So I’m leaving. On a jet plane. Don’t know when I’ll be back again.
Actually, I know exactly when I’ll be back. On Thursday, Dec. 11, at 3:34 p.m. Eastern Standard Time (give or take a minute or two, depending on the direction of the wind that day).
I’m heading to Bali, the island province of Indonesia and one of the most consistent surf meccas in the entire world. Not to be mistaken for Mali, the West African Republic and place my neighbor Jeff thought I said was going when I was yelling to him from across the street about my trip the other day.
While I don’t think I’ll ever be quite adventurous enough to travel to West Africa during an Ebola epidemic, I’m counting down the minutes until I take off for a surf trip that I’ve been wanting to take since I got my first subscription to Surfer Mag as a kid.
I’m more than ready for the warm water, the world class waves... and I guess the beautiful Australian girls walking around everywhere won’t be so bad either. In fact, I guess you could even say I’m pretty “hype” about it — which isn’t recognized officially in the English language but I heard Skeeter and D.D. say it a few times in football interviews and Taylor Billinger told me what it means during our basketball interview, so I figured I’d try it out.
But I will miss home, too. The Coastal Point was gracious enough not to immediately take out a classified ad for a new sports reporter when I ran the whole “Hey, is it cool if I take a month off?” thing by them the other week, which, seeing as we’re a newspaper, would have been pretty easy for them to do.
And while I’m half expecting to see the parking spot with my name on it at the office crudely painted over by the time I get back (mostly because I wrote it on there myself in Sharpie — sorry Susan), I’m fully expecting to return home to see the Indian River soccer team featured on the cover of our Nov. 21 issue with yet another green-and-gold “State Champs!” headline.
In fact, no matter how good the waves are when I get there, I’ll still be getting out of the water and searching for free Balinese Wi-Fi next Saturday to check for Twitter updates on the game. That is, assuming that our photographer Chris Clark can figure out how to hashtag by then, which, considering he was in one of the Salesianum School’s first graduating classes, might be a bold assumption.
I’ll also be keeping up with the beginning of basketball season, as both the boys’ and girls’ teams look poised to make playoff runs this year. All jokes aside, I’ve got the upmost confidence that not only will Chris take awesome photos, like he always does, while I’m gone, but that our intern, Aaron, will be able to step up and keep our community up to date with all the pertinent sporting news, as well.
In a seemingly random twist of fate, I ran into Tommy Haley, younger brother of the late Matt Haley, just a few days before I left, at the Wawa in Ocean View. He was running late for a meeting in D.C., and the only reason I recognized him was because we literally almost ran into each other in the parking lot. He rolled down his window, probably to yell at me, then saw who I was. I told him we’d catch up another time and parked my car, only to see him park right next to me a few seconds later.
“I’ll run a couple of red lights,” he joked, getting out of his car to shake my hand. I told him about my trip and about how Matt was part of the reason that I was finally taking it. (I’m pretty sure I’d been telling Matt that I was trying to plan a trip to Bali for three or four years now). His eyes widened when I said Bali, as he excitedly told me that his brother-in-law goes every year and I should email him about where to stay, where to surf and what to see.
“What are the chances?” I thought to myself when Tommy left, now even more late for his meeting. A minute later here or there, and I never would have seen him. If I hadn’t stopped for coffee, or had gotten stopped at a red light, or had actually been on time for my own meeting, I wouldn’t have known he was ever there. Call me crazy, but I like to think that it was Matt’s way of wishing me luck.
I’ve gotten a lot of “don’ts,” “be carefuls” and “why are you’s” since planning this trip. “Don’t go here,” “Be careful of that,” “Why are you going all the way to Bali?”
But none of potential hazards of the trip come anywhere close to outweighing the potential rewards — meeting people that I share the earth with that I would have never otherwise known existed, the irreplicable feeling that comes with seeing something beautiful for the first time, and being in the air, looking down content, instead of looking up at white streaks in the sky and wondering where they’re off to.
Sure, I could hit the reef and get a gnarly staph infection or something, but I could also break my neck or get swallowed by Septima while surfing here, so I may as well take my chances anyway.
Besides, I hear some of the Australian hospitals over there have better technology than we do, so don’t worry about me. I’ll be back on the sidelines after a month of barrels and Bintangs, exhaustedly refreshed and rocking the only sunburn in Sussex County.
Until then, don’t tell my editor I said this, since I’m an impartial member of the media… But since I’m technically on vacation... Go Indians!