People who really know me - heck, people who even sort of know me - are generally aware that there are a few things about the outdoors that I tend to dislike. Among them, in no particular order, and off the top of my head, are: sunshine, grass, trees, sand, dirt, bugs, heat, humidity, rain and wind. Thus, I was far from overjoyed when I recently received an invitation from a friend to help her and a few others celebrate her birthday at a local beach. After shuddering for a minute or so, I realized that this might be somewhat tolerable. The designated day was a Sunday, the day I see private clients, and the beach in question was a two-hour drive from my house. So I said I'd go, after explaining my schedule, figuring I'd show up mid-day, be there about an hour, then have to leave. Truly, it does not pay to try to please others. My friend then, to accommodate my schedule, decided we would all arrive much earlier so that I'd have sufficient time to enjoy the beach. She obviously does not know me. But I could hardly respond to this change - made to accommodate me - by announcing that I couldn't possibly subject myself to Machiavellian torture before noon!
The friend with whom I agreed to carpool e-mailed to ask if I could bring a beach umbrella. He obviously does not know me, either. But sans beach umbrella, my bottles of sunblock and I headed out before 8:00 a.m. on this excursion. We arrived at the beach about 10:00 and discovered a few things.
First, my friend had been mistaken about the identity of the beach she wanted and this was not the beach she had thought it was. (I wonder if beaches get that a lot. I thought you were some beach I know.) Second, where the beach she wanted was less than a half-mile from the parking lot, this beach was an almost two mile hike away. Third, everyone had packed as though we were evacuating there and might have to stay for months. So we all loaded ourselves up like pack-rats and headed out. This group included a woman who was wearing a knee brace; she'd recently had surgery. Maybe it's just me, but I was leery of a woman who was still using handicapped parking managing a two-mile hike over rocky inclines and tree roots.
I wasn't the only one who viewed this as folly; several people suggested we just climb back in our cars and head to the original beach which was apparently only a few miles away. My friend felt that that would be too confusing for the few people who were arriving later. (I thought we solved this with cell phones.) I suggested that we simply take advantage of the lovely, shaded picnic tables right in front of us. My friend announced that no, we'd planned on going to the beach, not a park. And - she said - it would all be worth it when we saw the beach.
You may be wondering how she knew this when she'd not been to this beach.
I consider myself a New Yorker. I used to walk three miles to work each morning. I felt that only tourists ever used any type of transportation to go less than a mile. But that was on relatively flat concrete surfaces and I rarely had more than a small backpack with me. We were on difficult terrain, loaded down with coolers of food and drinks, chairs, blankets - even a tent! Once I've agreed to do a thing, however, I do it, and before anytime I was in the lead. At one point, I realized I was far ahead of the others and then I panicked. You read about women who are with a group of friends, get separated from them and are never seen again. I wouldn't have worried if this were in the middle of the city, but this was out in the middle of nature. I saw Into the Woods. I know that "horrible things happen in the woods", so I spent almost as much time pausing and waiting for people to catch up to me as I did actually walking.
And we kept walking. And walking. Eventually, I became convinced that there was no beach. This trail was some endless loop and our skeletons would later be found by other poor fools who had set out for a beach day. I was so convinced that when one of our crowd announced that she could "smell water", I was sure it was an olfactory mirage. When I first caught a glimpse of water through the trees, I was sure that delirium had set in.
It hadn't, but hilarity soon did. We had arrived at the beach. The one where this would all prove to have been worth it. There were three picnic tables, a small patch of sand leading to the water and many, many noisy children frolicking about. (The only things I dislike more than the great outdoors are children.) I took one look at this and burst into laughter. The holy-shit-you-have-GOT-to-be-kdding-me kind, not the this-is-really-funny kind.
I wouldn't have laughed like that in front of my friend as I wouldn't have wanted to hurt her feelings, but that wasn't a concern. Most of the group was so far behind that they wouldn't arrive for another hour. (Which means we didn't see them at the beach - we met them on the trail going back.) The rest of the group had given up less than half-way along and headed back. (We passed them while going back, too. Turns out recent knee surgery is a good reason to sit at nearby picnic tables - near the handicapped parking.)
You must be wondering if there was anything positive about this day. There was. I had only thirty minutes at this point before I had to head back. Before I got to do the walk all over again.
