Ready... Set... WHERE'S THE SURF?

This homeless dude with an heirloom tomato nose approached as we struggled into our wetsuits.

"You're surfing?" he inquired, his breath smelling vintage 3am. "Ain't it cold?"

Yes, we answered.

He looked over the cliff, down to where we were planning to do our thing. It was so well-protected from the storm surf that it was hardly working. A longboarder bunny-hopped along, trying to milk some momentum from a slow-roller.

"Not much going on down there," he said. "Ever heard of Sandy Beach in Hawaii? I used to body surf that place a long time ago." The odor was really bad -- the kind of sour twang that reminded you of long-forgotten pickle jars. "I seen a lot of guys get hurt there."

We nodded.

"Well, have fun and don't freeze!" he said. "It's like you get all suited up, climb down, get in the water, and just sit out there. It's like: Ready... Set... WHERE'S THE SURF?"

Then, right on queue, he spun around and hopped onto a city bus that had just rolled into the parking lot.

True story.

Note: We actually DID surf, and had a decent time. Pictures are all of the spots that we didn't tempt fate at on Sunday... The second to the last one reminds me of Sasquatch.