I must have been about 22.
It was early in the morning.
I'd already hit snooze on the alarm too many times when the phone rang and pulled me out of a hazy sleep.
"Call in sick! We're playing hooky today!" It was my dad.
Funny how something other than work could propel me out of bed so quickly!
No questions asked, I did as I was told and called in sick.
My parents lived in a custom built dome home on a private airstrip. My husband Todd and I lived in a rental on their property. I walked across the yard to find my dad in the hanger prepping his Cessna 210 for flight. "Where are we going?" I asked. "We're flying to the ocean to play today" was his reply. It only took about 30 minutes from takeoff to get to the ocean. That's the best part about flying - all the time you don't have to ride in the car! Back then there was a small airstrip downtown Ocean Shores as well as a strip of sand on the beach just North of Ocean Shores proper that was designated for airplanes to land on. Dad asked me where I thought we should touch down and of course I said THE BEACH!!
In my mind I can still see the dunes blurring by as we landed on the firm sand about half way up the beach from the water. Dad taxied off the strip and parked. Then we walked to town and had lunch at a beachfront restaurant. After lunch we walked around a bit and passed a shop that rented mo-peds. Dad ducked in there and the next thing I knew we were each riding off towards the beach with the throttles wide open. Down in the sand we raced and spun out and zipped in and out of the water and then kicked up wet sand at each other from spinning the rear tires and aiming just so. I was laughing so much I got more than a mouthful of sand that day.
Eventually, exhausted we returned the mo-peds and trekked back to the plane. The tide had come up rather close. The sand was a little looser than dad would have liked under our tires but we finally took flight and headed back home, happy and exhausted with the setting sun kissing our tail wings.
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