Chapter 3 – From Crash to Flash

Chapter 3 – From Crash to Flash

During the last three days of my student's retreat in Phuket, John, my student, drove me and the student around. However, I could sense that he was not happy about it. He made comments like, "Now you have a rack on your bike, and you can drive your board" or "When Leeor is here, it would be better if you guys just met me at the beach." Those remarks led me to decide that it was best to keep the rental car I had asked my Thai family to secure for me.

To carry my own board around, I texted Daniel about where I might rent or buy soft racks.

"I have soft racks you can borrow," he replied, and an hour later, Daniel stopped at the house, where we had a fun talk about marketing, reaching a bigger audience, and how to get people to join Unchained Elephants.

Although Daniel was not yet 100% recovered, he still couldn't surf, but with my own access to boards, Leeor and I had the freedom to surf whenever we wanted. This was especially helpful because John would often head from the surf to Patong beach for an afternoon shag.

"I signed up for a surf competition in Koh Lak," John told Leeor and me as we sat on a log at the southern end of Kamala beach. "You guys should come. The app says it's going to be clean 4-6 feet waves."

"That's cool," I replied. "I've been wanting to go up to Koh Lak. It could be Leeor's first surf trip, although every time he comes here, it's like a surf trip."

The surf was small that day, but the sun was out, and I snapped a picture of the setting and sent it to Pla. We have found a balance in our chats, though I'm aware that I find her very captivating.

"I'm going in," I said as I grabbed my long board.

"That's my board," Leeor lamented. He had been surfing on my long board since he arrived.

"You'll be fine," I assured him. "It'll be good for you to surf on the other board. It will help your paddling."

It was a perfect afternoon with no wind and knee-high waves. The pain in my toe was still there, but I had found my groove and managed to hit the wax much less, which made it easier on smaller days.

The paddle to the lineup was easy, and I caught three waves before either of them decided to come into the water.

Leeor was struggling with the white wash that was lapping the shore like a bride's wedding dress refusing to adhere to the ceremony.

After a ride that took me back to the shore, I traded boards with Leeor, much to his excitement. Surfing, like life, is about managing chaos, and sometimes making board changes is the way to reach your desired destination.

While he was still struggling to get out, once he reached the lineup, I was filled with a sense of awe and gratitude at seeing my son and my friend enjoying the water and sun.

"That was so big," Leeor said as we put the boards on the car.

"You think so?" I smiled at my son. "Well, you did good. You managed to catch some rides."

"Yeah," he acknowledged.

Teenagers speak in single-word syllables. "What do you feel you learned today?" I attempted to get more from my son.

"John helped me look down the wave rather than just go straight toward the beach."

"That's great!" I beamed as I strapped the last line securing the boards on the soft rack. "Once you know how to go down the line, it becomes much more fun. You are doing great."

Between watching the sunset from the surf line, enjoying a renewed connection with my son, and the texts from a beautiful woman, we invited John to come have dinner at our rental home.

"I'll come over after I make a stop," he said as he got into his car. I knew what that meant. Two days prior, John was in a sharing mode. We had been surfing in the morning session while Leeor was fast asleep, unable to get up before noon on his vacation. "I save my money for girls," he told me.

I had asked if he wanted to go eat sushi later that night as we walked out to the surf. Six months prior, I took us all to the closest sushi spot to where my Thai family's resort is. It cost just over 5000 baht, which in US$ is about $150. Not cheap, but considering the amount of fish we ordered, my two sake bottles and 2 beers, in the USA it would be closer to $300.

"What you spent last time, I can get 3 girls for that price." John started paddling out to the lineup.

When I reached the lineup, he said, "I'll be honest with you. I know I have an addiction. But I am 73. I get as much as I can. Usually, I try to be with 3 different girls a day."

I did not know what to say. Actually, there was nothing I could say. Pla and I enjoy sharing a few texts in the morning. She knows how my son enjoys his sleep, and she seems to enjoy the pictures of the surf or sunset I send her. I have a hope that maybe she would come and visit in the last week I have in Phuket, after my son leaves. But we have yet to talk about it again. Somehow, having that much sex with random girls does not seem appealing. Though, I leave any judgments on shore.

"I booked a room in the same hotel as you did," I tell John as we walk out to look at the surf.

Leeor is still struggling to get up in the morning, probably a consequence of working so hard in the prior afternoon surf session.

"Oh, I looked at the Windy app again this morning. It no longer looks good. I don't think you guys should come up. It will be better here in Phuket."

"Really?" Suddenly I am so happy I have Genius on Booking.com, and I can cancel with no penalty. "I can cancel with no penalty. I'll do it later."

Since I drive my own car, there is no pressure on our friendship, and the morning session is a lot of fun.

When I get home, Leeor is still asleep, so I throw in some laundry and send a flirty message to Pla, "Hope your day is as beautiful as you are."

"Do you want to come to the Naka Cave with my friends and me?" comes her reply.

I love caves and have never heard of this one.

"It opens on June 26 after being closed for a long time," comes her text.

I check it on Google Maps. It is far in the northeast.

I check flights, and it requires some serious travel, and since Leeor leaves on Friday, it would be seriously challenging to get there in time to catch the ride.

"I don't think it is possible for me to get there," I reply. "But how nice that you invite me!" 

I am a traveler and have been known to pull off some crazy feats of movement and arriving at places that most people would consider too hard in the same time frame. And this idea begins to grow roots in my mind.

Leeor wakes up and is hungry, so we head out to get some food into the stomach of a teenager, a belly that can easily hold 2 meals and still not feel full. 

"Did you surf this morning?" he asks. 

"You know it." I smile. "It's smaller than yesterday. Should we go out?" 

"Yeah!" he replies enthusiastically. 

We get him a sandwich at 7-11 and make our way to Kamala Beach.

The surf in the late afternoon is smaller but still has a push in the wave.

"We can surf without a leash," I suggest, and thus the trip from car to beach is a wee bit faster.

The surf is small but fun, and I find myself enjoying being playful with the little bump. So playful that at one point, I jump off my board as the wave closes, only to feel something hit the bottom of my foot.

"Ouch," I say to no one in particular. As I reach down to touch my foot, I come up with red fingers.

Dang, I think to myself. I get on my board and rather than paddle back out to the lineup where my son is, I ride the next white wash all the way to shore and hop over to the lifeguard station.

It's not the easiest thing to look at the bottom of your own foot. I have to rely on the eyes of someone else.

I am seated on a plastic beach chair as a pack of first aid kit is pulled.

"You cut your foot on the fin?" the long-haired Thai lifeguard asks me. I have seen all the lifeguards as John knows them, and we have been surfing this northern part of Kamala all month.

"I think so," I reply. "What do you think? I need stitches?" The last thing I want to do is go to the hospital with my son and deal with stitches.

"It looks deep," he says. "But I don't know. Does it hurt?"

"Not really, no pain." 

He washes my wound, puts iodine and gauze. By the time he finishes, Leeor is out of the water.

"I got cut with my fin," I calm him.

"That's crazy," he said. "Does it hurt?"

"No pain, but help me walk to the car," I say as I use his shoulder to stand on one leg.

"Kap khun Krap (thank you in Thai)," I tell the lifeguard and hand him a 100 baht note for his help. "We have to stop at 7-11," I tell my son. "I'll show you how surfers fix their small cuts."

At 7-11, I buy alcohol, gauze, and super glue.

We get back to the rental house, and I make a TikTok video on how super glue is super useful to close small cuts.

I tell Pla my story, and she tells me she found my video disturbing. "You get so many injuries," she writes.

"Yes," I reply. "This month has been crazy. A motorbike accident on my first day, a rugby injury, and now this surf cut." 

"You are injury-prone," she laughs at my luck.

"I only hope this is the last injury." Little did I know at that time that my injury-proneness had yet to reach its finale.

Leeor watched me glue my scar, but then decided it was too much for his eyes, and he went inside.

I had to scream out a few times so he could get me some tissue and then help me get back inside without putting extra pressure on my foot.

As I sit on the couch getting ready to watch a movie, John sent a text: "met a friend of mine who got me a room at a resort in front of the competition. You guys should come up."

I check on Booking.com, but all rooms are sold out.

John can't help us find the same deal he got. I decide to throw away common sense and simply book a lavish pool villa. After all, I have my son for just another week, and his grandmother gave me some money to splurge on our time together.

We wake up the next day and head north. My injury feels manageable, and the super glue is holding well, with minimal redness indicating zero infection.

"We should be there by 1 pm," I text John. With zero response, I text him again after we are settled in our room. "We are here. In a super awesome room. Come hang out."

The room is super cozy with our own private pool, a living room with closed doors, a separate bedroom, and an outdoor shower.

Leeor is enjoying the lavish feel, but he is hungry.

We head out and discover that our room is just minutes from the Surf Festival food court. As we walk into the festival grounds, impressed by the professional setup, we spot John talking with another person.

He spots us but makes no acknowledgment or invitation to come chat with him.

"There is John," I tell Leeor, who also notices the cold feel sent our way. We are two self-sufficient people, and when he does choose to walk over and say hi to us, we already scoped a few food vendors.

"This is Mark," John introduces us. "He is a surfer and on his way to Chiang Mai."

My first city in Thailand and home to my Thai Massage master teacher. We exchange small talk, but I know my son is hungry. He finds himself a burger and fries vendor, and I get some salmon soaked in lemon and chili peppers.

Food in our bellies, we head down to the beach, which is barely a 2-minute walk from the food area.

A huge stage has been erected across from the judges' competition booth, who are scoring a women's heat. Three young Thai girls and a foreign adult are in the water, and the conditions are choppy, windy, and overcast.

"My board is still on my car," I share with John as we look at the surf. "Leeor, you can stay here, and I'll go get the board."

By the time I return, the conditions are still super choppy and windy. Leeor opts for pool action, and Mark wants to go rest in his room, having arrived just earlier that day and leaving the following day driving toward the northern city.

John suggests he will come check out our room, though he is staying in the front section of this lavish hotel. He opts to walk the beach back to his section and possibly meet us later.

Leeor "cannonballs" his way into the pool, and we enjoy a super relaxing afternoon in the overcast day.

As the day turns into dusk and night, we head to grab some dinner and again randomly see John walking the food area. With a fire show on the beach, we take our food to the beach, only to find ourselves scattering back to the room when heavy rain cuts the fire show short.

The following day, determined to put the board in the water, Leeor and I head to a northern section, 500 meters away from the competition region. John's name, despite his assurance that he signed up, is not on any competitive group, and when I come out of the water (with only one board, Leeor and I have to share time on my long board), I catch two waves when the gauze protecting the cut is lost in the white wash. Rather than risk infection or more pain, I come ashore and give Leeor a chance to deal with the horrible conditions.

John has just arrived as well, and I watch the two of them go in, with John suggesting routes to get to the line out. John is a much stronger paddler, and as I watch from the shore, I find myself in shock that my son is trying to go further out, to the outside peak.

My mind and heart are fighting a sense of panic in case he gets caught in a rip current, which will drag him out to the open sea. All I can do is just watch as Leeor keeps paddling. 

Not that it stops me from screaming "Leeor!" and flailing my arms about. Yet the strong winds, and the fact that he is paddling away from shore and thus his eyes looking toward the horizon and not toward me, quickly remind me that this action is a waste of time.

All I can do is hold space and hope for the best. He is not alone in the water. There are lifeguards I can run to if he gets into trouble. Yet, my boy seems in control, despite the thick white wash and the larger waves that sit on the second peak.

Suddenly I see him turn his board around; a rather large wave is looming behind, which he seems to be aiming for. His position is correct, his paddling is assured. I watch as the wave comes closer, peaks of white foam indicating it is cresting rather than closing. Leeor is in direct alignment for either a perfect tumble or a smooth ride on what might be the biggest wave of the session. He paddles. The wave bites the tail end of the board, and the two begin to move together when I see my son make a perfect hop that lands him securely on the board, which now has gained speed and momentum. With his arms spread like Jesus in prayer and knees slightly bent, he rides the drop, applies pressure into his back foot, and ends up riding the wave all the way to shore.

"That was the biggest wave," I gloat with a huge smile as I rush over to my son.

"That was fun!" his exasperated breath and his tired arms are having a hard time holding the board against the strong winds.

John has drifted away from where he and Leeor first entered the ocean and is lost in the crowd. We wave goodbye, but aware that he is not paying any attention to us.

In the room, we pack our things and call a reception to send a golf cart to help us get across the bridge that separates the two sections of the resort and out to the parking lot where our car is.

I can't comment about my son's most memorable moment from this summer visit with his dad, but the moment of watching him ride that wave, an effort that was totally his own without any support from John or myself, and paddling further than I would have imagined he was comfortable with, stands as the best moment from the trip.

We would have more sunset surf as the week progressed. I kept my wounds clean and surfed despite the stinging that has moved from my big toe to the bottom of my left foot.

I even Googled 'meaning of left foot injuries,' which suggested that the left foot represents the past, and injuries on the left foot are how the body lets go of negative past issues. As I find myself less bogged down by the events and energy that followed for a few months until everything related to my ex-girlfriend was cleared from my world, I take solace in this information. The villa I paid to remodel is no longer in her name. The motorcycle loan was paid off, and a new owner is now on the books. She and her buffoon of a man are both blocked and thus can't send their random fire of texts.

On Leeor's last night, John wants to take us to dinner. After all, he did have most of his evening meals at our home, with me cooking various dishes to avoid the ever-challenging decision of where to go eat, and to ensure that my son can eat as much as he wants without needing to think about costs.

We had surfed our last session together, and managed to get to the north beach called Nai Yang and find a table at the edge of the water overlooking the sunset.

Leeor and I rushed home from the surf, showered, and hopped on the motorcycle so that we could easily and quickly get to the beach without getting stuck in traffic.

As we sat at the table, with the sun just about to go into the ocean, I said: "told you that we could rush and make the sunset if we took the motorbike."

"Yeah," Leeor smiled. "How do you know all the shortcuts?"

"I love driving and checking every road," I replied. "I spent the first two weeks getting lost and figuring all these roads out."

"And you drive fast," Leeor laughed.

"Yes, I do." I giggle. "But, I am safe. I know the limits and I know the motorbike. You have been riding with me since you were 6 months old. You don't get scared. You are a good rider."

"Thanks, Aba (Hebrew word for dad)." Leeor takes a sip from the Coca-Cola that was just handed to him from the server. We are waiting for John. "You are a good driver."

The sunset is breathtaking, and I want to capture it from the water, testing out some iPhone tricks I have seen on Instagram, or was it TikTok. I walk to the water line and make various attempts at filming the moment. The night before I spontaneously decided to buy a ticket to Ubon Ratchatani, where Pla is living. There is no way to make the trip to the cave with her and her friends, but my flight to Sydney leaves the following Thursday, and thus I could spend Sunday and Monday night in a new town. No pressure on her to stay or be with me, but rather my own travel choice to see a city I have never visited, but of course, also to meet her in person and explore if the deep sense of connection and attraction I feel for her is rooted in reality or fantasy.

I told her in the morning that I would arrive Sunday afternoon, knowing that she and her friends will be driving back into town after sunset.

I found a cute hotel and planned on renting a motorcycle and checking out the city until she arrived.

"I hope you want to stay in the hotel with me," I wrote in the text. "But please feel no pressure." Unlike many women I have met, and especially the women I have known in Thailand, Pla has no child that was conceived in high school via inappropriate sexual exploration. She has been married for 12 years and has had only one boyfriend before meeting her husband.

I am not traveling to Ubon Ratchatani for sex. I am traveling to experience my own depth and gift her and the world around me. From what I read about Ubon Ratchatani, there are beautiful temples, waterfalls, and rivers in the area. Fueled with a desire to meet Pla before I left the country, the information and pictures I saw about Ubon Ratchatani had me look at flights the night before, and despite the fact that it would take 2 flights to get there, I clicked purchase on the flights. I would leave Sunday early morning and return Tuesday late afternoon, giving me plenty of time to surf, pack, and get to my Thai family resort for my last night before I fly Thursday afternoon to Australia.