Fireworks

I had imagined we would be able to stand on the cliffs over the ocean, across from the most expensive RV park I have stayed in yet, and be able to see fireworks in both Half Moon Bay and Monterrey. I pictured us eating the artichoke heart bread from Pescadero (easily worth the whole drive by itself), drinking the bottle of Pinot Gris I bought in Oregon. In my mind, we would arrive at 2, swim in the ocean, and leisurely partake of this plan after grilling steaks and cooking up gnocchi.

Of course, we really arrived at the park at 6, argued about whether we should cook or pay for the ten dollar burgers the park was grilling up, the overcast sky making the ocean look as cold as I knew it was.

After dinner, including a local beer called "Little Sumthin' Sumthin'," we walked through the dimly lit trail to the cliff, down the steep steps to the ocean. It was dark, and you could only see the whites of the waves flashing in the moonlight.

"There might be sea lions down here, so be careful," I said, half joking. Immediately, we both became convinced the large shape ahead was one, and cautiously approached the pile of seaweed. Later, we found out there was a dead seal only a few feet to our left.

As we left the beach in the dark, vaguely paranoid about being kicked off by police, we passed a large group of people heading down to our little beach. They all carried wood, fireworks, ice chests, blankets.

"We're having a bonfire! You should join us!" they said. We walked back to our camp, thought a moment, then picked up our bag of marshmallows and headed back through the dark. I kept expecting someone to fall of a cliff, the night hiding everything, the beer making it all fuzzy. But no one did.

The group wad made up of couples, all friends from Sacramento, Santa Cruz, even Hawaii. There was no moment while we were there someone wasn't talking to us, friendly, inviting us to share their beer, fire, and marshmallows. They were made up of 30-somethings, most married with children (the kids, thankfully, left behind with parents), and the leader explained to us modestly how he liked to buy vast quantities of fireworks and have these gatherings every year so they didn't fall out-of-touch. He even said as his friends fell on hard times, he would pay for their travel and rooms, to make sure they came along. They also told us the celebration was a sort of good-bye party for one of their friends, a man so inebriated I thought he would fall into the fire (sporting a black eye you could see even in the dark), as he was about to head off to jail to serve a year of hard time.

Much later, they began launching fireworks (the big kind you see at Disneyland). I was sure any minute the police would come and arrest us all, but none did.

When we finally headed back, blinking we were so tired, it was 3:30. A good night, indeed!