DAY OF THE MOSQUITO             Copyright (C) 1993, L. Semenzato.

Klaus and I have a new rule: no more jokes about the wind.  Before we
agreed on the rule, we drove each other crazy with stupid phone calls
like this one:

`Hello?'

`Luigi!  This is Klaus!  There is WIND!  There is A LOT OF WIND!
Bring your binoculars to the lounge!'

`Right away!'  I grab the binoculars from my desk drawer, run down the
stairs, enter the lounge and---what are all these people doing in the
lounge?  Among them, I find Klaus eating a sugar-coated donut with a
silly smile.

`There is no wind' he says.  `It's donut hour.'  The disappointment is
so strong that I have to eat three donuts.  It takes a lot of
windsurfing to offset three donuts; and it's more and more as my
skills improve.  In the good old days, I could burn an entire meal in
twenty minutes of waterstarting attempts.  And I no longer have a
choice: any other form of exercise has become deadly boring.  Sad but
true.

Things work much better with the new rule.  I knew Klaus was not
kidding when, on Saturday morning, his barely controlled voice reached
my ear piece: `LUIGI!  Are you ready to go?  IT'S ALL WHITE!  We have
to go!  Luigi, we ARE going!  THIS IS IT!'  `It,' in this case, meant
the first chance to try our new board, a 70-liter Ultra Mosquito, by a
famous maker whose name I will mention in a future edition of my
collected works, upon receiving a very modest number of race sails
(are you reading this, Fanatic?)  We bought the Mosquito at the end of
a windless winter month.  We were driving home in my car, in silence.
After a while, I said: `Klaus, you don't talk to me anymore.'

Klaus's eye twinkled.  `When was the last time we had windsurfing
together?'  he asked.  We laughed, took a detour to the new shop on
San Pablo, and found the board of our dreams.

And now we were about to use it!  I put my contact lenses in after
only four attempts, and found my wetsuit in record time.  I went to
Klaus's house.  `Luigi, I am really nervous, OK?' he said.

`I can see that' I reassured him.  We drove to Point Isabel, only five
minutes away.  From the 580 overpass, the Bay looked wild.  `Oh oh,
the wind has gone down' said Klaus.  Still plenty for me.  As we
rigged four-sixes (our smallest size), gusts pushed our boards around
the lawn.  Another fellow was rigging a four-oh.  We went in the
water.  I had the Mosquito.  I took off.  The Mosquito was reluctant
to get on a plane, but when it did, it was like barefoot waterskiing.
I could feel the water flow and vibrate under my feet, and I steered
by just thinking about it.  I tried a jibe.  The board turned on a
dime, smoothly, and I hadn't even pushed hard.  Well.  That was
something.

Wind aside, the weather was not perfect.  It started raining so hard
that I had to keep my upwind eye shut.  My depth perception was gone:
I could not gauge the chop.  As a roaring gust pushed me to extreme
speed, I was sure I was going to bounce to my death, like in Rio
Vista.  Instead, the narrow tail happily cut through the chop and I
was perfectly safe.

When the rain stopped, the wind also began to drop.  We quickly
switched boards so Klaus could also try the Mosquito.  Too late: I
think he got a very precise idea of its slogging behavior.  I took it
back and spent a good hour mostly slogging and sinking, but
occasionally getting on that delicious, smooth plane.  We gave up only
when the guys with the long white boards and the huge mylar sails
began to arrive.

We are finally ready.  Rio Vista, we no longer fear you.  We have the
enchanted weapon, the talisman.  Soon the day will come when we shall
challenge your wind-monsters and water-dragons, and we shall defeat
them in a glorious fight.  The day of victory: the Day of the
Mosquito.