Almost Famous
A dripping wet, shivering, wet-suit clad Japanese man in his 50's yelled at me as I carried my gear out of the Sea of Japan. "Hey, are you the girl from the windsurfing magazine? The freestyle champion girl from the Gorge?" Laughing, I nodded. I'm famous, if only among one small group of Japanese athletes!
A quiet clanging awoke me this morning. Outside my house, the tattered remnants of an American flag whipped their restraining wire against my flagpole. Sunshine slipped through the cracks in the curtains, and a gust of wind shook the house. I jumped out of bed, kicking over a half-finished lemon drop.
Despite the bright sun, cold air swirled around my house. "Fuck it," I thought, threw on some clothes and grabbed my keys. My Sean Ordonez 8'4" glass board sat between my seats. My left arm rested on Powerex Z-Axis masts. I peeled into the street.
Kei-trucks traveling at 40 kilometers per hour became slalom poles. Red lights didn't slow me; I just cut through the convenience stores strategically placed to allow turns on red. Ajigasawa's windmill spun at top speed. I drove even faster. Two minutes down the road, the sea at Shichirinagahama tossed with whitecaps. Wind!
Not only wind. Windsurfers! Three 2006 sails streaked across the water.
Rigged in record time, shivering and blinking away blowing sand, I dragged my gear to the water. Fought my way through the whitewater pushed by onshore wind and hit the windline. 5.0 overpowered. One hundred meters out, a ramp peaked in front of me. "Fuck it," I thought again, and threw a push loop. Not suprisingly, this being my first day on new gear, I missed. So what... I was windsurfing on the Sea of Japan, 25 minutes from my house.
It's a good spot, despite the onshore winds. Plenty of port ramps for big jumps. The perfect place to learn port backs and forwards. Plus, the company is good. I think the three guys there were as stoked to meet me as I was to meet windsurfers living close by. And believe me, my stoke level can't be expressed in words. We traded keitai emails and promises to text wind reports and sail together.
As I type this, my fingers still feel stiff and swollen from the cold. My wetsuit swings on a hanger outside my window, salt dried to patterns of translucent white on the neoprene. I'm way beyond stoked - I windsurfed, met some cool windsurfer guys, and today is going to end at a dj/drinking party at the local coffee shop.
Aomori has its days...
