Loreena is dead.
I just thought I would share the story of her passing. A long while back I acquired my younger brother’s Windtech race board circa 1995. This was done in the time honoured brother to brother fashion. I took it off him.
I used it a few times pre children and I was impressed with its mental handling. I had a feeling it was designed after careful consideration of Scud missiles. Those of you who remember that far back into history will recall the Scud missile was fast, deadly and had the guidance system of a Guide Dog on crack
Loreena Pre op.
That is to say, in my blousey hands, I could not do anything other than go blistering fast in a relatively straight line and then crash. I was wave sailing at the time and the thrill of this board was huge, but short lived.
Inspired by the US Navy being in town, I decided to have a crack at arrester hook landings. In a session off Blue Bay, I managed to hook up on a long cray pot rope and brought myself to a halt with retina popping speed.
It was a perfect arrester hook landing. Board stayed tangled in the rope and I stayed hooked in to the harness.
When the stars cleared from my eyes and I did the usual post landing checks: Can I feel toes, Can I move legs, Can I move arms and flex fingers, any error messages from brain? Excellent, all good. Now survey the scene around me. What are those little ice bergs floating away?
Probably just the remnant of the cray pot float after my landing. Wait. I didnt see a float. Odd. Well whatever, I had better get up an going before I become shark bait.
Priority message from visual cortex. Your board is really short now.
I am slightly disappointed to see that indeed the bits of foam floating away on the breeze are indeed the front of my board. Salvage operations commence and I make it to shore.
Damage report. Fin box looser than a union organiser with a credit card and a nose job that only Michael Jackson would have appreciated.
Fast forward 15 years or so and I stumble across the GPSTC. Well actually Decrepit had been smacking me around the head with it. I fall into the abyss of speed sailing and all of a sudden the spectre of that old Windtech board rises from the dust up on the top rack of my board shelving.
I seek the guidance of the Yoda’s of my team, Decrepit and Hardie. They pass judgement that it will continue to hurt me. It is the sort of board that should come with its own Trip Hazard signage and it will continue to try to kill you.
I have been married for some time and unfortunately have become slightly deafened to any advice that might be beneficial to my well being. Besides they said it will only ‘try’ to kill me, not ‘definitely’ kill me.
So off comes enough dust to keep a museum happy for a decade and on goes a new dance floor and bog up the nose. The end result is the whole Jackson Five wont stop till they get enough when they see the board.
I am still a bit intimidated by the rails and shape. They are so long hard and sharp they make me think that once false move and I could be emasculated in a whole new way. Hence she was christened Loreena B.(obbit).
When I took her out for the first time it was a first date full of trepidation but in the end left me feeling guilty for neglecting her for so long.
Sure she was a bit ugly, but nothing a plastic surgeon could not fix. Enter Adam Prince from Man Over Board. I had stumbled across his posts on Sea Breeze about old Windtechs and gave him a call.
I blew a month’s worth of mobile phone call time in one go. Adam is the oracle of all knowledge when it comes to Windtechs. His enthusiasm is more contagious than Ebola and the end result is Loreena B is going under the knife herself.
The following pictures were taken by Adam once he had finished shaking from laughing at dance floor I had installed. Although he will never admit it, I think he was impressed by the mirror ball mounting and I suspect he now realises the sort of skills that a lifetime of assembling Ikea Furniture can give a man.
Loreena Nose job. Reduction and a lift
Bum tuck and a bit of Lipo.
I will post some more later as Adam does his thing