Adventures with Water and Wheels

I did NOT die in the water. It’s exciting, I know. And I only thought I might two or three times. Likewise, Jessica only thought she might die on the bike two or three times.

Our new best friend - you remember, Ryan, the bike guy - delivered two kayaks on Saturday morning. He and Jessica firmly reassured me that the hardest part would be getting in without a dock.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss. I drug my kayak out into the mud at the edge of the water, sat down, and waited for directions. Jessica rephrased her favorite question.

“I’m not sure what to do now.”

I scooted. It worked. Soon my kayak was floating happily on the water. Breath held, I dipped the paddle in. Water is scary and moving on the water even more frightening. It’s a special type of dizziness that settles in your stomach at these moments, but I moved forward.

We were a little overambitious and only rowed about halfway to the lighthouse that was our goal before being overtaken at a sense of urgency by the warning, “Don’t get caught out and stuck during low tide,” but the haste was unnecessary. We made it back with plenty of time and water, but the sore muscles were done for the day.

A longer trip Sunday had similar results. We left well before high tide, enjoying the effect of the wind in larger waves, braving our way through the salt grass, and drifting wherever wind and water willed... arriving back tired. And I was exceptionally excited to sit still and let my stomach settle. But we were satisfied.

The tide, I must mention, has become a source of utter fascination. We wonder whether the docks are built accordingly, does rain affect the levels, what happens to the forts and fish... Our greatest excitement was, however, during high tide, our first day after lunch. We had the grand privilege of watching two dolphins swim right by the dock in the marsh - at no extra charge.

Jessica’s adventures pertained more to bicycles. We liked our bikes, baskets and no brakes, but sturdy. At least, after I pushed, pulled, and cajoled the chain back onto mine, they were sturdy. We cycled for fun to visit the Secessionville monument and dream of buying all the beautiful houses. And we cycled the three miles to Folly Beach. Down the busy highway with three bridges that we had to cross along with all the cars. Through the village sidewalks packed with college kids who’d come to party. And only sometimes at cross walks with symbols that actually changed. We had that arrival adventure twice, with a slightly calmer and downhill ride home again. Only twice did Jessica question my vast experience of two rides in Bogota and half a dozen in Albuquerque, asking “What are you doing now?”

We’d chosen Charleston at least partially because of the beach. Jessica, being a Texas girl, loves water in general and I love the ocean. It’s fascinating, the power of the waves, the vastness of water that never ends, the roar of the foam rolling over my feet, the smoothness of the sand as the gravel washes backward. 

On Saturday, we didn’t plan to get in the water. We knew there’d be a million people at the beach simply by the cars we watched lining up on the highway. There were, but we couldn’t resist “wading.” Sunday evening’s plans did involve swimming (for Jessica) and wave wading (for me) - until a thunderstorm rolled in, the lifeguards blew the whistles, and left the beach. I’d been in 5 minutes, but that was enough; even Jessica’s quick dip made me nervous. Riding bikes on the beach and watching the waves was even a little scary. Maybe Monday would dawn sunny...

It did. But. By Monday, two walking western girls weren’t in the mood for a bike ride in busy traffic. By Monday, two dryland girls were tired of being wet. By Monday, these two travelers decided maybe we’d just enjoy the ocean on our next trip.