The Cali 250 (or) Toddy Don't Surf

As I've written here a dozen times at least, the initial thinking behind making a surf blog was to simply have something hold us accountable.  We hadn't surfed regularly in a while and we were sick of talking about how lame it all was.  As funny as it sounds, we reckoned if we started talking about it "publicly' we'd be on the hook to actually force it back into our lives.  And that's where this blog still sits.  One particular thing about surfing is the amount of space it takes up in one's life.  Energetically, you've got to be up for it.  The magazines, the websites, the surf blogs, all your surfy friends... there is this tremendous pressure to make surfing the thing on your agenda.  If you're not out there trying as hard as you can to get in the water or do the raddest thing in the water or have the coolest equipment in the water, you might be labeled a poser or a kook or a wannabe.  And it is how it ought to be, frankly.  There simply aren't enough waves to go around.  There, I've said that.  Screw all that hippy dippy shit. There really aren't enough waves. So all that vapid, pugilistic pressure to stay out of the water if you're not already in the water is, in its way, what makes surfing even possible.  But I digress. I still haven't figured out how to make surfing this singular, mindfully mindless pursuit in my life. I mean, it's always there, but damned if the roadblocks don't go up faster than you can knock them down.  Buy a house near a surf break?  A hurricane'll wash it away.  Suit yourself up for winter surf?  Old age dry-docks you. And no matter how hard you try to match the challenge, you're beat down. That's surfing. Unless you're these guys.  Check in on their continuing road trips up and down the California coast trying to make a better forecast the personal way.