Roadside disasters and mechanical malfunctions are part of the lore of surfing. We all have a tale or three about surfaris gone wrong. It's strange how the distance of time make them more tolerable, funny even.
On Friday morning my deadly treadly bicycle decided to eat some broken glass resulting in a flat tyre in the middle of nowhere and the only prep I had was a mobile phone. So I ring home and get the boring sound of my own voice on a machine telling me that I can't get to the phone right now, while Ms Brine, obviously smarter than I, was sleeping in. Start walking and jogging while the summer sun beat down on my sweatiness. A tiny patch of rubber and I'm rolling again. And I'm taking the repair kit/pump now.
Photo: Hughie Winter 1972
I got up at 300am on Saturday to be the passenger on a weekend surfari to wet the fin(s) and witness mates H and Vita getting married. Before we were out of Brineville, the car was making malevolent sounds like a demon had possessed the engine. Needless to say we missed the surf and our mate's wedding. (Sorry H, you can drop in on Dean next time you see him on a wave!)
So yesterday I gave a stranger a $1000 to make sure our one and only surf wagon doesn't break down. Who knows what they did under that bonnet? About all I can manage is putting in the petrol and that radiator green stuff that used to be water (and free). At least the surf is still rolling in.
(* "Talking to a Stranger" was one of the first singles by Aussie band Hunters and Collectors and featured a bizarre film clip and a vast array of percussion instruments)