Stephanie says

  I fondly recall living there the winter of 1980. Damp and fog with a trace of manzanita woodsmoke.  You could drive on the beach.  We’d borrow Leo’s beater pickup to drive the seven-mile length of the beach until we couldn’t go any further.  Sometimes we’d all jump out of the moving truck and trot behind it, just for fun.  I was riding in the pickup bed; the other three bailed and trotted behind the driverless pickup rolling down the packed sand. Deciding to jump, I launched off the tailgate, rising high into a forward flip, curved into a ball, and used the forward motion to land on my feet and stuck the landing. So much for physics.   Okay, so that didn’t happen.  There is a right and wrong way to exit a moving vehicle. I chose the latter when I jumped off the tailgate (the wrong way for my knees to work as designed), took a massive tumble, and splatted into the cold and wet sand.   My actions proved hilarious to the ot...