ON THE EDGE OF A DREAM
The ocean is a mystery to this lifelong land lover. My
fondest memories are of vacations down the east coast with my family. We did
take week long vacations to Lake Erie to fish for catfish and stay in a small cottage,
and I do mean small.
I played around fresh water creeks, rivers, ponds, and
lakes, but they didn't move around like the ocean. The worst things were
mosquitoes, snakes and leeches. The ocean however is filled with weird pointy and
stingy stuff. I know the movie Jaws was only a movie, so sharks don't worry me.
To the lifeguards I was the dumb Ohio kid who could get caught in a rip tide or have my face pounded into the sand
while attempting to body surfing. Sand is always in your butt crack, and the
water burns your eyes. On my bike I am now only a listener and watcher. I sit on the edge
of this powerful force, strain my eyes to see over the horizon, ponder the
movement of the tides, and listen to the endless hypnotic roar.
I had seen the
Pacific Ocean in movies and televised surfing competitions, I knew the names of
the beaches years before I saw them. It had been twenty five years since I
traveled the east coast; I was ready to see it again and perhaps for the first
time.
Traveling by bike takes you down every board walk, through residential areas,
and sometimes on hard beaches. If I had another lifetime I would invest it in
the sea, but for now I ride its edges and dream.
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