In this new regular column series, Bernie Shelly explores the strange, funny rituals of everyday surf life — from awkward line-up conversations and endless paddle-outs to bruised egos and near-collisions in the surf. At the centre is Ichabod: intense, stubborn and fiercely focused, the perfect foil for Bernie’s dry humour and sharp observations about friendship, etiquette and the absurd beauty of sharing waves with other people.
5. What goes in your car.
My longboard fits neatly inside my Xtrail. I’m short so the roof is difficult for me, especially in Cape Town wind. Or any wind for that matter. Even the wind that my friend Ichabod produces, in abundance. Especially when we’re camping and sharing a tent. But that’s another matter.
I’ve been dragged through this often with Ichabod: what should and what shouldn’t go inside your car. It bothers him. A lot.
—“The board pushing across the top of the seats: not so good, you’ll damage them; the fabric will fray.”
—“The wax will melt onto your seats and you won’t get it out. It’ll melt onto your dashboard too.”
—“If you stop suddenly the board will smash through the windscreen.”
Now he asks me what I keep in my black plastic box behind the back seat. Just some sunscreen and wax and simple tools. A cold-water bottle. A hot-water bottle. A tin of birdseed.
I get dragged over to look at what he keeps in his hybrid-something car. Of course. No drill baby drill stuff for Ichabod.
So, in his (antique wooden) box:
— Spare fin, in case the one on your board gets ripped out (at Muizenberg?)
—Spare leash, in case yours breaks, especially at the backline, halfway to the horizon.
— A device to splice the two broken ends of the leash, in case the spare breaks too.
— Screwdrivers.
— A spare set of screwdrivers.
— Some other objects, foreign to me. Presumably tools.
— Cold water wax. Warm water wax. Tropical water wax. Environmental friendly, naturally.
— Another spare fin, in case.
“In case what?” I ask. He stares at me, doesn’t deign to answer. He does indignation very thoroughly.
— A puffer jacket.
— Spare baggies.
— Sunscreen of various efficacy.
— A towel. A face cloth.
In a basket next to the wooden box: A flask of tea. A couple of ceramic mugs. Oat milk. Homemade gluten-free biscuits.
All for ‘In Case’.
There is one shoe behind the basket. Just one. I point it out.
He looks everywhere for the other, frantically.
“Should have brought a spare pair,” I say. “In case”.
He drives off, cross. And barefoot.
He’ll have to speak to me soon. I have his missing shoe. In my plastic box.
Check in next week for more lessons with Ichabod.