Four Sisters Annual Get-Away

My three sisters and I race across the silky sand beaten to a fine power from the ocean’s crushing waves. In line we ride the path to the Pismo Beach coastal sand dunes. We are done zipping around and around in the fenced area and ready for the ever changing dunes. Shifting gears, popping clutches, and four ball tires just adds another layer to the fun.

I whiz across the sand like a flat, smooth, round pebble ricocheting off a lake’s glassy surface. My body is consumed with the sense of danger getting airborne off a hill and dipping down and whipping around.

All I could see was sand and moving black specks. The hills were obvious. The canyons snuck up on you. Between shifting gears, watching the road, and keeping an eye on my sisters was hit or miss. I would loose one and search for another.

On the next ridge Mollie rested on the edge of a canyon. It snuck up on her. As I came near, she held up her hand to stop me. She was sliding down the vertical deep canyon. You had to know what you’re doing to get out of this one. We tinkered with the reverse. We pulled it back. The sand tumbled down. She looked at me like ‘I’m going to die’. It was a tragic comedy of errors about to unfold. It wasn’t going to look pretty. I was like, “Let it go. It’s not your fault. Look at the tires. You’re not doing this!” The spinning wheels sunk deep into the sand. 200 pounds of metal slowly sliding.

You know, men do look their best when they are coming to save you. Three guys zoom up. The sun resides behind them and gives this glow of glory. The tall one comes up to size up our predicament. He laughs. He knows. We plead.


He took the quad and went full speed down. His buddies raced around to a better entry. He was in control. He had the skills and confidence. He wasn’t going to loose. He had youth on his side. He pushed the throttle all the way as he climb. The wheels spitting sand. With a crank of the bars, he did it again. Each time we held our breathe. In unison a moan escaped our lips when he almost made it. And then our arms flying in the light air. A bow to his agility and know how. They blast away into the sunset and we hit the sand a little slower.

Published by Joan MS Durrin

Personally a Wife and Dog Lover; Professionally an Educator, Writer, and a Reader; Intrinsicly an Outdoor Enthusiast, and above all, a Learner.

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