I hear a wave crash in the distance. The rumbling echoes over the land, inviting my soul. It is time to go surfing. It is a place where we live out our dreams of the future and remember dear friends we have lost. As I power-ride across town, the frigid air bites at my skin sending chills down my spine.
Random locals wave and beep their horns.
I approach West Cliff and my heart races as I see the lines of swells rolling in to Cowell's Beach. The breeze whispers offshore and the low tide is rising. Perfect waves peel through Indicators and barrel in front of the landmark surf statue. The waves are pumping . I toss my bike at the Lane stairs and sprint out to the point.