The "Bed" at the Beach

the "Bed" waits for the Surfer out in the Water

that their car, even garaged, is coated with moisture and sea salt in a matter of days,
and pocked with holes in a matter of months. The sounds of the Sea, and the
ability to quickly immerse oneself in Her, is sufficient to overlook these minor inconveniences.

Have you ever camped out next to the Sea? The next morning your sleeping bag is covered
with moisture and your hair is sticky from the salt air. But you feel good and so alive
when you run pell-mell into the Ocean to clean off the sand. Often you take along your bar of soap
and shampoo and cleanse yourself, yes, in salty water, not a mountain stream.

The above photograph is the pipe that runs below Bon Air and down to the shack at Windansea Beach.
It is the present home of one of the Local Boys, whose face has the lines of a Man.
It has been the past home of myriad surfers and displaced locals, on the lam from the police,
their dealer, the parents, the wife, the girl friend, or the Poor House.

Dog Boy, whose adventures are covered in other pages of this historical website, lived here for eight months
in the late '90s when several forces converged upon his life to displace him from his mother's, his sometime
girl friend, his brothers', and his drug-dealer. Living here, he lost the body fat, bulked up on the muscle
from surfing all the reefs on Neptune Place on a daily basis, and dabbled with the Lot Girls in his search for Lust.

He abruptly moved when a quick pouring November rain sent a cascade of water into his sleeping body and threw
him down the gully south of the Shack. Coitus Interruptus! Awakened, he saw the dawn swells sweeping low tide
off Turtle Rock and left his Lot Lady for the surf. He came back an hour later, exhausted from surfing and with
a lobster in tow. When the rains stopped, they cooked the critter under the shack, ate, and went back to their business

That is living at the Beach.