Superstorm Riley Day 2: The Unpleasant Side Of Surf-Binging
It ain’t all sunsets and snowflakes!
I was not so excited to hear my 4 AM alarm this morning. Probably because I had been up until 2 AM building yesterday’s dispatch for the site, after getting very little sleep the night before and then surfing for seven hours. Sometimes The Chase catches up with you, and this morning I felt the full effects of my recent surf binge.
So I skipped the early morning session in exchange for some much-needed rest, but when I woke up around 9, my body still felt like shit. I had a sore throat, burning eyes, rashes in all the worst places, and forearms so sore that I could hardly bring a toothbrush to my lips — all in conjunction with the guilt of muting my 4 AM ringer.
But apparently Riley had stuck around for seconds, meaning I had to shake off these ailments and hit the road. An hour later I returned to Newmibia, which, due to a slight change in swell and wind direction, was not quite as good as yesterday. Still incredibly fun by anyone’s standards, but undeniably inferior to Day 1.
As the tide continued to drop, the end section churned out increasingly below sea-level nuggets, the likes of which I found impossible to ride without catching a nose, rail, or appendage on the over-vert wall or excessively flat floor. So while I spent most of my time getting flogged on the knee-deep sand bank, the most talented (and decidedly goofy-footed) surfers got their fill of forehand pits.
And for those of you who have doubted Newmibia’s quality, know that Brett Barley, a wildly talented tube-rider who cut his teeth at Cape Hatteras Lighthouse and attended Skeleton Bay’s premier swell in 2017, got what he’s calling the longest barrel of his life today. Stay tuned for that clip and interview.
But frankly, for your average (and/or natural-footed) tube hunters, Day 2 didn’t quite stack up with yesterday’s sheer makeability. While today’s lines looked insanely perfect, most mortals couldn’t squeeze their way out due to how small and throaty the tubes became. And the wipeouts, despite being in shoulder-high waves, were fucking scary.
For instance, one of New Jersey’s best surfers, Andrew Gesler, was close to calling it quits after a brutal back-slam on the ocean floor. Another lucky fella got a 24 grit face-sanding, free of charge. And at dead low, I watched two poor schmucks get (multiple) fin boxes ripped out of their boards in a matter of five minutes. It was that heavy, and that shallow.
Too impatient to wait for the tide switch, I left Newmibia around 3 PM with hopes of catching an evening tube in NY. Instead, thanks to a confusing cone system and a cop intent on flaunting his small-town dicktatorship, my gal and I got pulled over, resulting not in a ticket but in a severe time-kill, which rendered my surf ambitions futile. The setting sun waits for no man.
So I’ll be on it early mañana, this time in New York, suckling Riley’s teat for some more of his/her/its sweet, sweet nectar.
And keep in mind, this swell is meant to stick around until like… Friday. Meaning that I, and every other surfer across the eastern seaboard, might actually die of exhaustion.
Or sore forearms.
My forearms are so sore.
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