Rise of the Silver Surfer

No one who has ever had a real category five lumbago can ever imagine how infinitely superheroic you feel after its exodus. I’ve just had the worst lumbago I’ve had for many years. I would have been much more mobile in a wheelchair for the last three days – I could have sat in it. Nothing worked anymore.

After three days of physiotherapy, the very capable Surf Doctor Navarro deemed my back muscles soft enough to set the bones. 45 kg of physiotherapy instantly conquered the pain with a loud crack. From one second to the next, I am practically completely pain-free. I’m not religious. My problem certainly existed 2000 years ago. Without today’s knowledge, the Messiah was the only plausible explanation.

With a beaming smile, the doctor sentences me to 10 days’ rest. But I know my back. Once it cracks, everything is fine again – and stays that way. One day and a more than happy long night later, I head back to Valdevaqueros Beach with Max and Dominik. The wind is rocking. I ride carefully. Even the smallest jumps feel like miles-long flights on Happy Pills. But they’re not necessary.

The wind drops in the evening. Time for the Rise of the Silver Surfer. With my feet cut open, I just about fit into my superhero costume. Grab the bar, launch the kite, grab the board and into the water. Everyone grins and waves. Now I’m really flying. A big thank you to my dear friends at Marvel!

The first fall costs me my sunglasses, which are slipping loosely on my silver skin. The second knocks me under the water. Despite having my mouth open as wide as a fish on land, I can hardly breathe for almost a minute under the wet silver skin. This is probably how waterboarding was invented. I hereby confirm its effectiveness. Out on land. Max is cutting breathing holes, while a horny Spaniard unknowingly tries to smear the kite into the sun disciples at the same time. Never mind. Rise of the Silver Surfer. Check.

On the last day, we’re on the beach long before the wind. When it starts to blow at eleven, we’re out immediately. After nine days with up to 200 kiters on the water, I’m obviously so underwhelmed by the temporary 5-kiter emptiness on the water that I shoot Dominik’s kite off after a jump. First hit in 14 years of kiting. Out, organise the lines, in and another final hour in the 18-knot Levante, which was wonderfully laminar for the first time today. That’s it.

Back to Tarifa, pack up, off to Vejer de la Frontera. Flight home. Pick up the car in Frankfurt and fly home through the night. Tarifa was beautiful. There are better things. From October…