The waves weren’t big, less-than-stellar by any standard. But riding my bicycle along the Seawall on Tuesday morning, I could imagine the push from these little peelers reeling across the shore in waist-deep water.

Light offshores were freshening up what had been a choppy lineup just a few hours earlier. Clean and green and beautiful.

Before all this started, it was the type of morning where I would’ve likely grabbed the longboard and paddled out to catch a few before heading into the office for the day.

Such surfs are just the sort of palate cleanser that most of us need to get us through the normal, stress-filled days at work.

Alas, on this particular morning, such an experience wasn’t possible. The beaches, having been closed for more than a week at that point (and by extension prohibiting surfing too since most of us have to walk on the beach to enter the lineup), were empty. Wave after little wave cruised through the lineup without anyone on them, exhausting their final energies along the sand in complete anonymity.

I stopped at 61st Street and watched for a long while, closing my eyes occasionally to focus on listening to the gentle hum of the ocean’s energy caressing its sandy bottom, sending whitewater froths in uniform lines.

In my mind’s eye, I could feel the lift and the smooth glide of takeoff, speed building as my imaginary longboard began to effortlessly plane on the clean wave face.

While no substitute for the real deal, we all will need to reach into the storehouse of our surfing memory banks for a bit longer, recalling our most memorable waves ridden or a particularly thrilling session.

It seems every surfer who has been doing this for a while, has several memorable rides that have happened in their lifetimes. Some of mine have been right here on the east side of the Flagship; others are from trips to Mainland Mexico or Costa Rica or California.

Regardless of location, these memories are punctuated by the feeling of surfing, the unmistakable thrill of speeding atop a foaming wall of moving water, harnessing the vast energy of the ocean we call home, even for just a few seconds.

At this point in time, memories are all we have. Hopefully soon we’ll have the opportunity to make more. Until then, stay safe.

Stephen Hadley is a longtime surfer who lives and works in Galveston. You can reach him at stephendhadley@gmail.com.