CENTROAMERICA: On The Way Home

Discovering Yet More

We’ve been powering for a week now. The borders seem to pass faster heading north. But we’re getting surf starved once more. We’ve heard stories about big waves, hollow waves near the area we’re approaching. Scanning our map we make the decision to check it out. If necessary, we’ll give it a couple of days. It’ll be good to slow down again. We feel accomplished like this trip has added a dimension to our lives. Late that night we reach our destination, and par next to two surfers from the East Coast. Bob Rotherham and Eric Penny, who are on their way to South America. They filled us in on the latest bummers from the States; i.e., Nixon, Watergate, gas shortage, meat shortage, and wave shortage. We in turn told them of the areas we had left, and suddenly felt like returning too. They didn’t say much about the surf where we were camped except that it had been story, and they were waiting it out. They had been out of the States for seven weeks and still showed signs of civilization; whereas, we had run out of toilet paper months ago. They turned us on to some. The next day was stormy. But the following day broke clearly with the ocean more smoothly patterned. Up the beach a ways was a sight we could not believe. Warm offshore winds were blowing the tops off giant peaks. Huge open doors. The inside sets looked to be 10’ to 15’. Outside was bigger, but how much bigger was hard to say. No one in sight. Definitely no surfers. All four of us were mind-blown. Not mentally prepared for surf of that size. After watching for a while Eric and Bob paddled out. While putting on our fins and waxing our kneeboards, we watched Eric drop into a 12-foot bowl. What he was pulling up into looked like inside Sunset. As we later discovered, the bigger waves were too hollow to make the drop. We really needed full-on guns. Rhino chasers. Eric and Bob brought 9-foot guns with them with which they could handle all but the biggest sets. These were the most outrageous, hollow, makeable, grinding tubes that I’d ever seen. It was good for three days in a row, gradually decreasing in size, but not quality, each day. And then it was stormy again. Being totally surfed out we were grateful that it was over and we could rest. It had been a total rush. Unexpected, but perhaps the high point of the whole trip. We know nothing of how this break is during most of the year. We may have caught it with everything together. A surfer could come here and wait months for what we had stumbled on in the purest of luck. Again it was time to go. We packed, leaving things with Bob and Eric that they could use better in their further travels. Soon we were on a paved road again. An endless ribbon stretching north.

Future Shock

The Mexican American border was a rude awakening. The border guards couldn’t believe us. When we told them where we were coming from, they proceeded to dismantle our VW Bug, checking boxes of clothes and food, door panels, first-aid kit, wax pockets on the trunks we wore, under the floor mats, through the ash trays, and finally our bodies. We weren’t sweating it, so it was all kind of amusing. We had gotten used to it through ten to fifteen border crossings. After a while they lost interest and told us we could put it all back together and go.

You never realize how clean the States are unless you’re coming back to them. We stopped at a gas station first thing and took long drinks of water. Next was the strange act of using a bathroom. Everything seemed advanced. Smooth paved roads, traffic lights. Everyone driving like they valued life. But everything faster, faster. Freeways are insane. We flash on a Tastie Freeze. But a money count reveals only 85 cents. Enough for two huge ice cream cones. Unbelievable. That night we were home. Celebrities of a sort. A home-cooked meal. Crisp, cool sheets. I lay back on my bed and tried to remember where my head was at the night before we left for Central America.