride. As we tumbled up the front stairs the door flew open and there stood the bride and her Mom. We had delivered the groom two hours before the ceremony - whacked! The look on the bride's face drilled a hole in my already aching head as she said, barely moving her lips,

"You have 120 minutes to make this man right. If you don't, he will regret it the rest of his life. I will make sure of that!"

We looked at Raymoondo and asked,"Cold shower, or cold ocean?"

He slurred, "Ocean!"

And off we went with the bride's brother, some boogie and surfboards, some strong coffee, and ok, a few beers, in search of the closest beach. The cuz was a trooper, he actually managed to paddle out before he blew chunks, and later said he felt so much better after he got a major hosing by a cleanup set. With 60 minutes to go, we deposited him back with an empty stomach and a new attitude.

By time the ceremony everyone was mostly OK. Raymoondo looked green but he was holding up. Luckily for me we look so much alike (we've been mistaken for twins) a lot of the distant relatives and friends who'd only seen pictures of him, mistook me for the groom. Got some nice congratulatory kisses from a few young female relatives on the bride's side.

(Yo Ray, I can tell you now that one of her younger cousins slipped me some tongue! You missed it dude, you shoulda seen her face when YOU took the long walk and not me!)

The wedding was perfect. I made a little speech which sounded coherent to me when I said it, but Mrs.Foondoggy said was laced with references to Devil Waves and Hot Winds.

The bride said to me later that if Raymoondo hadn't been up to the gig by showtime, since I was the only male cousin, I would have stood in for him and had to explain to the entire congregation why he couldn't.

She promised it would be one of the worst days of my visit.

Midway through the party, the bride's brother got a call. Rincon was going off, epic! Having already had a brush with the Devil Waves of Santa Barbara, I couldn't risk leaving the reception to surf.

It already was the worst day of my visit.

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