Urban Legend

PitBoss for local shredder, climber, surf instructor, paramedic, public intellectual, and twelve-pack ab muscle enthusiast, Urban.

Urban's glassing order card said, "Earth tones. Glasser's choice," and this is what the fine folks at Almar Surf Works came up with.
Urban picked up a new board and declared his love to a long-time lady friend around the same time. It was a big week for the guy.

The PitBoss is not meant for small waves.
Or medium waves, really.
Any surfboard with more than one leash plug should give one pause.

This one's seven feet long, and features all the goods that one needs for Waves of Increased Consequence on the Northcoast: a little extra foam under the chest for our ridiculous paddle-outs when there's a jump in the buoys. Foam forward also gives the board a nice momentum when driving down the line--almost a 'pulling' feeling with the right bottom contour. Finally, it's nice to be able, while paddling out, to raise your chest up a little higher so that you can scan the foggy horizon for dark lines marching toward your suddenly tiny, suddenly cold, suddenly lonely body, floating at sea, hoping for a gift from the surf gods that could suddenly change everything.

October

If March roars in like a lion, then October pads in giddily like a golden retriever, all joy and gentle reminder.

You may need these, October suggests, your socks cradled in her mouth as you creep out of bed at dawn, suddenly darker than it was last week. Or this, she says, nuzzling a sweatshirt.

October points to the Thermos you almost forgot on your way out the door, the hotwater jug, the hat October knows you’ll be glad you remembered when you get out of the water.

October rides shotgun to the coast, head out the window, head back in to look at you, warm lips stretched into a smile, and asks, isn’t this amazing?

And it is.

And then you’re at the coast and October is bounding in a frenzy, dizzily pointing the soft cylinder of her nose at the sea—its cloudy breath and slick, morning-gold surface.

Then she’s wriggling, belly on the ground and you lower yourself to see what she’s got. Down here, she implores, listen. And you press your ear to the ground—wet, fresh—and you hear it. Thump Thump Thump of October’s tail on the packed earth.

Thump Thump Thump of the waves’ as they shatter onto sand.

Thump Thump Thump.

Deeper you listen, eyes closed.

Thump Thump Thump it goes.

Winter’s almost here.

Blender Bender

Let the purists have their sub six-foot fishes and supra nine-foot longboards and single malt scotches and American Kennel Club approved Pomeranians.

I’ve been on an unpure, anti-fundamental, mudblood, blend bender lately and I’m fucking stoked. Just shaped a 6’9 full-volumed, deep-and-wide swallow-tailed, beak-nosed, down-railed keel finner and I’m calling the thing a fish.

8’2 shovel-nosed pinched 50/50 railed blended concave to belly bottomed single fin? Log.
For what is shaping—or surfing, itself—without the blend? Flats and curves. Convexes and concaves. Ideologies. Styles. Geographies. Pulled apart and mashed back together in a lurid waterbased alchemy that defies language altogether.
My current favorite blends:
7’0. Longboardy. Shortboardy. Carvey. Skatey. Roundy-flatty. Smallish wave. Largish wave.

Clear.

If this were mine, I’d ride it all over the goddamn place. But it’s not, and it’s headed to The Surf Shop. If you live near there, you should buy it.

Great King St. Artist’s Blend. This stuff is the real deal, and the best scotch expression you will ever find for under $40. Pour it into a glass, add a drop or two of water, let it sit tight for ten minutes, then get your mind blown as wave after wave of salt, toffee, vanilla, chocolate-covered orange, then hot pepper get together and do it with your tongue. A blend.

Ben. Nobody knows what the hell kind of dog he is, and he’s not to be trusted in the house alone, but he’s a good guy. The girls jump on him all damn day and he never asks for anything in return other than maybe nosing the garbage when you’re not looking. Thank God nobody in the house is still in diapers.