the Occasional Faceplant

So, Trish opened the Facebook the other evening. I was sitting kind of caddy-cornered, probably about “Jeopardy” (dvr’d) time (so, some time after 8pm), and Trish lets out one of those “Eeeee-ahhh-yuck” kind of not-really-quite-a-scream, twists the laptop around on the TV table, asks, “Do you know this guy?”


“Where’d it come from?”

“Stephen Davis sent it. He says it’s someone… Wade. You know a Wade?”

“Wade. Yeah. He used to live in Port Townsend; another kite surfer; moved to Puerto Rico.”

Evidently Wade was surfing, out alone, and… well; faceplant.

So, I wrote Stephen, still on the Big Island, still hasn’t sent me a photo of his surf-set-up bike…

Beat down
this just points out what a pussy I was with my minor head hit.
I would love to put the photo on my site.
I do remember Wade didn’t want the (great)
photo of him kite surfing posted.
But, whoaaaa; ouch.
Trish was going through the hotmail,
found this really big photo closeup.
“Do you know this guy?”  I checked out the photo; hairline.
“Um, yeah; Wade; he’s in Puerto Rico… guess he has power.”
“They have big waves there?”
Talk to you soon. Send bike photo. Get waves. DOn’t face plant. Erwin
WAIT, There’s More: Since Wade will be upset anyway, even though Stephen says, “It was on Facebook; it’s out there.” Okay, so now here is the photo of Wade and the piece that went with it. Good luck Wade.
Ceremonies of the Horsemen

The story is, Stephen Davis was working for me twenty five miles away from the secret surf spot north of Port Townsend when he got a call from Wade, telling him the winds were perfect on the Straits. It was already past seven, with little or no wind on the finger of Puget Sound where we were painting. “Take off,” I must have said; and he did; arriving very close to sundown, doing all the arranging of kite and lines and wetsuits. Wade was already in the midst of what turned out to be a bit of a mystical experience. He had kite-surfed close to a pod of Orcas beyond the surfline, this observed by a group of people holding a Straits-side memorial for a recently departed 94 year old woman. And a sunset that was particularly special. Though Stephen didn’t see the pod of whales, he was, coming in by the light from vehicles and the one light in the parking lot, wrapping up the lines and organizing the gear, surprised when a woman from the memorial party thanked him for gliding, flying across the waves… as if he, Wade, the whales, the sunset, were all part of the ceremony. Who’s to say? And that added to the magic for Steve.

Please forgive the redundancies. Wade, please forgive the publicity. Russian hackers and American conspirators (just in case you care about surf-centric sites; fuck you.

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