Growing up in Southern California, I woke on endless mornings to the sound of our '49 Ford Woody getting fired up in the garage. My dad's long boards would be perched out the back window with my brothers' short boards hidden beneath. In the blink of an eye, my mom and I would be left behind (with the exhaust) as the boys spent another day searching the perfect wave. Those boys and surfing...what great memories.
There's even a story where my dad pulled over a dump truck traveling down the freeway because he saw a somewhat battered, but salvageable, board peeking out at him. No word of a lie, he refurbished and road that board for years. Talk about love.
When I saw this image, my heart went straight back to my teenage years. I can almost smell the surf wax...
What a wonderful way to honor a pastime.
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