Dream

I’m stuck at a roadblock by a bridge, somewhere on the R72 north of Port Alfred. The black tar road stretches far out in front and behind me, inked onto the landscape and nestled in behind the grass backed dunes that give way to endless beach and the cool relief of the ocean; marble top sheen in the shimmering midday heat, says Travelling Tim

I’ve been driving for hours, leaving Durban at dawn and watching the sun slowly climb the cloudless blue sky until it rests overhead now, scorching the new tar road and filling the fresh sea air with its acrid smell. I roll up the window against the noise of the drills and turn on the air conditioning.  It’s holiday season and the road is packed with cars from all over, identities given away by number plates and hire car tags. Children peer through rear windows, their small faces clutching for space amongst the cram-packed cabins, longing for the freedom of the beach and desperate to reach their destination. Tired looking drivers throw angry glances as impassive road workers look on, resting idly on their shovels in the burning heat. Passengers slump in sleep, faces pressed against the windows and gone to the world. It seems we won’t be moving soon.

Resting my head against the window I follow the line of the small river as it threads it’s way under the bridge, across the sand and into the sea where it will dump its sediment and form a perfect sandbank. As I look on a small set rolls through, no more than a foot or two, but perfect, empty and infinitely enticing as several oily, ruler straight walls unfurl for 100 meters or so, every one as perfect as its predecessor in a flawless display of symmetry. In my mind I am paddling, gliding and floating along the faces, cross-stepping and nose-riding through long lazy arcs until the setting sun calls time and all that’s left are memories of a session that was mine alone. My breathing slows, my heartbeat settles, the noise of the drills fades and the stresses of a long, hot drive ebb away as each passing set pulls me deeper into a dreamy haze. I am gone.

The immediate sound of horns wakes me and I stiffen in my seat. The road ahead is clear and I squint briefly against the glare of the bright green lights as I fall back into reality. The workers look on blankly. The driver behind gestures rudely for me to move, I resist the urge to return the favour and pull away slowly, pondering for an instant if I shouldn’t instead give him a board from the back of my pick up and a couple of pointers on how to use it, maybe then he’d be more understanding. As I drive on, I think about how much of an impact surfing has on your life and what a positive dimension it can bring. I wander how much I missed out on before I rode my first wave all those years ago, and what I’d be like now if I’d never dared try. 

Surfing is not an exclusive sport, it’s accessible on so many levels and the rewards are there for all to take. It doesn’t matter how good you are, it doesn’t matter if you’re standing, kneeling or lying, it just matters that you’re in the water and enjoying yourself. Surfing is free and surfing is fun; there aren’t many pleasures like that anymore. 

So come surf.