It too often seems that the more beautiful the place we find ourselves, the more likely we are to experience a mishap.
Usually, those mishaps are self-imposed, which probably means we’re so captivated by where we are that we might overlook some obvious hazards.
Like when we reached a gorgeous stretch of Nicaragua coastline just as twilight approached.
We rode our motorcycles down onto the sand and quickly set up camp in the light of our headlamps.
“Are you sure we parked our bikes far enough back?” I asked Greg as he eased into his camp chair beside the tent.
He nodded and, although not entirely convinced, I zipped the tent flap closed behind me.
Throughout the evening, Greg sat on his camp chair, doing his two favorite things – smoking a cigar and pouring shots from his canteen – and doing something else also.
He kept a close eye on the rising tide.
“It’s getting pretty close,” I called after a time.
“It’ll be fine,” he said and in a lower voice added, “I think.”
Fifteen minutes later he started the engine on his bike just as the tide lapped at the front tire.
“Uh huh,” I remarked. “Should you move mine as well?”
“No need,” he replied. “We’re nearly at high tide now.”
Ten minutes later my engine roared to life. I was mostly asleep now and I heard the transmission thump into first.
The engine roared and the tire tore helplessly at the soft sand.
“Jess!” I heard through the sleep-haze. “I need you to come out and push.”
