My Aunt Mary and Uncle Uli were on sabbatical in Munich, Germany, in the early 1980s when windsurfing was becoming all the rage. During one of my visits, they decided to teach me how.
We drove out to a little lake on the outskirts of the city, rigged the windsurfers, discreetly changed into our swimming suits, then put on wetsuits because it was chilly.
Because the wind was perfect for learning, it didn't take long to become functional enough to enjoy it. The hardest part was coming about, which required some fancy maneuvering of the sail and some fancy footwork--both of which took a beginner like me a bit of concentration.
After coming about successfully for the first time, I looked up in triumph to see if my aunt and uncle had noticed, but something was blocking my view. Not ten feet away, another surfer was cruising by, grinning and buck naked.
I lost my balance and fell off my board. He turned and laughed, then sailed away.