SURFING : Against the Tide : Learning to ride the waves when the age of 40 is on the horizon may be an idea that’s all wet.

You were a child in the era of Gidget, a time when wood-paneled station wagons were an icon and the Beach Boys raised life along the shorelines to new, cultural heights.

It was a time when your peers limited their world view to the small strip of sand where they dropped their sandals. Higher education, at least in their books, meant learning to ride the biggest wave.

It was a time when everybody really had gone surfin’ U.S.A.

Everybody, that is, except you.

Sure, you pictured yourself more than once floating prone in the glistening sea, waiting for your ticket to glory. You imagined yourself pushing up to your feet, rocketing through the surf and crouching inside a cold, blue tube.

But your friends lived your fantasy and checked out the waves.

You checked out library books.

A college degree, a job and a couple of kids later, you realize that your fantasy has faded. You have relegated it to the category of things-you-should-have-tried-but-didn’t.

Life, over the years, has taken you inland.

Now, lying on your towel at the beach and watching a gaggle of surfers in the distance, the image tugs at you again.

But your eyes, against your will, are drawn to the roll of flesh around your navel.

You think of the wispy gray hairs even Miss Clairol would despair of.

You consider your slagging muscle tone.

With the four-decade mark looming like a shark fin on your horizon, you wonder if it is too late to learn.

Charlie Arvizu, owner of Charlie’s Off the Lip surf store in Camarillo, assures you that it’s not when you call him a few days later. He tells you that he has taught plenty of late-bloomers how to surf.

For $50, he says, he will lend you a wet suit and board and take you to Port Hueneme for two hours. He will tell you about riptides. He will save you time and energy by explaining what you do wrong. Then he will take you to lunch.

“It doesn’t take a lot of coordination,” he says. “You just have to have an open mind.”

This, you think, is encouraging. You ask him how long it will take before you stop embarrassing yourself.

“Oh, an athletic guy can pick it up the first day,” he says. “A girl has her moments. Guys have upper body strength, and you need that to push the board away to get up to your feet.”

You don’t tell him that you are capable of picking up a 6-year-old under one arm and an 8-year-old under the other and hauling them both, kicking, upstairs into the bathtub.

Instead, you ask him if there is anything else you need to know.

“Just don’t wear one of those dental-floss bathing suits,” he advises.

No problem there. If you did, you’d hang more than ten.

A few mornings later, you arrive at the surf shop. Your car engine remains running until the final strains of the song on the tape player have finished: “Do you love me, do you, surfer girl?”

Charlie, a solidly built guy in his 40s, takes you through the store. He points to the waterproof watches he sells. He shows you the surfing book covers he had printed to hand out when he works as a substitute teacher. He shows you his surfing pens and pencils. He talks about funny conversations he has had with surfers.

After nearly an hour, you understand that you should not be in a hurry.

When he shows no sign of moving from the store, you ask politely if you can learn to surf now.

“Sure,” he says.

Charlie gathers a pink wet suit for you, a black one for himself and piles the surfboards into the back of his van. It is almost lunchtime when you arrive at the beach.

“Now, this will be your board,” he says to you after you have squeezed into the wet suit. He then hands you a rope, attached to the board, that has a Velcro strip at the end. “You attach this to your ankle so you don’t have to go chasing the board with each wave.”

He then leads you into the water, as gray as the overcast sky. At waist level, he holds the board while you climb on. He then tells you to get off and get back on by yourself.

“You’re already doing a lot better than a lot of people,” he says. “A lot of people can’t even do that.”

Then you go out farther. Charlie stands behind you, holding the end of the board. When a wave heads toward you, he shoves you into it. You ride it, belly to board, all the way to the sand. Then you paddle back and repeat the exercise several times.

Finally, Charlie tells you to try standing up. He is several feet away, watching you with a smile on his face.

You paddle as the wave comes. Suddenly, it is as if an invisible hand has pushed you to the bottom of the sea. The board hits you in the head as you come up for air.

“Try it again,” he says.

You try it again. This time, as you push off and try to get to your knees, the board noses straight down. You are thrown, arms and legs flailing, to the side.

You ask him what you are doing wrong.

“Beats me,” he says. “I’ve never seen that before.”

At least you are being original.

Soon, however, frustration sets in. You see people on the distant pier watching and realize that those whoops and screams are not gulls passing overhead.

Finally, in desperation, you ask him to show you how it’s done. He nods and gets on his board. A wave approaches. He rides it on his stomach, attempting to get to his feet halfway toward shore.

He never gets there.

“Well, that’s about it for me!” you say as brightly as you can muster. It has been several hours, and you are tired, cold and hungry. You are no better than when you started. At least, you think, there is that lunch he promised. You ask him where you are going.

“Burger King,” he answers. Suddenly, you’re not so hungry anymore.

On the way home, your tape player is silent. You feel exhausted and disappointed. A Gidget you’re not.

Then you remember what a surfer friend once said to you.

“One of the most important things about learning to surf,” he said, “is learning how to wipe out.”

This makes you feel better. If it is correct, maybe you really have made a good start.

* THE PREMISE

There are plenty of things you have never tried. Fun things, dangerous things, character-building things. The Reluctant Novice tries them for you and reports the results. After all, the Novice gets paid to do them--and has no choice in the matter. If you want to tell the Novice where to go, please call us at 658-5547. If we use your idea, we’ll send you a present.

This week’s Reluctant Novice is staff writer Aurora Mackey.