CAR­BOOT FI­ASCO

Surfing World - - Introduction - By Freya Prumm

There is noth­ing more ex­cit­ing than pack­ing up the car for a month on the road, chas­ing the WQS up and down the beau­ti­ful East Coast. Yet I won­dered, do all us com­pet­i­tive surfers drag along the same gear? You know, a pile of boards, a swiss ball and some clothes. Some chia bars in the glove box and the all im­por­tant AUX ca­ble. Done. Sorted. How­ever, at each stop where my friends would greet me with warm smiles and lov­ing kisses, there were also a few hor­ri­fied gasps as they caught a glimpse of the un­couth con­tent of my lit­tle VW Golf. Al­low me to ex­plain. . Prob­a­bly the big­gest ‘wtf?’ was aimed at the cello. That what? Yes, you heard me. A full sized cello. Damn big, and creep­ily re­sem­bling some sort of chil­dren’s cof­fin. ‘Freya, since when do you play the cello?’ Not of­ten enough, I al­ways re­spond. But I need to prac­tice, and I can’t just leave her sit­ting at home for a month, unloved, un­touched. When your friends hound you to crack the cello out, its al­ways fun to do your best dy­ing cat im­per­son­ation (which is ac­tu­ally just me try­ing to play the Harry Pot­ter theme song). It gets a gig­gle at first, then its like… okay please stop now.. My next favourite ‘on the road must have’ is a mor­tar and pes­tle. I al­most ex­pected that every­one who’s into cook­ing would have of th­ese and maybe also a backup one in the glove box, you know… just in case. If you’re not grind­ing your own spices, then you’re only cheat­ing your­self, I preach. Also, I’m not sure that every­one is aware of the ver­sa­til­ity of our lit­tle gran­itey de­light. When you have found your­self in some in­dus­trial zone in West Bal­lina with­out any break­fast, get your wham-bam ne­an­derthal on and use your pes­tle and a but­ter knife to pul­verise your way into a de­li­cious co­conut in some­one’s drive­way. I main­tain that the on­look­ers were just jeal­ous. Part way through my trip I de­cided to camp for the night. I was dis­ap­pointed to re­al­ize that my prepa­ra­tion for the in­evitabil­ity of camp­ing was poor. How­ever, I was happy with my de­ci­sion to chuck in my al­ready mouldy yet never used, po­ten­tially not wa­ter proof, two man (more like two hob­bit) tent from Kmart. Some gen­er­ous friends of mine recog­nised my predica­ment and lent me their air mat­tress, the kind that de­flates dur­ing the night. I did a lit­tle op-shop­ping for some things to re­pair and I stum­bled across my favourite pur­chase, a ba­nana lounge! $6 bucks! Bar­gain! I was feel­ing pretty re­laxed when I fi­nally set up camp, layin’ back on my ba­nana lounge whilst man­u­ally blow­ing up my air mat­tress be­side my mouldy tent. Af­ter about 10 deep breaths, I be­gan to get dizzy. Think of it as train­ing, I en­cour­aged my red faced self. So with my swiss ball, the chia seeds, the AUX ca­ble, my mor­tar and pes­tle and let’s not for­get the all es­sen­tial cello, there were only six items left to ex­plore in the boot of my car. Surf­boards are kind of ex­tra es­sen­tial for mak­ing heats on the WQS. So I did, I chucked them in, be­cause I am in­ca­pable of ty­ing them on the roof, and would rather not see them scat­tered and shattered all over the M1. My ad­vice for when you’re pack­ing up the car be­fore a surf trip is; if in doubt, chuck it in. You never know when you’ll need to im­pro­vise a lit­tle. But when I say chuck I mean more like care­fully place in the ve­hi­cle, be­cause the un­cov­ered prongs of that spear fish­ing pole in the back are re­ally go­ing to do some dam­age to you friends leg. And al­though pack­ing is im­por­tant, be sure to do that last check of your home be­fore you put the car into re­verse. When your favourite squat­ter rings you up on day four of your trip, ask­ing if there is any par­tic­u­lar rea­son the front door is wide open, a fa­mil­iar red pig­ment just might bloom across your face. Yeah. That hap­pened too.

Thank­fully Freya Prumm packs mean bar­rells bet­ter than she packs her car.

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