I
have the best intentions this morning.
I
have the alarm set for 7:30, the absolute latest I plan to sleep because I
might want to eke out one final beach day before heading back to work. I wake up at 6:30 and cannot get back to
sleep. Somewhere around 7:15, I shut the
alarm off (early) and promptly am out cold.
I don’t open my eyes again until 8:21.
When
I realize the time (and also realize that I never realized I had fallen asleep again),
I spring out of bed to check the sky – clear blue. I quickly bounce to the computer to check the
weather. Then I check the tide chart for
Hampton Beach. Minutes later I am frantically
packing for a beach morning. No one is
around, and it’s too late to start calling people to join me. If I leave much later than I already am, I’ll
be sitting in route 1 traffic instead of lounging by the surf.
I
am perhaps ten minutes from leaving when my friend texts me. She is home early from Squam Lake, so I give
her a fifteen minute warning and arrive at her house ready to go. Without much of a second thought, she’s game
for a spontaneous adventure, just one of the thousands of reasons why she is my
friend.
When
we near the beach north of Hampton Center, we panic at first. The free parking along the street is packed,
and there seem to be a lot of people up here already. It is, after all, Labor Day, the Last
Hurrah. Once we turn the corner on to
route 1A, though, we see a substantial amount of metered spaces still
available.
We
head for our all-time favorite space: #1913.
Magically, it is empty, so we steal it.
The
beauty of the metered parking is that it’s true beach parking with everything
except the sand. We can park and be
sitting at the water in less than 60 seconds without all that shitty part of
going to the beach – that nasty schlep over the broiling tar and fiery
sand.
Considering
that both my friend and I awoke around 8:30 and that we are sitting on the
beach at 10:00 sharp, it seems like our excursion is a success. But it gets better.
Today,
for some reason, the waves are continuous but manageable, the seagulls leave us
alone, there are no sand flies, and the seaweed has all washed back out to
sea. It is the clearest we have seen the
water all summer. Unfortunately because
of the stormy evening the night before along with the incoming tide, the water
is also cold, almost as cold as it was in June.
We
don’t care. It’s 87 degrees out, high
humidity, and we’re going to dunk in that frigid water no matter what. We’re not the only ones, either. The water is dotted with people (another
advantage to this beach – I’ve yet to see it truly “crowded” in all the years I’ve
come here), including surfers, body-boarders, and swimmers.
Right
before we pack up to leave, though, one of the surfing instructors (or perhaps he
is just a surfer dad giving his two teenaged sons lessons) begins removing his
wet suit. He is a Navy man, or so we
suspect from the tattoos. He is younger
than we are, but not illegally so.
Staring from behind very dark sunglass lenses probably isn’t
illegal. But it feels that way.
I’m
going to be honest here. I haven’t seen
a back like this since watching the judo Olympians train at the dojo. The man is nothing but muscles. Nothing but.
He could probably bench press those two tall teenaged boys with one had
while eating a sandwich in the other, not even breaking a sweat.
Oh,
please, people. Don’t judge me. You know how it is.
First
you notice things at the beach like the adorable sun hat on a little kid. Or you point out a particularly cool bathing
suit or cover-up someone is wearing when they walk in front of your beach
chair. Or you quietly cheer for the
novice paddle boarder who finally makes it out over the waves and into tranquil
water. Or you keep half an eye on the
lady who is swimming way too far from shore for at least thirty minutes in case
she tires, gets attacked by a shark (not completely unlikely), or gets caught
in a rip tide (somewhat common along these shores).
And
then, sometimes, there’s the bonus round, the one where Mr. Universe walks
directly in front of our chairs with half his wet suit off, and we can
appreciate the view as well as if we are examining any museum piece. We don’t leer, for goodness sake, but we do
linger just a little bit.
It
is, after all, one of our last views from the beach before we pack up and
go. Our impromptu perfect beach day ends
with just a little smirk as we trudge back sixty seconds to the car. We barely even brush off the chairs, watching
the sand fall over the #1913 beneath our feet, and we promise to come back,
either for one more day in the water or just for a walk and lunch nearby.
Summer
may be over unofficially, but it’s not over officially yet. Work may come calling, but the beach is still
close by, less than forty minutes away.
We’ll get back before fall comes; I know we will. Like this morning, we have the best of
intentions and an ocean full of spontaneity.
If
anyone can pull it off, we will.
