Got those Dues-Paying, Wind-Spanked,Tail-Walking BluuueYeeehahs .. (Part 1)

Two guys drove up to a beach to go windsurfing … one (Lenny) with a broken rib and broken toe from a recent bike accident,

Uh oh. When did you say the last time you did this was?
Maybe tomorrow will be a little easier on the boken bones.

and the other (me) with just 8 weeks removed from having my gallbladder surgically separated from my liver and my stomach (or something like that). And both of the "eejuts" with 6 months of rust on their windsurfing skills … what were they thinking? 

They were hoping for a nice semi-easy  16-20 knot day that's what. 

Windy enough for normal people to say, "whoa, it's kinda windy out … but generally considered "nice" and not "too" windy for a pair of guys getting back onto the water after a long stint on the injured reserves (IR) list.   

But it got windier and "windierer" with every minute of prep and drive time.

We arrived the rain still spitting out the remains of a 24-hour storm, and a NW gale blowing sand across the road in a constant and visible 4-foot high mini sandstorm. 

CIB -- responsible for more
broken noses, ribs.
Chas -- when he doesn't quite get it right

Now for non-windsurfers, when you are sailing, you want to be traveling at near the  speed of the wind (or faster if the wind is light) so the pull on the sail does not yank you over the handlebars … actually it can be more like being tossed around by … **insert name of largest WWF wrestler you've seen** (you know that big bald guy squeezed into that tight spandex singlet), well anyway you get the idea. 

I was not allowed contact sports for 4-6 weeks, and windsurfing in that kind of wind turns into a contact sport pretty quickly most times. Especially at CIB for some reason. I've witnessed more "yard sales" leading to broken ribs and broken noses and gashed faces that anywhere else around here. 

So, confession time: we bailed on CIB on Saturday afternoon. (Pete Roesch already stopped reading, muttering "sissies" I can tell for here.

Yep, tail-between-the-legs, 180 degrees retreat.  

We were facing superior firepower, but the forecast, if we were patient and prepared to gamble a bit on the skills of the meteorologists (the amount of times they get it wrong I figure they must major in meteor predictions and minor in weather forecasting) the outlook was for something a little nicer on Sunday. 

Chas -- when he gets CIB right. Photo courtesy Domer.

Makes sense to normal people, but not to windsurfers. This was an out and out gamble. Sunday we could wake up to what Charlie Boling calls the dreaded "bluebird" — sunny, bright blue sky and a light breeze, barely enough to ruffle said bird's feathers. 

So this was something of a first for us, going there, finding wind (too much of it for our pathetic arises) and high-tailing it out.

The plan was hatched. Tomorrow 630 call / 7 am on the water.

I set the alarm for 545 … 15 minutes to wake, 15 to make coffee, 7 to get the wetsuit on in the house gather the , and 37 minutes to get there.

The question was, "would it still be windy … enough?"

Go to: Part II