We woke to a steady wind and the visible fact that the sand was slowly consuming our campsite. And not just a little sand, inches of sand. Mark’s shoes that he left outside were nearly full. Our outdoor rug was half buried and the truck and trailer no longer even remotely level after sinking lower and lower over the last four days. With that we decided it was time to move.
We packed up and drove in to town to devise a plan for the day. While we’re pretty good at wandering and eventually finding a new place to camp, that wasn’t an option today. The nearest gas station is 80 miles away and we’re already well below a half tank. But after lunch we found the local “gas station”. A concrete booth with a man sitting in a folding chair behind several jugs of fuel. He had one five gallon jug of diesel that he siphoned with his mouth and in to our tank. And to our delight, didn’t even charge us a premium for having the only available fuel in the region.
We could now travel comfortably without the stress of running out of gas but our bellies were full, the wind had stopped, and we had no desire to be on the road. Back to the beach we went.
We took an hours long stroll along the water’s edge, asking each other questions about the ocean that neither one of us knows the answer to and laughing hysterically at our childlike wonder of the world.
I’ve been completely captivated by this beach and the adjacent town and was giddy to get one more day here. Tomorrow we’ll get on the road for real and I know it won’t be long before I’m dreaming of our return.