Though in need of a rest day, I decided to make a big push to Santander, the nearest major coastal city, certain there would be someplace with a board to ride whatever quality of surf might be on offer. But fortune has a way of giving to those who want something most. After a long day in the saddle, I rounded one last bend before I knew I needed to find somewhere to camp and saw a beautiful bay below, with a church perched atop a large island in the middle.
Riding into town, trendy cafés and bustling bars lined the main drag and I decided this would be my rest-day spot, surf or not (65 miles on the bike had clouded my memory that I was dying for waves. At that point I was mostly dying for food and place to sleep).
But fortune was on my side. The tourist office directed me to a beachfront campground across the harbor and the first thing I noticed was a surf shop renting real fiberglass boards! Despite being dog tired, I literally set my bike in the campground and ran to the shop as they were closing.
Surf!
Ready to crack it early the next morning, it was windy and rainy all night and when I awoke the waves were pretty poor despite the promising forecast. That feeling I've known too many times, of high hopes leading to meager surf! Ah, to be a surfer again!
No amount of wind, rain or gutless surf could've wiped the grin off my face as I trudged into the cold water... Bliss!
Good for you - A day in salt water is a baptism.
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