No Bad Tides ; Surfing Strategies for Life by Eric J. Cedeno

There are so many hidden benefits that come from surfing. The stoke factor is just the tip of the iceberg (or surfboard) as most surfers already know. There are so many new discoveries that I made over the last two years, even in the last two months, that need to be shared... that's why I made this book for you.

I went live with NO BAD TIDES; Surfing Strategies for Life on 2/22/22 because that's funny. So while you are waiting to get your copy you can check out my other books and journals on Amazon (just click here).  Or read more about the  Surf Stats Tracker: Track What Matters Most - The Ultimate Surfing Workbook. (buy it on Amazon here: Color .... or ... Black & White)

Now for the fun stuff... Here's a sneak peak inside the book... keep in mind that there are over 100 color photos throughout the book (but not in the intro- I added some here just so you can get a tiny feel for what's in there)... Check it out:

Introduction

Nicaragua 2018

Photo by Jersson Barboza

This strategy book creates transformative, sustainable, and responsible surfing experiences (no matter what life throws at you). It provides strategies for how we can connect with others in our local communities or abroad. It’s full of tips, new ideas, and new perspectives to expand your surfing skills, emphasizing personal safety and situational awareness. Most surfing tools shared can be directly translated to help you in countless other activities. In addition to elevating your surfing experience, they can increase growth opportunities and self-confidence in your personal and business life too. 

At first, I was reluctant about sharing my 30 years of surfing secrets because I had an irrational fear that everyone who reads this book would all of a sudden be sitting in the right spot at the right time and catching all the waves, leaving none for me. I changed my mind when I realized that the 80/20 rule also applies to surfing in the same way it applies to self-driven education. I’m convinced that 80% of surfers out there are mostly self-taught. Sure, maybe some of them took a lesson or two. The other 20% of surfers are focused on additional learning to gain advantages. These are the ones who have the confidence to conquer their fears of being held down underwater, go charging after big waves, or even jump in and diffuse bad situations with a not-so-friendly local—yes, there are some out there.

With Greg Noll

Photo by Eric J. Cedeno @nobadtides

In my rough math only about 20% of surfers pick up learning from other resources, and 20% of that 20%, leaves 4% of surfers learning surfing techniques from books. So congratulations on being part of the elite 4% club! I’m good with sharing my knowledge with you and the 4% club. I also understand that there will always be more waves. There are enough waves to share. Plus, if a spot looks too crowded, then maybe it’s time to explore a new surf spot.

Costa Rica 2014

Photo by Lindsay Zuelich @Wood_Brain

I’ve spent the better part of the last two decades surfing with my friend Skip. When I first started surfing with Skip, I noticed he would paddle straight out, sit in one spot, and only catch the waves that came to him. I had a different approach, and I usually rode four or five times more waves than he did. Over time, he caught on to some of my methods. Suddenly, he was consistently moving toward the waves and paddling further out because he recognized where he should be to catch and ride the biggest waves that arrived in groups called sets. Then, he started consistently sitting in the right spot, and in a very short time, he was catching all the best waves. 

California 2020

Photo by Peter McMahon @petermacinrb

It wasn’t long before he started to sit in the priority position to have the right of way. At first, it really bothered me that he was using the rules of surf etiquette to his advantage. But then, I just had to laugh because he put in the effort to be a better surfer, have more fun, and catch more waves. I’d like to think that I was a big part of Skip’s accelerated learning because of the time we spent together. 

California 2020 with Tyler @Gnarf

Photo by Lindsay Zuelich @Wood_Brain

Skip being a better surfer also meant that I needed to up my game too. In some aspects, he passed me and was charging big waves that were clearly out of my comfort zone. He also became one of my biggest supporters and continues to this day to push me to higher levels of surfing. That’s what good friends and surfers do. They continue to encourage and challenge you. I’m incredibly grateful for our friendship. 

Surfing is one of many activities that connects people. No matter the environment or location in the world, a surfer’s smile is the same. A surfer’s stoke and glow of happiness needs no translation—and that makes surfing very special. 

Costa Rica 2013

Photo by Eric J. Cedeno @nobadtides

With the endless abyss of the digital age internet, many stories start to surface about who is allowed to surf (past and present). Wait, what? Did I just say not everyone is allowed to surf in these modern times? Well, yes, most recently, with the 2020 COVID-19 global pandemic, beaches were closed, and surfing was banned almost worldwide. There are many examples of great losses and changes (both good and bad) to cultures. 

Nicaragua 2018

Photo by Lindsay Zuelich @Wood_Brain

In some cases, changes in surfing led to territorial localism and created entitlement monsters that will defend their surf spot at all costs. In other cases, these changes birthed positive transformation, new opportunities, understanding, forgiveness, and healing. That’s why I’m sharing these stories. As surfing and the world around it evolves, there will be multiple changes, and opportunities for personal growth too.

California 2012 

Photo by John Jones III

Ok... One more sneak peak just because you made it this far. Here's a list of the chapters in the book. There's something in there for everyone, even non-surfers can learn a few new tricks. Plus you already know I'm a blogger so you can count on over 100 cool photo's in there. 

I went live with this book on 2/22/22 because that's funny. So while you are waiting to get your copy you can check out my other books and journals on Amazon (just click here). 

Table of Contents

Introduction..................................................................10

The Liquid Echo Chamber...........................................15

1,530 Miles to the Ocean..............................................19

He Said “Yes!” I’m a Grom..........................................27

A Real Christmas Story.................................................37

Surfing Ambassadors.....................................................47

Ballroom Dancing with Waves......................................59

Propelling Forward Faster..............................................71

The Secret Formulas to Learn Anything........................85

Where to Surf, Local Privilege, & Visitation Rules.......99

Pools of Confidence......................................................111

The Turning Point 1990-96...........................................121

Scoping Out Waves & Finding Inspiration...................135

Murder & the Quest for New Magic.............................145

Show Up & Do It..........................................................153

The Hidden Side Effects of Surfing..............................161

The Sedentary Athlete...................................................169

The $2 Trillion Give Back.............................................177

Soul Surfing at Work.....................................................185

Tattoos...........................................................................203

The Three F-Bombs.......................................................213

Distractions, Dings, and Other Delays...........................225

Waves of Gratitude ........................................................239

Personal Best Records and Motivational Factors...........253

The Introvert’s Guide to the Benefits of Surfing............267

The Five languages of Love and Surfing........................275

Rinse & Repeat...............................................................281

Surfing Resources...........................................................285

Surfing Samurai Robots: The Zoot Marlowe Series

I started learning how to surf in the summer of 1990. I’d go surfing on the weekends from around 7:00 am to 10:00 am. After surfing and eating breakfast we’d hang out in the yard, listen to surf music and either play backgammon or read books in the sun. Surfing Samurai Robots was a big book for me read at the time. It was a big step away from the “choose your own adventure” books I was used to reading. I was a notoriously slow reader at the time and I think it took me most of the summer weekends before I actually finished the book. I was really surprised how easy it was for me to read and understand. It helped that the book had all the elements that I was interested in; aliens, detectives, surfing and sci-fi robots.

I still have the Surfing Samurai Robots book. Actually I have the entire Zoot Marlow series; Surfing Samurai Robots, Hawaiian UFO Aliens and Tubular Android Superheroes. Last week I dusted off my copy of Surfing Samurai Robots and spent two days reading it from start to finish. Twenty two years have gone by from the first time I read it and even now I still dig the book. If you’re interested in aliens, detectives, surfing and sci-fi robots then this is definitely the right book for you too. Below is a break down of all three books, including a whole chapter from the second book Hawaiian UFO Aliens.

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Surfing Samurai Robots

Meet Zoot, an alien in a trenchcoat, searching for truth in a city of sex, violence and good rays.

They have the agility of surfers and the loyalty of samurai. They are the Surfing Samurai Robots, the invention of America's leading industrial genius, Knighten Daise.

Zoot, an alien with a big nose from the planet T'toom, is exploring the mean streets of Earth to find out where all the surfing robots went. Be-fore he can say Philip Marlowe, he meets some Malibu dudes who want to know who adjusted their surfbots with a sledgehammer. As if that wasn't enough, his life's on the line to find the inventor's gorgeous daughter.

Is Zoot a good enough private eye for any world or just an alien doing a job an alien's got to do? It's a mystery that's science fiction, science fiction that's a mystery. It's a funny new book that introduces one of the hippest and most original characters of the Eighties.

Hawaiian UFO Aliens

by Mel Gilden

Chapter 1: Double-0 Zoot--License Granted 

At last, exhausted and thirsty for a drink of fresh water, I crawled onto the beach. It should have been daytime, but the black boiling clouds kept out the sunlight. I lay on the sand, relieved that rain and blustering wind were all I had to deal with.     I walked up the soggy mess of a beach and came at last to the house. As was always the case when Whipper Will wasn't around to remind them to lock it, the back door opened easily without a key.     The usual crowd was sprawled about the living room watching a Gino and Darlene movie on TV.     "Hey, dude," Thumper called to me from the far side of the room, which was a compliment of sorts. I'd have guessed he was too busy with Flopsie (or was it Mopsie?) to notice my appearance in the doorway. Everybody actually looked away from the TV for a moment to acknowledge my existance. Hanger and whichever red-head wasn't busy with Thumper got up and gave me a friendly cuddle. You didn't have to be human to appreciate how warm and soft they were.     Mustard took a joint from his face and said, "Wet enough for you?"     "He likes it wet," Captain Hook said. "They all like it wet in Bay City." He never took his eyes off the TV screen.     The captain was in one of his moods, so I obliged him with a low-grade zinger. "Sure," I said. "That's why Bay City is near the beach."     Thumper pounded the flat of his hand against the floor and shouted "Ahh-roooh! Zoot is back!" The rest of them took up the cry. All but Captain Hook. He was too busy watching Darlene jiggle across the TV screen.     At my feet was a puddle of salt water big enough to do laps in. I waved at the crowd, told them that I had to change, and walked along the dark hall to Whipper Will's room. As far as I could tell, nothing had been touched. Nobody had washed the laundry, that was for sure.     After pulling out a flat waterproof packet and throwing it onto the bed, I peeled off my short johns, padded into the bathroom with them and hung them on a hook, where they dripped , parhythmically. I rubbed myself down good with a towel. Feeling more like myself all the time, I went back into the bedroom and put on my Earth clothes. The brown suit felt natural. I unwrapped the sheets in the waterproof packet and put them into my inside coat pocket. The trenchcoat and the fedora could wait.     In the kitchen I found a glass that had not seen much action, and drank tap water from it. I rinsed out the glass with a little soap and water and set it in the drainer, where it was all alone except for a fork that might have been clean. I was ready for anything now, so I went back into the bedroom and hefted Bill out of the closet.     Even in the dim light, Bill's silver body shown. I could barely hear a song about surfing and young love that was playing on the TV in the other room. Rain blew against the side of the house, went away, came back even harder. I reached up and pulled the flypaper off Bill's head. He blinked and said, "Bay City! Ya! Have a nice trip, Boss."     "I had a nice trip, thanks."     He computed that for a moment, then said, "How long?"     "A few weeks."     He nodded the way I might have. "What's the scam now?"     "I need a driver's license. You know where I can get one?"     "My meat, Boss."     "Wait a minute." I put on my trenchcoat and my fedora, figuring that the weather being what it was, wearing them did more than just put me in uniform. I followed Bill as he waddled from the room and down the dark hallway. We hurried through the rain and cold across the small garden where Will grew the fruits for his yoyogurt and into the garage.     The Chevrolet Belvedere was waiting for me, looking like the ghost of a car in the gray air. Far away, thunder grumbled about how lightning got all the publicity. I lifted the garage door, letting in uncertain light and a good view of Pacific Coast Highway. A car swished by every so often, stirring up a big lonely sound, but the street was more deserted than I'd ever seen it. When I opened the car, it smelled musty and damp. I let Bill in the other side and he sat near the window, his legs not quite long enough to dangle over the edge of the seat.     "You want the Department of Motor Vehicles, known to its friends, of which there are few, as the DMV."     "I want it, all right. I'm tired of waiting for the first cop with a little time on his hands to pull me over and discover my terrible secret. Where's the DMV?"     Bill told me, and I backed slowly onto Pacific Coast highway. Rain suddenly attacked the windows with hard spatters and we were off. Soon, I couldn't see through the cascade rolling down the windshield. Driving was pretty exciting there, for a while. Even Bill had a good grip on .pathe handrest. "Use the wipers! Use the wipers!"     "What wipers?" I was busy at the moment, trying to decide if the thing in front of me was a truck or a sports car.     "Windshield wipers!" His left arm telescoped toward me, reached for the dash, and turned a black plastic knob. Immediately, a couple of arms came up on the outside of the windshield and swept the water one way and then the other.     "Cool," I said. "How'd you happen to know about that?"     "Bubble memory," he said, and tapped the side of his little ducky head.     The DMV was a square yellow building with a parking lot on one side. The gray, joyless day complemented it so perfectly, I wondered if, maybe, rain fell there all the time. The building had no class, no style, its only distinguishing marks being the words DEPARTMENT OF MOTOR VEHICLES in bold block letters on the side, and a jagged chorus line of black marks drawn along one wall.     "Graffiti," Bill said.     "Meaning what?"     "Meaning there's probably more action around here when the place is closed."     "I just want a driver's license," I said.     I had my pick of spaces in the nearly empty lot. I told Bill to wait for me in the car. He got busy betting himself which raindrop would reach the bottom of the window first.     Inside the DMV building was a single room, lit too brightly with fluorescent tubes. Following the Los Angeles tradition, the air conditioning was on, making the room even colder than the air outside. Bored clerks sat in the cubicles behind desks making notes on papers that would probably be filed in boxes somewhere and never seen again. A lot of the clerks were wearing coats or sweaters. One guy had a knit hat pulled over his ears.     English and Spanish signs that hung from the ceiling told the multitudes where to stand, which line to wait in, whom to see. No multitudes were there at the moment, so I walked up to a counter that had an INFORMATION sign hanging over it. Arrows pointed downward just in case anybody entertained thoughts of standing in line on the ceiling. I stood tipy-toe so I could see over the top of the counter.     Nobody was standing on the other side so I called out, "Am I in the right place to get a little information?"     A bored man looked up from his work. His shoulders sloped, and his hair was thin. But his white shirt was crisp and his tie didn't clash with it. Astonishingly, his face drooped into an even more bored expression when he looked at me. "What sort of information?"     "Is this where I get a driver's license?"     "It is if you're eligible."     "Am I eligible?"     "I don't know. Are you? Read the sign." He pointed to another sign, this one taking up most of one wall. In English and Spanish it said that a driver had to be so old, had to pass such and such tests, couldn't be crazy.     "Sure, I'm eligible."     "Are you a citizen?" He kind of sneered when he said it.     I said, "I'd rather not shout. Do you have legs, or are you screwed into that desk?"     A few of the other clerks almost laughed. The guy I was talking to didn't like that, but he stood up--just to show he could do it, I suppose--and walked over to stand behind the counter. He was shaped like a bowling pin. Walking to the counter must have been quite a workout.     "Ok. I'm here now. Are you a citizen?" He glared at my nose, which, truth to tell, is most of my face.     "The sign doesn't say anything about being a citizen."     "No, but you'll need a birth certificate anyway, to make sure you're over eighteen."     "Of course I'm over eighteen. Don't let my good looks fool you."     "No?"     "No. When I was a kid, I had a little accident involving toxic waste and a bottle of nose drops."     "Yeah?"     "Yeah. It could happen to anybody." I speared him with my best stare. "It could happen to you.     The guy wearing the knit hat guffawed once and then caught himself. The guy at the counter almost looked over his shoulder at him, but didn't quite.     "You have a birth certificate?"     I took the folded document from my coat pocket, unfolded it on the counter, and waited. I'd done my homework and I thought I was ready for this guy. Him and anybody else in that room, singly or in combinations. If homework were enough.     He looked at the document, turned it around, turned it over. He studied me instead of the paper and said, "I hope this isn't a gag. The state of California wouldn't like it."     I was ready. I knew he wouldn't be able to make head or tail of the document because on T'toom, never having seen written English, we still used the letters of the local written language, which was called Gomkrix. But it really was my birth certificate. I'd just have to fiddle with the date and place of birth a little.     I said, "No gag. It's my birth certificate from the Bay City Hospital."     "It's not in English."     "Show me where it says the certificate has to be in English."     He took the document and talked to one of the other clerks. They buzzed to themselves while poking the document and watching me. I got tired of it, and went to look out the window. The rain was so fine, it was almost mist. I could see Bill's dark shape inside the Chevy.        "Sir?" It sounded as if the word hurt him to say it.     I went back to the counter and the guy said, "OK. Let's go through this an item at a time." I spent the next twenty minutes explaining my birth certificate to him, making up facts to match what was written there. I didn't lie any more than I had to.     When we were done, he looked like a man with a bad taste in his mouth, but he gave me the written driving test anyway. He was not very happy when I passed, but we went outside and I drove him around the block while he made marks on a printed sheet on a clipboard. Bill sat in the back seat, thank Durf, not saying anything. I must have passed the driving test too, because when we got back into the building, the guy took my thumb print, my picture and forty-two dollars.     As he was writing up my temporary license, he said, "If you're from Bay City, then I must be the Martian."     "Could be," I said, shrugging. "I've never seen a Martian." Which was also not a lie, despite Orson Welles. I picked up the temporary license and my birth certificate. The guy watched me walk out the door and hustle across the parking lot to the Chevy. Maybe he expected the Chevy to turn into a flying saucer and take off.     If he wanted to see a flying saucer, he shouldn't have been watching me. He should have been watching the news.

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Tubular Android Superheroes

This enjoyable romp picks up where Surfing Samurai Robots and Hawaiian U.F.O. Aliens left off. For those not familiar with those two titles, suffice to say that they are a mix of science fiction, detective noir and humor that turns out to be quite enjoyable. The protagonist and narrator, Zoot Marlowe, is an alien from the planet T'toom, a wet world whose star-travelling natives learned of Earth via its radio broadcasts (they are too far away to yet have received its television broadcasts), and Zoot patterned himself after Philip Marlowe. He had, in the first novel, Surfing Samurai Robots, travelled to Earth in his spaceship, and landed in near-future Southern California. He befriended some surfers and helped them solve a mystery. Realizing his assistance was needed, he stayed to provide further assistance. In this book, Zoot is faced with the specter of a car dealer who has developed disposable automobiles that dissolve at the press of a button, but who secretly desires world domination. What ensues is pure comedy gold.