I stand at the open door and watch her go. An arctic wind seems to slap me on the face as I admire the faded denim. She is driving a Volvo that appears as if its best miles are behind. As she opens the door she hesitates and looks back at the motel. Despite the 100 yards between us I can see in her eyes that our partnership is just beginning. She waves, smiles so radiantly that it lights half the parking lot, and moves to preform the sit, buckle, start routine.
As she drives into the cold starry night I close the door and look at my phone. It is 0200 and I need to be on the road by 0600 at the latest if I intend to shoot the sunrise on the beach. With a sigh and a shrug I turn out the lights and lay my poor body down.
Glad I made the coffee last night I mutter filling a paper cup to the rim and placing it inside the microwave. I grab the map and review the easy directions to the State Park and the beach. Load and go. I check the room for anything I might have forgotten and look at the unmade bed with sadness, toss the key on it and close the door behind me as I hurry towards the truck. Duty is calling in the form of a wild winter wind.
Remembering that along with capturing new media for video, this trip also doubles as course recon for the 2019 Epic Ride and that today we will be on and over many miles of it, starting with the State Park, I make notes of any points of interest. The State Park appears to be convenient and comfortable. I park the truck by one of the elevated Coast Guard stations, grab a Go-Pro, the Vixia and a telescoping monopod and lock the truck. It is dark, quiet and cold. I fish a mini flashlight from my pocket and start the short trek to the beach, almost instantly getting hit with the unmistakable hiss of the surf and the smell of salt water mixed with diesel fuel and fish guts.
Finding the beach and a stock yard supply of driftwood, sized from medium to entire trees washed ashore, I select one that offers a decent view to the East and also sports a limb from which I can attach my trusty dual clamp camera mount. I am set up and ready as the first faint glow announces that the day is about to begin on the Left Coast.
I have at least a half-hour before I hit the record button so I turn to scout the area with a short walk. Illuminating the beach as I walk, breathing deeply and appreciating the knitted wool gloves I had packed, my handheld beam of light reveals what my subconscious was thinking. Sandy.
I am frozen mid-step by the power of this serendipitous circumstance. I laugh out loud at my anal dedication to the present moment thinking that sometimes it might return a greater spiritual dividend to take some risks and trust the instinctive suggestions of my soul, instead of simply preforming dull, robotic movements in the name of production and progress. Like WTF am I doing this freezing morning on the beach when I could be, should be, cozy and cuddled next to a spectacular lady who sends fireworks into my soul?
A seagull shrieks overhead sending a message I decode as the wise bird being in full agreement with my self assessment. She seems to be floating on the wind, hanging from an invisible thread, just a few feet overhead. Her second shriek, this time more of an aria, clearly says to me…
…be the love.
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