Took my ritual spring ride of 32 miles down to Old Orchard Beach, Maine's departure from all things serious. Sat and ate a slice of pepperoni and watched the people who make up a certain segment of Vacationland that seems at odds with writing, painting and summer theater.
It always takes me back many years when we would make our summer excursions to the beach. They were not excursions in the sense of anything grand. More like a very hot and somewhat disagreeable ride on the subway which magically came out of a tunnel and across the marsh to the shore. The ride home was even worse what with sunburn, a sandy, somewhat damp bathing suit under my shorts and all the paraphernalia that a hardworking mother seemed to require for her three charges.
Yet, even now the magic is still there. The ocean breeze, the smells of junk food and suntan lotion, the gawdy colors of the stands and rides and above all, the sense that something wonderful was just around the corner.
Oh, by the way, my new Trek made it all so much more enjoyable!