The shorebreak is 'macking' and 'gnarly' and the solid two-metre waves are really stomping in. There is no 'mushy junk' about. 'I feel really stoked!' I shout above the crashing waves. 'I'm really logging up some quality tube time in the Green Room!'
Bill Miller sighs. He has never seen anyone get such a rush from paddling in the Pacific before. Miller is a lifeguard and bodysurfing teacher at Oceanside in southern California. The former marine R&R town, a 45-minute drive from San Diego, has been re-vamped into a stylish resort. It hosts the world bodysurfing championships, which take place this year on August 27 and 28. Oceanside is also the home of the American Surf Museum.
'Bodysurfing is the most natural way to use the waves. You become at one with them,' says Miller as I nosedive into the shingle and flail about at his feet. 'It's the best avenue to experience the raw energy of the ocean.'
Clearly I don't have the makings of a surf legend. Apparently I don't have the right body figuration. My west coast fantasies, therefore, don't last long. The Pacific makes me feel middle-aged.
We retire to the Rockin' Baja Lobster harbour-side bar, which Miller assures me gives just as cool 'glass' as the sea. 'Fresh back from the Snow Zone, guys?' Candace the barmaid asks, noticing the puddles forming around my flip-flops. A sign above her head proclaims the premises to be the 'Home of the Big Bucket', whatever that may be. 'How about me putting something nice in that cute British mouth of yours? You want a taste of real Americana?' Candace gets busy with her hands. She does some vigorous shaking, leans over and gives it to me.
'The spirit of the west coast and the pride of Jalisco, Mexico,' she says proudly, presenting me with my first margarita of the day. 'One hundred per cent American agave, served according to my own secret recipe.'