Thrilla Dad Krew - Part One

Joe 'Cool' Ka'uhane took a deep breath and settled into his mind behind the set. His board reacted gently to the pulse in the ocean around him. He took several rides to stay warmed up while Rapt's photo crew finished their equipment prep. On a big day, Tandawee Bay could throw a lumbering center break with tall, sand-stained, thick-walled tubes. Today, it was calmer and broke right. This offered shorter rides, but glassy water. Golden hour was coming. The photography will be beautiful.

A few boats cruised in the deep water behind the set. The number of boats out during eliminations and quarterfinals was absurd. Tomorrow will be just as packed. Joe heard Rapt's drone take an offset position overhead while Cedric Wiles made final tweaks to his tripod and telephoto. Nearby, two video cams ran just to grab everything in wide angle. Jordy Haws perched on a stack of straw bales with controls for the drone. Another photog, Andre Crewes, in fins and wetsuit, tread water with his camera waiting for Joe to take off again. A GoPro mounted to his board pointed up at him for up-close low angle crouch shots. Joe dubbed it, 'JunkHub.' The thing kept flawless focus right on his basket or butt.

Heats were done for the day, but Tandawee's beach remained closed for practice and photoshoots. Different competitors worked out and experimented before the final day of The EcoRealm World Pro. There were several big sponsors on site. Rapt, 69 Industries, Blis'd, Dankies, Hykoo, DynaShred, and EcoRealm all had spots staked out in the parking lot and on the beach for their crews and equipment. A few had a van with an editing suite next to a plush motorhome for talent and mucky-mucks. Many of them already left for their hotels for the night, or drove back to Melbourne to fly home. Small bands of tech crews disconnected and stowed equipment and cables from sites that would be struck by tomorrow morning.

Rapt ran light. They didn't use motorhomes or kitted production vans. They ferried surfers, models, crew, and equipment in rented white Sprinters. If they traveled at all, the mucky-mucks preferred to hang out at the hotel with WiFi and unrestricted room service. Rapt's crew was free to do their thing unsupervised. Food, errands, reservations, and gear schlepping rested on a rosacea-cheeked, chunky intern named Noah. He reminded Joe of John Blutarski if he never pledged Delta Tau Chi.

Gofers were hit or miss over the years. Each was an intern from a small college media arts or public relations program. All were lured out to grovel and sweat on the promise of a potential job that kept them near beaches and ski resorts. The job didn't exist. Interns didn't find that out until their time was over. With each one, Joe was firm with his expectations, but careful to stay courteous and patient. The last thing he needed was a mortifying video of him shouting down some kid on RekTube.

A small crowd casually milled behind barriers cording off the crews from observers and fans. Joe scanned the beach to see if anyone new stepped toward Rapt's spot. He expected guests. Cedric and Jordy made hand signals to let him know they were ready. Joe adjusted his sunglasses and looked for the next attractive hill of water. Clayton Horne grabbed a wave just as he did so. "GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR, GRAMMA!" He was the league's newest underage bad boy. He behaved himself somewhat today, but tomorrow he was guaranteed to be a fully-feathered, snot-nosed, little twit. Joe wanted nothing more than to watch someone beat him by such a wide margin that he bawls on TV.

Clayton made enough stupid comments about geezers plugging up the field that long-timers kept crosshairs on him. Having his ass handed to him by a grizzled pro like Tamas Alifonte could be especially brutal. He had a passel of grandkids and was still going hard at 54. His imperishable lust for wine, surfing and sex easily made him one of Joe's favorites on the tour.

Joe put his mind back in the water. None of Horne's antics matter after tomorrow. Joe snagged a five-year ten million dollar deal to launch and promote his own line of surfboards through Rapt. If things took off, his name would grow to include skate and snowboard lines. He had money before, but this was retirement money. All Rapt expected of him was to make appearances at events and trade shows, make RekTube videos, and promote things that already sold themselves. Though Rapt suggested that he still compete from time to time, it wasn't specifically in the contract. He was free to leave the tour whenever he wanted. Joe announced his retirement at Snapper Rocks, three weeks ago.

A shapely hip of water enticed him. Joe paddled just ahead of the forming lip. His board thrust forward and he dropped onto the face of the fast hollowing wave; stalling slightly to let the tube curl around him. He lowered his stance, climbed toward the ceiling and dropped to the trough again for speed. Riding deep in the tube didn't matter as much as tricks did during camera time. He still had maintain balance between getting slammed by a few tons of whitewater and racing too far ahead of the curl. Walls collapsed behind him as the tube filled with spit. Joe shot for the pocket, pumped, then took the peak of the wave for a frontside air reverse that he finished off with chop-hops in the whitewash. He scanned the beach again as he retook his position behind the set. Still no-shows. He shook his head and continued grabbing waves and running through his repertoire of flips, cutbacks, and combos for the photogs.

Tandawee's green and sapphire waters grew inky as the evening light weakened. Floodlights flicked on over the parking lot, signaling the end of the day. Surfers rode in. Lifeguards landed jet skis on trailers and hauled them out of the water for the night. Camera crews finished packing up. Temperatures dropped. Joe locked up his surfboard and dipped into the locker room. He doffed his wetsuit, showered off, and threw on a long-sleeved tee, Thrilla Krew hoodie, and Rapt board shorts. April nights in Fairbishop were too cold for anything less. He tried to dress and get out quickly before…

"Joey."

Mike Akamu breathed his name in a low voice. 'Shit,' he thought. Joe turned and caught him already moving into his personal space. "Ready to celebrate one last night?"

"I can't, Mike." Joe backed away. "My friends flew in."

"I thought that was tomorrow."

"No. Tomorrow, I'm leaving. It's done. Like I said."

"You're just gonna' chirp out?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I am. And it's not a surprise. I talked about it since Coolangatta. I've got my life ahead of me. It's time to get out."

"Are you still going to breakfast?"

"No." Joe zipped up his duffel bag.

"Alright, then." Mike clapped him on the shoulder. "See ya' out there."

"Don't go down like Shukei."

"Don't go down at all."

Joe took a moment to settle down. The sooner he got out the better. Accidents and alleged accidents were getting alarmingly frequent. Mike's final comment felt like a threat. Joe shook his head. "No," he said to himself. "He wouldn't be dumb enough."

Most of the visitors milling around the barricades already dispersed into town to get dinner or find a drink somewhere. Joe sneaked up behind two badged guests poking around breakdown crews. "Hey," He snapped. "This is a closed beach! You can't be here!" The largest of the two, clad in pink legionnaire's cap and board shorts, turned around. "We're on the guest list, Asshole." Thrilla Gorilla broke into a wide smile. Kool Kat and Joe erupted in laughter. All three threw arms around each other.

"Where you guys been? I watched for you all day."

"We got bumped off the 10:30 flight and had to wait till 4:00 AM. Then, Melbourne traffic." Kool Kat shrugged.

"Man. You missed a show. Madsen was lit this afternoon."

"We got the rundown, though. You're sitting pretty."

"Hell yeah, Brother! I wouldn't mind closing tomorrow out with some perfect tens."

"I saw a few of those walking back. It's a shame it's too cold for bikinis right now."

"This place is like Ireland in Winter. There's hot chicks. You just gotta' shear the wool off 'em." Joe gestured toward the parking lot and the shuttle back to town. "Let's go find something to eat."

The shuttle took the boys back to the hotel. Joe dropped his bag off at his room and followed Thrilla and Kool Kat as they evaluated their options. They eventually landed at the Crowfoot Coxswain, largely due to the name and the variety of beer on tap. None of them could carouse all night. Joe had to be show-ready in the morning, and his friends were weary from their trip. Nobody objected to a beer and some catch-up before bed, however.

"It's a shame Primal couldn't come. He'd love it down here."

"Pete's not compatible with Qantas. Remember when we tried to get him to LAX? I can't guest-pass him, anymore." Thrilla pulled on his lager.

"Is that permanent?"

"As far as I know. I could ask. He didn't put himself on the No Fly List, at least."

"We should've planned that better. Maybe he just can't handle window seats."

"He can't handle being on an A330."

"Thank God you can." Joe set down his beer. "It means the world to me that you guys are here right now."

"This is a rescue mission." Kool Kat took a swig. "Home ain't the same without you."

"Shit, man. I thought you were holding it up."

"Cut me some slack! I'm just one Kat."

Tasha, their server, landed at the table with fresh pints. Joe unleashed a warm smile that dropped to a playful smirk while tracking her blue eyes.

"Are ya' here with the pros?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Down to see what the real surf is like, ya?"

"Ha-ha! You're not going to catch me with that. We're from O'ahu. We get gnarly stuff right in our own backyard."

"What's your thoughts on Tandawee?"

"About as frisky as a sleeping kitten."

"Ahh," She playacted bored. "You're one of those big wave crackies, then."

"Nope." Joe leaned back in his seat to show her more of his frame. "I'm just out for a beautiful shape and a long ride."

"Keep your eyes open, Love. You may find one." Tasha brushed his arm with her fingertips before leaving with her tray.

"Nice work."

"Jump in, Thrilla! There's snacks all over the place. That sweet little fox at the bar is definitely eyeing you up."

"No. I'm wiped. I'd be asleep before she got me off the elevator."

"I remember when you took 'em three at a time. Don't tell me you're slowing down."

"It's more than that." Kool Kat lifted his glass at Thrilla. "He's engaged."

"WHAAAT?! Holy shit! Congratulations!" Joe leapt from his seat and clapped his arms around Thrilla hard enough to knock his cap loose. Thrilla caught it by the brim and flipped it back onto his head before it could reach the floor.

"Why didn't you say something?!"

"This trip's about you, not me."

"Bullshit! You locking it down is big news." Joe dropped back into his seat and moved it closer to Thrilla. "So, who is it? Erica? Tawny? Sara?"

"No, no, and nope."

"Let's see." He snapped his fingers, "Amber! I knew it!"

"Getting colder."

"Not even the massage therapist?"

"Nope."

"I'll take her. Is this someone I've met?"

"Yes. Several times."

"So not like a Jersey Shore mail order bride or..."

"I have more game than that, thank you!"

"Hmm." Joe reached for his phone. "Lemme just bust out the Rolodex, here."

"This will take all night," Kool Kat said into his beer.

"Joe. It's Misty."

"Misteeey…" Joe swirled his beer and took a swallow while trying to place her. Realization slowly took hold. "Hold-up! The bartender from Kozy's? No freakin' way."

"She's Bar Manager and way freakin' way."

"Never thought that could happen. She hates us! How'd you pull that off?"

"I talked to her. Got to know her. She's funny. She's smart. She's beautiful. My parents really like her. She's one hell of a cook. And she thinks the Krew's okay in small doses."

"You're a pretty damn big dose, Thrilla." The boys erupted. "We all know about your dose!"

"Man." Joe caught his breath. "How did we get here? I'm divorced. You're engaged. Kool Kat, I can still round 'em up with you, right?"

"I'm married, Joe."

"What?"

"Shahira? Remember? We're still together."

"I thought you broke it off after lockdown."

"No. We're as strong as ever. That was just you."

"We ought to fly your ladies in. I don't want to drag your relationships down with mine. You know women get suspicious."

"They'll be fine."

"You sure? The more the merrier. Especially around here."

"So, what's the plan, tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, I surf. I win. We grab our stuff. Then we bust out and bro down. There are more surf spots in Victoria than there are people to fill 'em. Australia is nothing like Hawaii. You can surf and not see people for days. I can't wait to hit the road with you guys. This is going to be the most incredible month of our lives."

Thrilla's brow wrinkled. He and Kool Kat exchanged a concerned look. "You mean week, right?"

"Wha-a?"

"We're working stiffs. We can't just take a month off."

"We have to be back on Monday."

Joe looked heartbroken. "For real?" The guys nodded.

"Oh. Okay. That-that's fine, then. We can still hang around Torquay." He forced himself to smile. "There is enough surfing off Great Ocean Road to fill up a week. It's a shame I can't get you out to Tasmania, though. Stuff goes off at Shipstern that would blow your minds. You gotta' see it, sometime."

"Sorry, Joe."

"Nah, Thrilla. You're good. We'll still have fun."

End of Part One.