Cruisin’

When I was a teenager, I had a Plymouth Valiant with a slant-six engine, which made it good for drag-racing. Four on the floor, baby.

But my best friend liked to cruise. Slowly. I drove us all over our hometown of Santa Monica, as well as farther afield: Hollywood, Malibu, East L.A. We checked out other high schools, other ‘hoods. Saw wicked girls and cute cute boys. A friend installed a stereo, so we had tunes: Manhattan Transfer, Michael Jackson, B-52s, Steve Miller Band. (“Can we listen to something else?” Gloria asks, after I play “Fly Like an Eagle” for the fourth time. So good on the highway!)

Decades later I am cruising again, because that’s what they call it, tooling around the ocean in a boat. I’ve already met a few wicked girls and cute cute boys. And vice versa, of course.

This morning I inflated a new kayak (nine air chambers!), and pushed her into the slip next to Habibi. Watched. Waited. Floating! “I christen thee Audrey,” I proclaim with sparkling cider. Named for Audrey Sutherland, a swimmer who started using inflatables back in the 1950s. She cruised all around most of the Hawaiian islands, and toured the inside passage up in Alaska. Solo.

I slide in, and we’re golden – no involuntary eskimo roll. My body remembers immediately the infinity stroke of a double-bladed paddle. Audrey’s draft (depth below the water line) is probably six inches (Habibi’s is six feet), so I can hug the sides of the marina channel, alert to fishing charters. I paddle against the tide, but it’s fine – we’re out! 

Anne T. DePressant was my first ocean-going vessel, a 17’ blue hardshell sea kayak, sleek and rolly. I once capsized on Hicks Lake (WA), which you really don’t want to do in 60 degree water. This one is shorter and wider, thirteen feet by three, and easier to get into. 

Another benefit of Audrey is that, once we leave the marina, she takes over the duties of Tink the Dink since we parted ways. Audrey is capacious, with plenty of room for provisions, fore and aft. Of course I haven’t tested this yet, but if I can carry groceries on a surfboard, I can certainly do so with a kayak.

A swell is building, and I can see my surf break (Pueblo Bonito) from behind. Ah, closing out (dumping all at once, not ridable). We round the channel buoy, wave to Bird Island (tomorrow, Inshallah!), and stroke in with the rising tide. Not even eight o’clock. After hauling her out (42 pounds), I rinse top and bottom, deflate her a bit (still hot in Mazatlán), then turn her upside down to dry under a loose tarp. A few hours later Worry suggests I bring her under Habibi’s cooler-than-the-concrete-dock bimini. Oh, hello kayak muscles! Been awhile, yes? 

A paddleboarder and panguero cruise by with greetings and questions, but I am wiped. I put on Smokey Robinson and lie down.