========
To: wfover@nist.gov
Newsgroups: alt.surfing
Subject: The Ghost of Surf Trips Past.
From: wfover@nist.gov
Date: Tue, 08 Apr 1997 16:02:24 -0600

I pulled into the parking lot of Delaware's Indian River Inlet in search
of anything that would break the streak of unrelenting poor surf
conditions. The inlet would be my last stop in a two hour surf check of
the Delmarva Peninsula. As I wheeled into the part of the lot that surfers
use I noticed an old 1971 Datsun pickup truck parked by itself. I used to
have one of those, mine was white -this one was pale yellow.

In 1972 I bought mine new for $2100 in San Diego after my beloved VW bug
blew up and burned up on a trip to Mexico. Over a period of months I added
a small camper cap some wide tires and white spoke wheels -cool (at least
I thought). In the pickup bed area I had built some small storage
spaces out of plywood next to the wheel wells. I was so proud of that work
I etched my name on the bottom of one of the cabinet lids.

That Datsun truck was my ride to many wonderful and not so wonderful
surfing trips all up and down both the Right and Left Coasts. It waited
for me patiently, parked at some famous and not so famous breaks. Not
once did it ever break down or leave me stranded.

Finally, in 1981, with 104,000 miles on it, I sold it to a young guy from
New Market for $500. On the day he came to get it, he brought his young
wife and infant son up to the house. I could tell by the look in the
wife's eyes this was a major purchase for the young family. The look of
concern and hope on her face prompted me to tell her that the truck had
been very well taken care of and that I was sure it would give them many
more miles of service. I looked at the blond baby and rubbed his head as
he cooed into his mother's neck and said it might last long enough for the
kid to drive. She smiled sweetly and said thanks.

As I pulled up near the yellow truck I noticed that the step bumper in
back was dented just like mine had been after I backed into one of those
cement pylons at Huntington Beach Pier. The old camper cap on the yellow
truck also looked dented the same way mine was after I had stood on it to
check the surf from the parking lot at Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. And the
left front fender looked dented like mine had been after a couple of
surfers ran into me one night while I was parked in the lot at the East
Deck Motel at Ditch Plains, Montauk. I was starting to get a real erie
feeling about this yellow pretender. I got out of my Explorer to go take a
better look.

Before I could get too far I spyed a young, blond shortboarder making his
way from the beach, after a session at the inlet, over to the truck. I
shuffled over to ask how the surf was and to look at the truck closer. The
boy seemed slightly amused I would be interested in the crappy conditions
and maybe thought I was too old to really care about surfing. Next, I told
him I used to have a truck like his and asked him where he got it? He
replied, "My dad gave it to me."  My interest alarm went right off the
scale and I blurted out, "What's your dad's name?" When he told me I
yelled, "Holy Shit, boy that's my old truck!"  The kid looked skeptical. I
said, "Look in the back if you've still got the storage spaces. Check for
a name on the bottom of the right hand cabinet lid."  He opened the back
of the cap and looked under the lid. Nodding his head he came up smiling,
"Your name Foondoggy?" I thought I was gonna cry.

I quickly told the boy of the circumstances of selling the truck to his
dad and then slowly gave him the history of all the places that damned old
truck had driven me to.  He was amazed at the number of breaks the truck
had stopped at.  The truck now had over 200,000 miles on it. It had needed
a rebuilt engine, a new trany, new seats and some bodywork to cover some
significant rustout. But take away the pale yellow paint and essentially,
it was the same truck.

I asked if I could sit in it and when I did I got very choked by the
emotion I got grabbing the old steering wheel and clutching the gearshift.
I was stunned to see the old oak gearshift knob Mrs.Foon had given me was
still there with my initials WFO still faintly visible on the top.

As I got out, on a whim, I reached under the dashboard and felt around up
back of the glove box. I pulled out a piece of paper I thought might still
be there.  On the paper was a hand drawn map and instructions on how to
reach several secret surf spots I had scouted in the late 70s in lower
North Carolina. Glancing at the map, I wondered how many of those spots
were still not well known. I had forgotten most of them.  I thanked the
boy for letting me see my old truck again and handed the map over to him.
I urged him to take the truck back to the spots on the map. "You won't
have to do much navigating," I said, "It already knows the way."
I wished him good luck and went back to my Explorer. I said as I got back
in, "You'll be lucky to go as far and see as much as that old truck has."
Then I laughed. No way was the Explorer ever going to see and do what the
Datsun did, and neither again would I.

-Foondoggy

"One's first book, kiss, home run (and truck*) is always the best."
  -Clifton Fadiman
*a Foondoggy addendum

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