Big Wednesday drunkards 
The question going on in my skull for a while '.
"In between, there are sharks
in Santa Cruz?"
Francis: 'Well, yes. However, the latest attack goes back to a decade ago "
Excellent. I have no idea what that means, but good. Did the Californian surfers are not the tastiest as it once was. Or maybe that sharks feel competition from lawyers and bankers prefer to hold a line absent.
Francis: "In the case, a good punch on the nose
"
Now I feel more comfortable.
The six years of boxing I will be served at least something. If I find myself face to face with a shark, column left, right hook. Then comes the referee to count and you're done. Even my traveling companions, now that I'm aware of, feel more relaxed. In fact, ask politely if possible, in the case, run aground on the beach and build tracks for the balls or engage, as a last resort, the game of tennis.
Shark or not, will never give up
occasion of surfing in California . At least once in my life. And the clear day, with its 28 degrees, is none other than the seal Pope's final. A Nov. 3 that I do not forget easily. Zurich and its polar climate are reminiscent blown away by the ocean breeze.
Di Francesco I think this thing I speak at least a year.
"When you come visit me in the U.S., I bring you to surf
. The promise was kept. Thus, at 4 pm, we are all in the car in the direction of Santa Cruz as leader, I on the side and behind L, S and D. Usually I never use the names of those who appear in my posts, but in this I express the eternal gratitude to Frank for the realization of a dream that I carry around since I saw for the first time
Big Wednesday .
to board California girls. Traffic
strong but smooth. We are all excited
. Francis, after learning of my limbs by professional killer, played another card. That wave. Six feet tall. And while D, behind, it becomes increasingly pale cerulean, mozzarella with a hair to the Renegade, I'm impipo, because my brain can not grasp the concept. And then, what do you want to be two meters in the air for someone who has survived ten editions of Big Brother
?
continue on the road between curves and parabolic curves . The tall milk Blockbuster, a version of our cappuccino strip stars specifically created to subjugate dilated stomachs of Americans, runs frantically in my duodenum and for some moments I felt that I had turned into something of aircraft, impalpable. Type a fart, but with more teeth. Francis, who after all is a good soul, he decided to relieve the kamikaze mission by giving a quick lesson
basics to learn before entering the water table. I pretend to pay attention and in the meantime I guess while I ride the wave and
three Playboy bunnies, there, on the beach, going crazy for my tricks and my sculpted biceps lifting and lowering for entire nights glasses of cuba libre . I must remember call the old Hugh before returning to Italy. Maybe he needs a hand. L, however, play casually with your cell phone while S, which claims to know Italian, shows no sign of assent with his head even though I strongly doubt that he does not understand anything.
D is the only one who seems really interested in the lesson . An interest in terror, so much so that few minutes later, possessed by the spirit of Furio Bianco, Rosso e Verdone, asks in turn: water temperature, wind speed and direction, moisture content, specific gravity of the table and a bitter Lucan. If I remember correctly. On arrival, we are looking for a place that rents equipment necessary.
The guy in the shop, baseball cap on his head and dazed expression by salt and too many years passed before a mirror to squeeze the pimples,
none of it to rent the tables . The waves are too high for a beginner. D while passed out. Francis explains that there is nothing to fear because, if Michael Phelps
can continue to break one record after another, it is only thanks to the fact that I, humble guy and noble mind, I prefer to stay behind the scenes and let him. So if things go wrong, I am their
Mitch Buchannon. The guy glances at me. Maybe not if drink it. The guy says occhei occhei. Maybe if you drink. Ten minutes later we're at the beach. I must admit I put my suit was not easy, and the matter was complicated further by the fact that the first time I am putting the upside, a clear sign of early dementia. Before entering the water, we lie on the tables and try to jump on maintaining the equilibrium position. Attempts are very compassionate and seen from afar, seem
four beached seals. And those who see spinning on our noses, yes, your balls are. 'Nuff said, it's time to take action. Know that when you say the ocean water is cold, they lie. Indeed, it is frozen and my feet instantly undergo a process of cryogenics
, becoming two plaques that hang from the inert legs. The beginner surf is just waiting spasmodic wave, a pagaita continues with weak arms and even the physical well-trained enough because forget to ride the wave. To tell the truth, and do not ask how she did it, I've got done. I managed to win the coveted position
and I was relieved to heaven . I had already pointed the finger pattern Judgement. An incredible feeling. I remember thinking, "What figat ...", but I could not even to complete the thought - a real shame, I'm sure, for the elite intellectual world - that the wall of water, an unstoppable avalanche, I slammed down
centrifuged at thirty degrees, and for four or five seconds I was the mercy of this incredible force of nature, incapable of discernment, to recognize right from left, from below and above the PD from the PDL. In short, the perfect tronista.
The day ended later in the most dignified, or four beers before
, the distant roar of the waves, ideal foundation for a twilight melancholy that has that taste of something that is over and that, alas, will never return more, because yes, I already said Heraclitus, everything inevitably flows. As our lives. Thanks for Francesco, 34 years, and I write without rhetoric,
I realized again what it means to be a child - that's why my penis out of the water was so tiny ... Good week to all!
