by Nick McGregor

Zander Morton may not be the most well-known pro surfer from St. Augustine, but he’s the most well-rounded. Even with regional and national competitive success, Morton chose a different path, translating his constant travel into success in surf journalism. Add to that a few side jobs in the industry, plenty of pictures in the magazines (which any pro surfer will tell you pays most of the bills), and a refreshingly humble attitude, and you’ve got one 23-year-old who knows the importance of not placing all his eggs in one basket.

“Be careful, there’s a lot of traffic out there” was the last warning issued before a pack of 96 complete freaking lunatics hijacked the sleepy streets of St. Augustine on a wild goose chase for glory.

In February, local bike fanatics and some from as far as Sarasota, St. Petersburg, Tampa, Orlando, and Richmond, Va., gathered to compete in St. Augustine’s first Alley Cat bike race.

A bowl of spoons rests above a gargantuan Rhodes keyboard. Christmas lights snake across the floor, mingling with sound wires and dust. A guy in all white shorty-shorts and a polo shirt keeps coming out and messing with the audio-visual jumble, as if the cords weren’t twisted quite right. A wobbly, plastic bluebird careens around. The way Man Man sets its stage may leave you asking the same questions their music does: Are they really silly or just way more advanced, creatively speaking, than me?

Sometimes it seems like nothing’s changed. It’s just a bunch of people in a bar, eyeing the crowd and laughing with their friends. Drinks are bought and conversations are had.
Then a guy pulls out his cell phone and reads “Where r u?”
He thumbs in: “JPs. its packed.”
Behind him, some girls rally around a friend lamenting that her boyfriend and best friend have been poking on Facebook for weeks.
“And I just bought him his own ring tone,” she says.

After two days amidst the surfboards, bikini-wrapped models, and ever-flowing beer found inside Orlando’s Orange County Convention Center, I thought to myself, “Surf Expo is decadent and depraved.” I mentioned Hunter S. Thompson’s famous words to my fiancée, and she imagined Dr. Gonzo himself, Tar Gard cigarette filter dangling from his mouth, swatting at the scantily clad surfer girls, watching the scene around him devolve into a sprint of promotion, marketing and sales.

’ve been cursed with the need to be romantic. It’s embarrassing sometimes. I often think I have a really good idea … turns out I’m just cheesy. It’s a good thing my girlfriend isn’t lactose intolerant.

I have decided to suggest a few alternatives that might make dating in this ancient city of ours a bit more interesting. And easy on the wallet – these dates are cheap.

I suddenly feel like Kate Hudson in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, and feeling very disturbed by this. I’m a dude. I’m straight. I’m supposed to be thinking about football, beer and boobs. Which I do. But I also like a good trolley ride date. Like I said, I’m cursed.