The October Dilemma
During morning surfing session, I normally wore a watch under the arm of my wetsuit. The watch was an inexpensive digital with a programmable alarm. I set the alarm for 6:48 in the morning. The alarm was to notify me that I had to be out of the water in ten minutes. Of course, it can be difficult to hear an alarm when the watch is underwater and insulated by three millimeters of neoprene rubber.
Brett hated my watch. He also wore a digital watch. However, his was a large, masculine looking device with a double Velcro clasp. He must have paid over ten dollars for the thing, which was what separated it from mine. My watch was free. I have no memory of how I acquired it. In fact, it's very likely that the watch belonged to my wife, though she has no recollection of where it may have come from. The watch is small and cheap, made for either a woman or a child. It barely fits around my wrist, feeling tight even when I clasp it in the first hole on the plastic watchband. I would have lost the watch long ago had it not been for long sleeved wetsuit arms to cover it. When the temperature allows shorts, I usually put the watch in the Velcro pocket of the shorts, or leave it on shore and rely on Brett's timepiece.
With the arrival of October, a race against time began.
In order to get to work by the start time of 8 a.m., I left the water at 7.
I walked up the shoreline and across the sand. I climbed the stairs, and crossed the sidewalk to the street. There I waited for the green light, or a wide break in traffic to safely allow jaywalking. I crossed the street, and walked a block north to intersection where I parked.
I unzipped my wetsuit, and peeled the rubber away from my arms and torso to rescue the key from the suit's key pocket. Unlocking the truck, I retrieved a three gallon drinking water jug from inside. This three gallon jug of water was filled with tap water from the hose in my backyard, and served as my daily shower. I dumped the jug over my head, rinsing out my hair and my wetsuit. I rinsed the sand from my feet, washed the salt water off the surfboard, and filled my drinking water glass with the last bit of the three gallons.
My work clothes - a dress short, slacks and belt - were hung on a single hanger which was behind the passenger seat of the truck. Using a towel around my waist as cover, I peeled the wetsuit from my legs and put the pants on. The wetsuit was a inside out in a pile on the ground. I straightened the suit, tugged the arms and legs to leave it right side out, zipped up the zipper and closed the Velcro seams. I then put on my work shirt and belt. In the truck were a bottle of hair gel and a brush, which I used aided by my reflection in the truck's rear view mirror.
Still not wearing shoes (as my feet remained wet and tacky from the water), I walked to the driver's side door of the truck, got in, and drove off. It was 7:20.
The drive from 17th street in Huntington Beach to my office building in Irvine took between 30 and 35 minutes. If I arrived at 7:50, I would pull up behind the building, park temporarily and run the surfboard up the service elevator to avoid carrying it across the public entryway drive. However, most days I arrived after 7:50, and drove directly to the parking garage.
In the parking garage, I put on my socks and shoes, and removed the surfboard from the truck bed, where it had been protected from dents by elastic cords and a beach towel. I laid the beach towel out on the parking garage floor and laid the wetsuit on top of it. I folded the sides of the beach towel over the top of the wetsuit, and rolled the two up together into a burrito which I placed in the back of the truck. The wetsuit would transfer most of it's water to the towel over the course of the day. Later that evening, I would hang both wetsuit and towel to dry overnight.
Carrying a surfboard and a sack lunch, I walked across the plaza and into the office building, arriving at the second floor at 8 o'clock in the a.m.
Sunrise on October 1 occurred at 6:47.
At twenty five to thirty minutes before sunrise, twilight begins. The exact time of twilight varies slightly depending on cloud cover.
During October there was a rapid latening of the sunrise time. In the beginning of October, sunrise occurred at 6:47, but by the 10th of the month, sunrise happed at 6:53. By the end of October, sunrise would be at 7:11, leaving me less than a half an hour of twilight for surfing.
On October 10th, I decided that if the streak were to have any chance of continuing through October, I needed to buy time. I moved my day to day location to the north most river jetty at 56th street in Newport Beach. The move cut ten minutes from my drive time, which would allow me to stay in the water as late as 7:15 and still be at work on time.
More Later
-Travis
copyright 2004 Travis R. English
Brett hated my watch. He also wore a digital watch. However, his was a large, masculine looking device with a double Velcro clasp. He must have paid over ten dollars for the thing, which was what separated it from mine. My watch was free. I have no memory of how I acquired it. In fact, it's very likely that the watch belonged to my wife, though she has no recollection of where it may have come from. The watch is small and cheap, made for either a woman or a child. It barely fits around my wrist, feeling tight even when I clasp it in the first hole on the plastic watchband. I would have lost the watch long ago had it not been for long sleeved wetsuit arms to cover it. When the temperature allows shorts, I usually put the watch in the Velcro pocket of the shorts, or leave it on shore and rely on Brett's timepiece.
With the arrival of October, a race against time began.
In order to get to work by the start time of 8 a.m., I left the water at 7.
I walked up the shoreline and across the sand. I climbed the stairs, and crossed the sidewalk to the street. There I waited for the green light, or a wide break in traffic to safely allow jaywalking. I crossed the street, and walked a block north to intersection where I parked.
I unzipped my wetsuit, and peeled the rubber away from my arms and torso to rescue the key from the suit's key pocket. Unlocking the truck, I retrieved a three gallon drinking water jug from inside. This three gallon jug of water was filled with tap water from the hose in my backyard, and served as my daily shower. I dumped the jug over my head, rinsing out my hair and my wetsuit. I rinsed the sand from my feet, washed the salt water off the surfboard, and filled my drinking water glass with the last bit of the three gallons.
My work clothes - a dress short, slacks and belt - were hung on a single hanger which was behind the passenger seat of the truck. Using a towel around my waist as cover, I peeled the wetsuit from my legs and put the pants on. The wetsuit was a inside out in a pile on the ground. I straightened the suit, tugged the arms and legs to leave it right side out, zipped up the zipper and closed the Velcro seams. I then put on my work shirt and belt. In the truck were a bottle of hair gel and a brush, which I used aided by my reflection in the truck's rear view mirror.
Still not wearing shoes (as my feet remained wet and tacky from the water), I walked to the driver's side door of the truck, got in, and drove off. It was 7:20.
The drive from 17th street in Huntington Beach to my office building in Irvine took between 30 and 35 minutes. If I arrived at 7:50, I would pull up behind the building, park temporarily and run the surfboard up the service elevator to avoid carrying it across the public entryway drive. However, most days I arrived after 7:50, and drove directly to the parking garage.
In the parking garage, I put on my socks and shoes, and removed the surfboard from the truck bed, where it had been protected from dents by elastic cords and a beach towel. I laid the beach towel out on the parking garage floor and laid the wetsuit on top of it. I folded the sides of the beach towel over the top of the wetsuit, and rolled the two up together into a burrito which I placed in the back of the truck. The wetsuit would transfer most of it's water to the towel over the course of the day. Later that evening, I would hang both wetsuit and towel to dry overnight.
Carrying a surfboard and a sack lunch, I walked across the plaza and into the office building, arriving at the second floor at 8 o'clock in the a.m.
Sunrise on October 1 occurred at 6:47.
At twenty five to thirty minutes before sunrise, twilight begins. The exact time of twilight varies slightly depending on cloud cover.
During October there was a rapid latening of the sunrise time. In the beginning of October, sunrise occurred at 6:47, but by the 10th of the month, sunrise happed at 6:53. By the end of October, sunrise would be at 7:11, leaving me less than a half an hour of twilight for surfing.
On October 10th, I decided that if the streak were to have any chance of continuing through October, I needed to buy time. I moved my day to day location to the north most river jetty at 56th street in Newport Beach. The move cut ten minutes from my drive time, which would allow me to stay in the water as late as 7:15 and still be at work on time.
More Later
-Travis
copyright 2004 Travis R. English
posted by travinator @ 1:03 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home