The drive to South Padre was quite beautiful. Green green green. Open farming fields of green, pasturelands of green, acres of green trees, moving in the wind. South Padre itself was not so green, but the water was clear and warm, and the beaches were clean and uncrowded. We headed right for the dive shop, which told us there wasn't really any shore diving, and they wouldn't be going out to an oil rig till Sunday, they knew of no private boats we could charter, and they had never heard of Seven-and-One-Half-Fathom reef. A helpful lot of information that turned out to be. Jason started crying, but we consoled him and called up the Flower Gardens boat to see if we could get on for the weekend trip. We were in luck, there were four spots left, and we promptly donated Visa numbers in exchange for a three cots onboard.
Trio in South Padre.
We cruised along the length of the island, a narrow shaft about three blocks wide, composed of stilt houses, herds of hotels and condos, and an unbelievable number of T-shirt and souvenier shops. "5 T-shirts for $10." "3 for 1." "99 cent beer bongs." The island is just a few miles shy of the Mexican border, and it's masquerading as Cancun, minus the Chiclet. Supposedly Spring Break capital for much of the midwest, we had just missed the week of bumper to bumper drinking fiends and were about two weeks early before the summer crowds started dwindling in. At the Visitor's Center we ran into a group of helpful ladies behind the counter. They called all around to try to find us a private boat owner who would be willing to take us out to a rig for a dive. She was a living recording, with a calculated speech that was infused with the desire to find us what we were looking for. She succeeded with Leroy over at Jim's Pier, and we headed up there to have a chat with him.
Aryn finally getting the hang of it.
A weathered seaman, Leroy was indeed willing to take us out...to the bargain tune of $500. We just couldn't swing it, so we thanked him and passed. Switching from diving to wind sport mode, we headed towards the only windsurf shop on the island to see if we could grab a big board for Jason to sail on. We made it to the shop, and the owner, Philip Money, was about to get out on the water with a kite. Brant started talking to him, and he basically ran away. Amidst more than 40 boards that would have worked, he told us that he didn't know if he had any available but we could check in the morning. We gave up talking to the back of his head and watched him flounder with the kite. After that initial encounter and a confirming one the next day, we came to a unanimous decision that the guy was a bona fide, egotistical jerk. And so you have our first negative recommendation of The Extreme Road Trip...do not patronize Windsurf, Inc. on South Padre Island if you can help it.
Jason coming in after a session.
On the north end of the island, past all the kitch and condos, the convention centre stands alone on the bay side, and marks the south end of the best kiteboarding spot we've come across. The beach is empty and huge, both in depth and breadth, with a protective hook on the downwind side. The water is warm, shallow, and flat. And, the wind blows sideshore. We spent all week there, playing with the wind and taking trips into town for Denny's, sushi, and Italian.
BP in high winds.
On one such venture, we decided to explore the mystery behind the 3-for-1. The rack of T-shirts that applied could be had for $19.99 a piece, except of course you got three free when you bought one. However, as we shuffled through the hangers, we couldn't help but wonder what sort of individual would buy such a T-shirt. With iron-on slogans that would stand out in a motorcycle gang, even the tamest ones are too foul to repeat in this venue. With a nod to the vendor on the phone behind the counter, we left the store picturing the streets full of spring-breakers parading around with these uniforms on, and wondered how any female would even speak, let alone be attracted to, a male in such garb.
Three for One, good for none.
We headed back up to Corpus on Friday morning, anticipating 1pm when we would find out whether the weather made the three-day dive trip to Flower Gardens a go or not.
