Very elegant analogy, mate. I've yet to learn not to be hypnotized and seduced by the sudden creative eruption in my tripped-out, buzz-thrilled, helium-filled, put-the-pedal-to-the-medal-and-who-cares-how-it-all-falls-out-willed mind when the luscious mania foams white and turquoise around me and hoists me and my "board" aloft. And as you say, the wipe-outs are that much more devastating for my recklessness, not only because of the descent into the briny deep but also because I can still remember, from the bottom of the sea, the high-octane smell of the salt atop my transient mountain of water, and the things I could do while I stood astride it. Quite the pisser. Ta. Cheshire Cat