Dune Style - Cape cod

We parked our slick brown subaru outback by the shoulder on the side of the road. With no other cars in sight and with no prospect of civilization we calmly layered on our Cape attire: me, shirt, sweatshirt, light down, and windbreaker; K, layers upon innumerable layers and then 3 jackets, topped by an odd Icelandic knit hat over baseball cap. Fashionably dressed, we attacked the first uphill only to realize it was followed by four more uphill legs. We huffed and puffed until we blew our lungs out. We ended up in a sweeping sand bowl. Smooth windswept sand surrounded us like a gentle amphitheater, all sounds hushed to the whistle of the gusting wind. I could hear my urine crackle on the fresh sand. ahh relief. Our footprints formed drunken lines behind us and ahead, we spied wavy striations undulating in the sand. With no phone or map to guide us, we follow them, hoping to find water or some sort of sustenance. Soon, shallow clear water cover the sand waves. Hope beating in our chests, we followed the water to an oasis. Small green, red-brown pines stood in a clear dark pool, the branches and sky reflected in the mirrored surface. We drink heartily from the pool and immediately questioned whether we should’ve drank the water. Do foxes, coyotes, and rabbits pee in these pools and cause giardia? Was this pool a gift of spring or giardia trojan horse bearing gifts of diarrhea? As I sit and recount our tale, only time will tell what will happen to the fish and chips I just ate.

Thirst quenched, we proceeded to find our way to civilization. The sun arced in the sky, casting our long shadows on the sand. Like nomads across the Sahara, the small dots of our passage slowly inched across the vast dunes.

The dunes aren’t enormous but large enough to feel like outdoor rooms. going from room to room makes the overall feeling of the dunes seem larger... kind of how all the disparate flavors in courses of miniature french food servings makes the overall impression of a meal feel like you ate a lot of food. We chance upon another pool, reddish brown and thronged with shrubbery of the same color. Upon closer inspection, we see shrubs with red quill-like leaves. Luscious red berries hung from the branches and the blood-red stained water looked like cranberry juice. Was this a cranberry bog or a place where female mammals come to menstruate? I was about to pop a few berries when K saved me from certain death by slapping my hand away from my open mouth. “what the fuck?” i said. k, ever so condescending said “I am no naturalist but I do shop for Thanksgiving. Unlike you… you fat lazy fuck who just eats the turkey and goes to sleep on a tryptophan high. Cranberries are hard and these are soft and plump.” Maybe this is a wild natural soft cranberry species I thought. our stomachs endured hunger but our eyes feasted on the beauty before us. Sweeping skies and sands and pitch pines standing like sentinels around our magical bog. Blues, yellows, greens, reds - colors blended one upon another in depth and harmony, kumbayah we love you too, Richard.

The beauty put me in an amorous mood. I could imagine a pornographic scene set, whereby I fling off my goretex in reckless abandon, and persuade K to take off her damn annoying fanny pack. I explore various vantage points until settling on one, eye-level to the beach grass that drew concentric ripples in the sand. The wind blew lightly among the whispering pines. The waves roared in nearby coast guard beach. Loons cry their haunting call across the quiet morning mist. The stringy milky substanceth doth poureth over the sandeth. K told me to snap out of daydreaming, “I’m hungry. I need food, and I need it now.” “okay chief.” I replied.

Spotting a tower structure in the distance, we wander through sand and brush again hoping ticks carrying lyme disease are closed for business during the spring season. Scraggly brush turn to oak shrubs interspersed with red-leaved branches. We advance through taller trees, still bare from the winter, and climb down sand dunes to find ourselves near Provincetown. A walk along some small roads and we were truly on Main Street USA. Cute shops lined the street like a tropical gay resort town. But coronavirus had shuttered these storefronts and we wander along desperately, looking for food. Two coffee shops were open but we were not interested in caffeine. Finally we chance upon The Blue Monkey and place our orders for avocado toast, lobster roll and fruit tarts. A fine feast to end the day’s adventures for the lost and found wanderers.