It was a beautiful summer evening, and we were camping on the Oregon Coast at Fort Stevens State Park. It was a magical night, the kind that can make you forget that you’re not so young anymore, but I won’t make that mistake again.
Tony and Jeff, both 13, talked good ol’ Aunt Nancy into joining them on a “short” bike ride to the beach and back. That’s about my limit, as I rarely ride anymore. I was feeling good, and took off with the boys with vim and vigor.
Summer nights in the Pacific Northwest are long and inspiring. The sun was low, and the wet sand around the wreckage of the Peter Iredale glittered like diamonds. There was no wind, and the earth seemed to stand still for a moment.
“Have you ever ridden on the wet sand? You will love it,” the boys assured me.
Just being close to so much enthusiasm encouraged me to try it. The hard, wet sand made a wonderful surface on which to ride, they said.
Off I flew. They were right! It was fantastic, euphoric. The wet sand looked blue, reflecting the sky above. I felt as if I were flying through the clouds effortlessly, weightlessly — and oblivious to the fact that we had traveled a considerable distance to the south. We also hadn’t noticed that a good, stiff wind had come up behind us.
We turned back and started up the shoreline. This wasn’t so much fun anymore. We were fighting the wind and blowing sand. And we could no longer see the jetty where we had started.
Then, Tony had a brilliant idea: “Let’s continue south and let the wind blow us along. We can call my dad, and he can pick us up in his truck at Sunset Beach. It isn’t much farther, and it will be fun.”
It sounded like a great plan. I hadn’t felt this young and full of life in years. We were zigging and zagging in and out of the water, laughing and having a great time. The sun was dropping low, and the wind was blowing harder.
Out of breath, I asked Tony, “How long does it take to get to Sunset Beach?”
A long pause and a soft answer: “Well, hmm, truthfully, I have never done it before, but I have always wanted to!”
“WHAT?”
“I’m sure it’s not much farther. Come on, Nancy. You can make it. It will be fun!”
Jeff just laughed and rode circles around us. The boys didn’t even seem tired.
I pressed on for a couple more miles. Finally, exhausted, I had to stop. My hands and arms felt numb. My bottom hurt badly. Who invented bike seats, anyway? I’d never ridden this far in my life. It was now dark. A few fires were glowing back near the driftwood, and I was starting to get scared. We tried to call Tony’s dad but had no cellphone service.
We had no choice but to keep pedaling.
The boys were very encouraging. They also could not hide their amazement when I told them I was 66 years old.
“Boy, that is pretty old!”
I was actually happy when my bike chain popped off. It gave me a chance to catch my breath as the boys fixed it. They laughed at me when I told them I felt like I was going to die. I was relieved to know they had both taken a CPR class.
Up ahead, we saw some bright-orange cones all across the beach. We stopped, as Tony said, “Oh, that’s not good.” He zoomed ahead to find out what was happening and quickly returned with news that we were crossing in front of the military beach, Camp Rilea, which was closed for live ammunition practice.
I almost started crying. We just couldn’t go back!
Tony continued to explain that the military police had agreed to temporarily suspend the training exercise to allow an “elderly lady” to pass by the next couple of miles of beach. He suggested that we hurry. Determined to survive, I took off. The boys said it was my fastest time yet.
It was pure joy when I saw the second set of bright-orange cones. We made it! The guns began firing immediately after.
Surely this must be Sunset Beach? But no, it wasn’t.
I was ready to quit, completely spent. Tony realized I needed a goal and pointed out landmarks to keep me going. It was always just a bit farther. By now, even the boys were beginning to run out of steam.
I couldn’t feel my body. Things were getting blurry. Praise be to God: The phone came back to life, and the call was made.
We sat at Sunset Beach and waited for a very worried and aggravated father to come rescue us.
My legs were noodles, and I needed a push to get into Rob’s giant truck. I collapsed into a miserable pile of exhaustion. Weakly, I asked Rob how far he thought we had ridden.
“At least 15 miles or so,” he said.
Tony said, “Hey, Nancy. How about a bike ride tomorrow?”
“No chance, kid. NEVER again!”
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