We awake to the startling realisation that the road came to an end the night before.
Sometimes, after days on end jammed into vehicles heading towards an end point, the journey itself metamorphoses into the destination until you finally get to wherever it is you were going.
That’s when you realise that whilst ‘the journey is the destination’ sounds great as a t-shirt slogan, it’s actually nonsense.
Musings aside – we’d made it. Newquay. Bathed in sunshine, with a brand new concrete park to sample and the Canna Ramp awaiting us at the Boardmasters festival to box the week off.
In Search of the Canna Ramp Part 4 – Newquay
After feeling things out there last night, today was the day to hit Newquay park for as long as we desired. Div Adam was still in town and had arranged to meet Rye at 7am for a session before the hordes descended but, by now, the rigours of a few days on the road were starting to take their toll and the rest of us don’t emerge until past ten when Rye returns with tales (and clips) of early morning gnarliness. We quickly established that, for the rest of us, this isn’t going to be a day to move quickly – games of chess, coastal walks, swimming and pasty shop comparisons all took precedence over skateboarding during the heat of the sun.
We eventually decide that we’ve soaked up enough vitamin D and salt water to handle another session – making our way to Concrete Waves early evening to find the place crowded, but with many people out of action due to heat stroke or the effects of all day drinking in the sun.
There’s something in the tang of a sea breeze which awakens a latent love of boozing in the most casual of drinkers – this is why you’ll often find clusters of alcoholics muttering to themselves in the streets and spraying the alleyways of seaside towns with murky urine. I’m not saying that people don’t drink at all inland – it just doesn’t seem to get pursued with the clinical ruthlessness of a general ordering the bombing of a Middle Eastern hospital.