Saturday, I ride my bike and think about if I am really ready to pull out the boards drag them down to a lake and try windsurfing again.  I get back to my monster hill around noon it is over 90^o and I am thinking about calling Cheryl to come down the hill with the bike rack and pick me up.   I decide that windsurfing on a nice cool lake sounds like a much better form of entertainment then peddling my big fat behind up this hill.

Sunday,  I am worried that I won't remember how to setup my rig so I convince my son to help me drag it out and rig it up on the front lawn. Since I live up on the side of a mountain I'm sure my neighbors think I'm nuts.  I pull off the skeg and the center board so I can lay it down on my browning grass.  It takes me an hour to separate what goes with what board and then I spend another twenty minutes looking perplexed at the parts trying to figure out what goes where.  I hope my sailing is better than my rigging.  I setup the rig a couple of times wrong, until finally, it is not quite right, but it will work.  We discover that even set at the lowest setting the rig is too tall for Matthew so he might be able to lay on the board but I can't let him sail.   This is probably a good thing since Deer Creek Reservoir has over twenty five thousand acres of surface area so if he gets blown out it would be a long walk back around to the car.

Monday, No wind and my boss has approved a couple of days off. Life is good and looking better.

Tuesday, the wind is blowing steady at 23 mph and gusting to 30 mph.  Work sucks!

Wednesday, No wind, tomorrow starts a four day weekend.  Rode my bike to work so I'll be able to sneak some cookies out of the cookie jar without feeling too guilty,  Life is good.

Thursday morning. I get up and decide to go with Matthew for an early morning bike ride before it gets too hot. It is windy when we start off which makes me smile ,of course riding into the the wind is pretty hard work so we hope that the wind will die down until this afternoon.  Matthew wants to take a bunch of breaks which is fine with me, but the wind has died down to nothing and at 92^o it is too hot and muggy to stand still but still too hot to ride.    We are glad to get up the hill which we have both decided is great for the view but not much fun to look at after an hour of bike riding.

I haven't surfed in almost fifteen years and the wind is blowing at only about 10 mph so the semi-sinker will have to stay in the garage, it is time for the long board.  Fifteen years ago I was mean, lean, and kind of stupid. I would get up in the morning ride my bike along the Los Angeles river until the wind kicked up and then load my boards on top of my wife's 240Z sports car and head out to go windsurfing off Hurricane Gulch in San Pedro, California.  Today I'm not lean, mellow like a big old teddy bear, but still kind of stupid.  I'm loading up "the old man" board on the top of my wife's Buick Rendezvous.  Getting old is better than the alternative, but it is still a bitch.

It is hot, especially after hoisting my gear up onto the roof rack and it is going to get hotter. The weather report says it will be 103^o (that is just about 40^o Celsius for my European friends.) it is 97^o now.  Fahrenheit or Celsius either way it is going to be hot.   Since I haven't done this in a while, I am sure I will spend lots of time in the water, which I am told will be quite a bit cooler.  I get to the Deer Creek State Park, pull into the Main Park area and ask, "Can I launch my windsurfer from here?"   The park ranger takes one look at me and then looks at the board and suppressing a smile says, "Your going to carry that to the water?   It is a really long walk."  I assume she is worried that she might  have to leave her air conditioned booth and give me CPR when I pass out.  I must look worst than I feel.  She tells me that I should try Rainbow Bay or Island Marina, basically any place else in the park, where someone else would have to revive me.   

I thank her and drive down to Rainbow bay.  The booth there is not manned so I have to put nine dollars into an envelope, which of course I don't have, so I put in a ten dollar bill.   I have to pay extra because they don't have someone on duty.   I drive along looking for a spot close to the water and finally stop at the very last picnic table.  It looks out over the beach, which is about 300 yards away, it is a nice view because of the sharp drop off.     I can't figure out how to carry the sail, mast, and board down the cliff.  I finally get the bright idea of laying the them down on the side of the cliff.  It works great with the mast, but the windsurfer travels down the cliff like a run away train. Scraping its way to a stop a hundred yards from the cliff face. I put all of my other stuff in the car, wallet, Camelbak pack, camera, and keys, except for the car key which I safety pin inside the pocket of my shorts.   I climb down to my board thinking, "How the heck am I ever going to get this stuff back up to the car?"

The "Beach" is a jumble of sharp granite rocks.  I'm wearing sandals which don't give me very good footing as I carry all of the junk down to the water.   It takes me about twenty minutes to rig everything up, even though I practiced on my front lawn, I am not sure I have it right.   I put on my white surf shoes which after sitting in storage for 15 years are not holding together all that well.  They rip a bit as I pull them on.    I need them anyway since Deer Creek must have been a quarry before it was a reservoir.  This is not the sandy beaches of Southern California.  The waves bang the board against my legs as I push it out far enough not to bury the skeg in the rocks.  I pull myself onto the board like "Shamu"  but by the time I stand up, the waves have pushed me back to shore and I hear the "crunch" of my skeg as it buries itself into the rocks.

I get off, pull everything out far enough that I should be safe from the rocks then "Shamu" my way back up on the board.  The sail is floating just a few inches under the water.  Water weighs 8.33 lbs per gallon the sail weighs about 15 lbs dry but is holding about 10 gallons of water so I try and pull up about 100 pounds.  I have developed a bad back over the years and the first time I pull the sail up I realize that this might not be a good idea.  I of course drop the sail and it launches me like a rock from a slingshot, "catapult" for my British friends.   I swim back to the board and pull up the sail and launch myself into the lake a few more times.  I'm getting kind of winded but I continue to try.  I finally get up on the board and I am sailing.  My expensive wedding ring is getting loose for some reason which makes me nervous.   I readjust the ring which throws me off balance and I am again launched into the water.   The wind is now blowing at 28 mph and the waves are rolling over the board.  I pull myself exhausted, dejected back on to the board.  The wind continues to push me North.  I am in the middle of the lake and have a high-speed motorboat hurling down at me.  I don't stand up because, I'm tired, but more importantly I don't want to confuse the guy.   I keep watching him only to realize that he is looking back at the water-skier so might not see me.   At the last minute, either to scare me or because it is normal for him to go 35 mph while looking to the rear, he finally turns just east of me.  

I wait for his wake to die down and then stand up and try and pull the 100 lbs of water filled sail up again.  For some reason a sail will always fall to the upwind side of the board.  That means that when you pull the sail up partly out of the water the wind will grab it and try and spin it around to the other side.   Since part of the sail is still in the water this also gives you a pretty good forward push.  This means that when you get pulled off the board you get extra distance.  No points for extra distance and by the time you swim back to the board  the sail will have acted as a sea anchor and the board will be on the wrong side again.   I do this a couple of hundred times until I am so tired that I am ready to call it a day. 

I decide to head back towards the car but since my right arm is stronger than my left and my wedding ring keeps spinning around so I can not get a good grip on the boom I am having an even harder time sailing southeast.    I fall more often and the wind always lines the board up facing Northwest or away from the car.  With me sitting on the board the wind pushes me Northeast which is also away from the car but at least toward the correct shore.

I sail on for another hour or so, losing ground and never really gaining any back.  Even when I am sailing south I never really get far enough to make a run to the car.    

I finally decide it is time to give up and "de-mast"   That this is not the first time I have had to de-mast my windsurfer is not lost on me.  I have memories of Hurricane Gulch and large cargo ships floating in my head as I float around the sail disconnecting ropes and clips from the sail, boom, and board.   I roll it all up, as much as you can roll up a water filled six meter sail while treading water in the middle of a lake.  

I start to paddle using a butterfly stroke which quickly degenerate into a half hearted doggy paddle.   The boats around either don't notice me or hope I drown coming just close enough so their wakes wash over me, but not close enough so I can ask for a tow.    I come to shore 45 minutes later, but I am about a mile and half away from my car.  I get off the board and step on the sharp rocks,  I have lost my surf shoes, one is floating somewhere in the middle of the lake and the other shoved up in my mast pad.   I cut open my leg and feel like Tom Hanks in the movie, "Castaway".   The fat Tom Hanks, not the svelte Tom Hanks after he discovers fire and how to fish with a spear.   I am being banged about on the shore which is covered with sharp rocks on one side and is 10 feet deep on the other side of the board.   I hoist myself back up on the board and continue to paddle North.   One hour later I decide that since I am going downwind and no longer believe that there is anyway to get back to the shore where my sail bag, extra rope and sandals are, I should have just sailed down wind to the Island Marina launch site.  

I then decide to re-rig my board which in a 30 mph plus wind, while treading water is even harder than de-rigging it.   I get it kind of right, hoist "Shamu" like back on the board and pull the 100 lbs sail back up out of the water.  It slingshots me back into the water and we repeat the process a couple more times.   You don't get better at windsurfing when your tired.   I do get the the sail up and the board moving but for some reason now I am traveling Southwest, since the new beach I am trying for is Northeast this is not good but I am standing out of the water and I'm making really good time albeit in the wrong direction.   I try and tack into the wind grabbing the mast and flipping the sail, of course if you think that worked you haven't really been reading this story have you. I get the sail flipped  but as the wind refills the sail my rigging job comes apart.   The metal clip that holds the sail to the boom "zings" off and lands an amazing 100 yards down wind, disappearing into the waves.    I am left standing on the board with everything starting to fall away into the water, the ropes, boom, sail, and finally me.

I am in the water missing a few key parts to my rig, but I figure if Tom Hanks can sail back from a pacific island on a raft with a PortaPotty sail, I could make it half a mile with a slightly disabled twenty year old windsurfer.   I re-rig the sail the best I can and sail it downwind toward the shore.  I am, of course, tossed back into the water a couple of dozen times but I am closer.  In the end I leave the sail rigged hanging off the side of the board, close my eyes and scissor kick the whole mess the last 1000 yards to shore.

I land ashore, pull the board and sail up enough so they won't get washed back out into the water.  Now you would think my ordeal would be over but, I have my board, luckily my wedding ring, and the key to my wife's car pinned to my shorts, but nothing else.  I walk along the beach, made up of sharp hot rocks, in my bare feet  only to come to hot asphalt.  I can actually hear my feet "sizzle' as they stick to the soft melting asphalt.   I get to the shaded deck of the Island Marina restaurant which has a sign "No shoes no service"   I'm not too bother by that since my wallet, cell phone, water, and just about everything else is three miles down the road safely locked in my wife's car.   I also discover or maybe after this story confirm that I am a moron, I realize that I do not know my own phone number.   In my (feeble) defense I don't call myself very often, the number is programmed into my address book on all of my computers, PDA, office and cell phone so I never dial the number.  My six year old daughter also knows it so if I had my cell phone or six year old daughter I would be able to find it out.   I wait around for awhile to see if I can bum a ride from someone but no one is leaving.   I hobble over on my bleeding, burned feet to the ranger shack.  I scare the heck out of the very young ranger manning the booth by knocking on the window.   She looks at me and I assume worries what the heck a damp, overweight, barefooted, sunburned, almost 50 year old wants from her.  I ask if the rangers make rounds and explain just enough of my predicament to elicit sympathy but not so much as to make her wonder about my sanity.  A very fine line by the way.

She checks with someone over the phone and I'm told the ranger is busy.  She also can not call a taxi, I'm not sure why, but I assume it is because she doesn't know the number.  I can't really blame her there.  I decide that since I can not walk three miles on hot asphalt and then a quarter of mile over gravel that my best chance is to do nothing.   She shrugs at me and tries to go back to work.   I resolve to look pitiful, which isn't all that hard, and wait her out.  I assume that sooner or later someone has to go check the other picnic area, if not why the heck did I put $10 in the envelope?   It takes a lot less time than I thought, either because she is nicer than I could have hoped for or I looked much more pitiful than I thought.   

She locked up her booth and offered to drive me over to "Rainbow Bay".   When we get past the other unmanned booth I am even happier since the rocks look much sharper than I remember.  She lets me out near Cheryl's car and I ask her to wait.  I only have twenty's, a five and a couple of ones in my wallet, twenty seems too high and two buck seems too low so I hand her the five and ask that when she speaks of me to her friends that she speaks of me kindly.  

I still have a 300 yards walk across the razor rocked beach, after climbing down the cliff.  The climb turns out to be painful but easy, since I do it on my butt.  The walk barefoot across the rocks is not easy and especially painful.  I try stepping on the flatter smooth rocks but they are "HOT." They also slide and one time I tossed forward with enough momentum that I keep going cutting up my feet on the smaller sharp stones.   I come to rest 20 feet from my sandals, but it takes me ten minutes to finally get to them.  The walk back is much less painful but not what you would call pleasant.    I open the car, drink two liters of water and then drive back to Island Marina.  I wave as I pass my friendly park ranger and drive over to the boat launching ramp.  My board is another 1000 yards down the beach and it takes me four trips to carry everything back.   One hour later I have it all loaded and I get a call from Cheryl, "Telling me that she was getting worried,  They have closed part of Interstate 15 due to high winds so today might not be a good day to try and windsurf after a 15 year break.

I tell her that I am fine and that I am on my way home.  I pull the car into the garage, leaving the windsurfer on the rack. I hobble upstairs and peel my sandals off.  I ask Cheryl to take a look at my feet and her comment, "Oh my God" tells the whole story.      We have a 24 oz bottle of "Aloe Vera" gel which is good on burns so I slather it on my red, blistered, cut  feet.  As I rub it in some small embedded rocks come loose.  I apply it four times and since I no longer find bits of rocks coming loose the last time I figure I'm done for the night.  I put on one more coat and then a pair of socks just before I pass out on the bed.

I'm thinking of selling the windsurfer.