Great memories, John. I’d bet I ran into you. We’d grab Larry Sullivan’s homemade 10’8” blue Godzilla board and try to hitch down Skyline to Pedro Point, back in the days when folks would pick us up with this massive slab of foam and fiberglass and give us a ride, never having to concern ourselves with the Dahmer Effect of the ‘70s.
We’d score a lid of salami and a few French rolls then set out on an Odyssey that made Homer’s pale in our wake (ok, Homer Simpson) And, If we didn’t get a ride to Pedro Point,Next stop…Thornton Beach.
I worked the Summer of ‘64 and scored a Farmer John wet suit at Macy’s downtown; a match made in Hell. My non-existent shoulders and pects rubbing against an abrasive brillo-pad inner-lining made a Texas Titty-twister seem pleasant, augmented by splashes of ice-cold sand that filled the suit through the armholes with each breaking wave. An hour in that wetsuit and drowning was a welcomed reprieve.
BUT…it was cool! Freezing actually; I often regret not inventing a crowbar to extract one’s scrotum from their peritoneal cavity. I could have been bigger than Post-it’s or Pantyhose.
Well, the story of my life is framed by missed opportunities but those foggy Summer days at Thornton Beach were times well spent: And now aged and eroded like a wind-blown sandy bluff.