Every
time the weather warms up even a hair, most of my friends immediately start
talking about going to the beach.
When I was a teen, my friend Alice, who had
her driver’s license, and I hung out at the beach every chance we got. But as I
grew older, the seashore began to progressively lose its appeal to me.
It’s
not that I don’t like the ocean or a cool sea breeze, especially on a hot
summer day. It’s just that at times, it’s pretty difficult to find either one
at New Hampshire’s public beaches. The
last time I went to Hampton, the beach was so crowded, it made Times Square on
New Year’s Eve look like an intimate gathering.
I
remember how my husband and I searched for an hour before we finally found a
postage-stamp sized space on the sand and wedged our towels into it. I sat down and began to rub sunscreen on
my legs, which wasn’t easy, considering I had only about an inch of elbow
room. Suddenly, as I was applying the
lotion, my leg went completely numb.
“Ohmigod!” I cried out. “I’ve lost all the feeling in my leg!”
“That’s
MY leg you’re rubbing!” my husband said.
“Thank
goodness!” I breathed. “I thought I
needed a shave.”
Eating
also was a challenge on the crowded beach.
One time, just as I unwrapped a tuna sandwich, a bunch of kids came
running by and kicked sand all over it. When I grumbled about it to the friend I was with,
she laughed and said, “Well, now you have a genuine SAND-wich!”
Nobody
likes a smart aleck.
Swimming
never was my favorite pastime at Hampton Beach, either. Let’s face it, the water there is so cold,
anyone who stays in it for longer than five minutes runs the risk of having his
or her body donated to a cryonics lab.
And the beach sand is so hot, only fire walkers can tolerate it. I always feared that if I stuck my burning
feet into the icy water, they’d crack and shatter into a million pieces.
I
still have to laugh when the local meteorologists try to make the water sound
inviting. “It’s a scorching 105 degrees
out there today, so head on over to Hampton Beach where the water temperature
is a refreshing 42 degrees!”
To me, water cold enough to turn skin the
color of a Smurf’s is “refreshing” only to polar bears.
But
by far, the worst part of the beach is the smell of the salt marshes at low
tide. The first time my husband and I
got a whiff of one, we didn’t know what it was. We ended up casting accusing glances at a group of people
standing near us.
“I’ll
bet they went to one of those all-you-can-eat baked-bean suppers at the local
church,” I whispered to my husband.
The
one thing I always did enjoy about the beach, however, was the roller coaster
at Salisbury Beach. Every time we went
to Hampton, we took a side trip to Salisbury, just up the road a few miles, for
the sole purpose of riding the coaster there.
It was an old wooden monstrosity, so weather-beaten, it actually swayed
and creaked whenever a strong breeze hit it.
Still, I loved it.
The
part of the ride I enjoyed the most was when the coaster paused at the top of the
first hill...just before it took the big plunge. From that height, there was such an endless, breathtaking view of
the ocean, I swear I once was able to see Queen Elizabeth waving at me from her
balcony at Buckingham Palace.
So
I was devastated to return to Salisbury one summer, only to discover the roller
coaster was gone. I was told it had
been torn down to make room for a kiddies’ amusement park, but to this day, I
still believe what really happened was the last nail holding the coaster
together finally popped out one night and reduced it to a giant heap of rotting
lumber.
For as long as I can remember, the one thing beaches always seem to have inspired is romance. I can’t count how many contestants on those
dating shows on TV have listed “long walks on the beach” as
one of their biggest turn-ons.
I
guess they’ve never strolled by a salt marsh during low tide.
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