If you didn’t hear the news (or didn’t retweet or share my plight), my surfboard was stolen right under my nose in the middle of the night from my wife’s car in our driveway. That’s right, my Lost Black Sheep was swiped. 6 feet x 20 inches x 2.5 inches with a black tail pad and a yellow Dakine leash. Before you ask, yes the car was unlocked. But before you judge me, no one around here locks their cars. Call it part of the benefits of living in coastal New Hampshire.
Others of you know and feel my pain, intimately. You’ve had a bike, surfboard, snowboard, skis, laptop or anything else of value stolen, you know how I feel. It’s one part anger, one part pain, one part shame and a lot of frustration.
We had spent the last two years in Connecticut. There, I pretty much only worked, and surfed may be five times in two years. When we returned to the coast, I vowed to surf as much as possible. I also spent the last month dialing in this Lost board. Big surf, small surf, baby surf. I made the commitment to dial in this board, get better as a surfer. Getting a board to be yours is much like the effort it takes to train a horse or your dog. It requires perseverance, passion, and time. And of course, once I put in that time and effort, it was ripped from me.
This post doesn’t truly express how I feel. I still hold out hope that I’ll be reunited with that Black Sheep. To look at the silver lining, this too will make me a better surfer as the next board will of course be different than this one. And require a similar commitment or devotion. It doesn’t slow down my passion for surf. Quite the opposite.
Much love to the local shops: Summer Sessions, Cinnamon Rainbows, Pioneers and Liquid Dreams. Also thanks to those of you who read my post, scanned the beaches or have kept your eyes peeled. It means a lot to that random Asian guy that you see in the line up on those shitty days.