John John florence, stale oop at Santosha, France
When the wind blows and the monster autumn and winter swells hammer the living shit out of Hossegor, all bikes and baby Citroens/Renaults/Peugeots roll onto this protected beach in the lee of Capbreton, slightly north of the old World War II bunkers at La Piste. It ain’t a pinch on La Grav or Les Cul […]
When the wind blows and the monster autumn and winter swells hammer the living shit out of Hossegor, all bikes and baby Citroens/Renaults/Peugeots roll onto this protected beach in the lee of Capbreton, slightly north of the old World War II bunkers at La Piste. It ain’t a pinch on La Grav or Les Cul Nuls or anywhere else northward, but when it’s all y’got, it’s all y’got. An imperfect righthand wedge, often stupidly shallow, but with sand pleasingly unpacked and soft.
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