The Windsurfing Bible is certainly about wind and water, but it’s really more about people—actually two people:  you and me.  This is an us oriented book.  We’re going to get our feet—among other things—wet together.

We’re also going to get to know each other.  In reading, you’ll find that it’s easy to know me.  But how can I, the writer, get to know you, the reader?  Simple—because I already do.  Here’s how.

Have you ever watched someone struggle?  I mean really struggle with something that you’ve already learned:  hitting a baseball, hitting a golf ball, hitting a tennis ball . . . skiing, skating, dancing . . . or windsurfing.  And, in watching, have you reacted with giggles and guffaws, or empathy and understanding?  I’ll bet it was the latter, because windsurfers, by nature, don’t laugh at other windsurfers (or skiers or skaters or dancers).  Having been there before, they understand what the other person endures.

It’s your nature—the good nature of windsurfers and windsurfers to be—that I know.  How well do I know it?  You try opening your home to five or ten strangers each week, for a whole week, for an entire decade, without understanding them.  If that’s not enlightening, try having deep conversations in deep water with thousands of new friends, then tending all their bruises, blisters, and egos.

Believe me, you’ll quickly know the nature of people who windsurf.

Besides your nature, there are other things I know about you.  I know how you feel.  That is, how you feel the first time you experience the eye-widening sensation of sailing faster than ever before, while hooked in to your harness; how your lower back feels after a day of more uphauling than sailing;  how it feels to arrive at the water, see whitecaps, and have your adrenaline—or apprehension—pump up your heart rate.

Then there are your frustrations.

I know a lot about them, too.  The frustrations of not enough wind, or too much wind; not enough sail, or too much sail; trying a new technique, falling every time, and not knowing why.  How about the exasperation of learning to adjust and readjust the harness-lines, or learning to control the sail during a beachstart?  Have you experienced my personal peeve:  after a fall, realizing that the reason why the sun is suddenly so bright is that your $90 sunglasses are slowly sinking to the bottom?  Finally, there’s the hair-tearing frustration of driving hours to a sailing site, encountering perfect conditions, then discovering that you forgot to bring your mast.